I’m listening right now to a record I’ve put out on a label I’ve set up myself: a spiralling piece of vinyl unleashing a glorious noise. Helping bring it into existence has been a rush like no other – frightening and intimidating at times, but eye-opening and enormously rewarding. A journey discovering that, away from the corporate behemoths, there’s a lot of friendly people doing the same thing, simply because they love music, too.

Music hit me at an early age and obsession has followed ever since. I’m the Guardian’s Formula One correspondent and I am deeply devoted to the sport, but listening to bands has perhaps been the only real constant in my life since first experiencing those teenage kicks. Forty years later it has reached this unexpected and yet rather glorious conclusion: my label, INH Records.

The decision to pursue this labour of love was, as perhaps the best always are, almost happenstance. I had been going to fewer and fewer gigs, disenchanted with the prices, the flabby sets and performances that were all too performative. So, in a nod to what moved me first, I began revisiting tiny back-of-pub venues, particularly in east London, based on nothing more than a single or a track – and there it was again, that moment where music was all.

The scene I discovered is thriving: young, enthusiastic artists doing it for themselves alongside similarly independent promoters and labels. One of these bands was Fightmilk, a noisy, shouty four-piece from south London who were making the most exquisite songs, where guitars flailed and chimed behind bittersweet, witty lyrics and beautiful melodies. Watching them, I looked around the room to see if anyone else was experiencing the same sensation. Why had this magnificent sound not already made Fightmilk a household name?

As always with DIY bands, they were selling merch afterwards, were very friendly and many shows later, on discovering they had recorded a new album but their previous label had gone bust, a snap decision was made.

Starting my own label was somewhat foolhardy given I knew nothing about the industry, or indeed running a business. To that end I was helped by the hugely friendly reception from other DIY labels. John Jervis of WIAIWYA offered me advice and his time, and put me on to Tom Ashton who runs Fika Recordings, a long-standing indie he has run entirely himself for 13 years, now with a roster of 18 bands. Tom talked through how it all worked, from the financial model he used to his relationship with bands and venues. Fightmilk understandably wanted someone who knew what they were doing; they and Tom generously offered to make it a co-release with me.

After weeks of referring to it as “Insert Name Here Records”, the moniker just stuck, in the punchier form of INH Records. Establishing a company and trademarking a logo were surprisingly painless. Next came a digital and physical distribution deal, a Bandcamp page for the label sales, and an account with PRS for licensing and royalties (including for sales in the US which involved completing an eye-wateringly intimidating and complex document). A schedule was created, single launches all building to the album release with a PR company employed to generate interest and push the band to radio stations.

Then there was the unparalleled thrill of hearing the completed masters of the album – titled No Souvenirs – and having the artwork to proof for the vinyl pressing plant in the Czech Republic. When the white-label test pressings arrived, what had been almost abstract became reality. The music bursting from the speakers was special, precious and it was as if the air had been sucked from the room.

The deal with the band is aimed at being fair to both parties and would, I suspect, make majors wince. The goal for me was simply to put out beautiful records, so the band retain publishing rights (plus copyright to the artwork), the label covers all the costs and when those are met, all further profits are a direct 50-50 split between label and band. The plan is to be equitable, and to stay in business to keep releasing more.

With it, however, there is a commitment to playing a long game. Profits from vinyl and CDs are reasonable but the DIY scene is not shifting them hand over fist, so the label has to be a long-term investment with an incremental return. Even knowing this, one aspect remained shocking: finally seeing in black and white the returns from streaming. Many artists have publicly decried the paltry payments, but seeing them printed out was sobering indeed.

Then of course there is Brexit, which as Tom attests has damaged small labels, alongside the well-documented hindrances to touring. European sales now incur local VAT, necessitating price hikes of up to 25%, which make the albums less attractive and competitive. Then there are increased shipping costs and customs charges. All of this combines to bump a £20 album to as much as double that. Previously vigorous direct sales from a label to European fans have dropped – often they were around 50% of business, but now it’s more like 10%.

Obstacles to surmount, then, to make the magic happen. But it was happening. For Yearning and Pining, the final single before the album – a glorious, headlong two-minute paean to having the hots for someone – Fightmilk shot a video themselves on a doorbell cam. There was more wit, imagination and heartfelt abandon in those two minutes than so many of the bloated, expensive productions I’ve seen from bigger bands.

Then there was the album launch show, a celebratory high with a cathartic sense of pride – my part in it all was tiny but my chest was bursting. I realised, a little taken aback, it was as satisfying a moment as any I had enjoyed in my life.

There have been further lessons learned: the biggest issue facing the DIY scene is simply getting noticed, such is the competition across all media – for all there is enthusiastic music journalism online and ambassadors for music on TikTok. Instagram and beyond, the weekly music press inkies who would pick up and write about these bands are still sorely missed.

Yet the bands, the labels, the venues keep plugging away for the sheer love of it. As the process with INH evolved there was a realisation that it was stimulating something in my very soul. So much so two that more bands are already on the books – both of them DIY, independent and hopefully changing the world one album at a time.