#003
Promoting your art can feel like a contradiction at times. On one hand, it can be exciting to share the news that you've completed a long-term commitment (like finishing an album). You spend a period of your life tuning into what your art needs from you. You’re letting it shape your perspective and transform you. It's an isolating experience that I believe is necessary to finish the job sometimes. You complete the album by suppressing the outside world's noise and constant distractions. It's an act driven by a desire for self-exploration, and in the end, it's like traveling through space then returning to Earth to say "Here's what I found out there! Isn't it surreal? Doesn't it make you want to see how much further we can go? We can explore this space together. We can talk about how it’s shaping our view of the human experience."
On the other hand, we all have to deal with an overflowing saturation of voices trying to grab your attention. It feels like a cluttered antique shop where everything is yelling at you to buy an online course. There are hundreds of music fans tracking statistics and comparing artists. We've ended up in a place where an artist with millions of plays on their songs can still be deemed a failure on the surface. It's such a bizarre way to observe art. This isn't why many creators go through the trouble. It completely steals the joy of sharing what you made because it is rooted in unpredictable and constantly shifting factors that we can’t always control. It doesn't bring us any closer to a creator. It doesn’t help us understand their intentions or how they wanted their art to speak to us—it shuts us out of an experience where the art is a guide or a resting place when our current reality is so unforgiving. Even the artists who inspired me to begin my own journey in music are feeling this pressure to conform to this current social state, and I'm not really sure what to make of that.
It makes me think back to this passage from Boethius where Lady Philosophy tells him:
"In your desire to outdo others in high honor you will have to cheapen and humiliate yourself by begging."
To be clear I'm not against making content or marketing in general. Personally I enjoy making little videos and editing. I think it's a fun activity to pass the time. I don’t take it personally when things don’t perform well algorithmically, but I'm starting to understand where my boundary of interest is. I like to share the process of how I get to a finished song. I like to give away resources I've found along the way. I like to see people actually using what I share to benefit their own journey. I've never been comfortable receiving comments about how my songs helped anybody, but it does mean a lot to know that folks are not only giving their time, but taking a moment to immerse themselves in this space I initially created for myself. Being an artist can mean facing this dilemma of being thrown into an audience rather than a community whose values you resonate with. Reaching more people doesn’t really mean much without connection. You begin to realize the analytical numbers on all your apps will never be high enough if that’s where your heart places your sense of identity. You start to feel this pressure of needing to balance the isolating act of songwriting with the selfless act of sharing what you’ve created. It’s not exactly the easiest thing to do for artists!
As I'm getting deeper into the process of promoting my second album, I'm trying to keep these feelings in mind. I don't want a rush of people quickly trying to consume things on a surface level and making judgments around statistics that could kill an artist if that were all we ever focused on. I want to move slowly with the intention of giving more to people who choose to be in this space with me. I'm exhausted with how selfish the promotion process can be just as a consumer. I don't want to perpetuate that feeling onto my own listeners if I can help it, and you could say I’m still learning what that even means… All I know is that I made an album. It took me on a journey that forced me to shift my perspective on what it means to feel alone on a flakey, unreliable planet. It threw me into a crippling fear of the unknown, but I came back feeling an even deeper connection to myself and my surroundings . I can only hope to share that exploration with others trying to experience the same without completely losing their foundation. The world is constantly shifting the narrative on what makes something "worthy," and I know so many of us don’t even have the desire to keep up anymore. I can only try to serve the people who want to connect deeply to art and themselves. That relationship is more than enough.
