We Need Better Words

And new definitions

I embrace the slog. My creative process has always felt like chipping away at a marble block, hoping a sculpture appears. Tweaking, scrapping, reviving, and maybe eventually sharing. The methods of promotion have been an equally slow burn. I come from the pre-internet days of racking up 250 to 400 miles on a van just to play a show in front of 30 people and hope to win over 5. That grind eventually paid off, but it took years. The phenomenon of virality has largely eluded me, but in February of this year, I had my first taste of dropping something into the black hole of the internet and waking to discover that the masses had found me.

It was nothing life changing, but half a million views on a 50 second clip and over 5,000 new people following is significant for me. I’d have been lucky to win over that amount of eyes and ears in 6 months on the road — and it would have cost a lot more in gas and hotels and mental health. The video itself was a last minute affair. I’d told a friend I’d planned to post a handful of cover songs I’d tracked with nothing but my father-in-law’s nylon guitar and a cassette player.

“But you’re not playing guitar in the videos?”

No, I explained. I like layering multiple takes of guitar — a whole bunch of small moments quilted into a collage of sound. I can’t do that with just one single take. I just want to sing in the videos.

“That’s confusing. People should see that you recorded the guitar too. You should make a trailer if it’s going to be a series.”

I scoffed, but eventually quelled the voice of cynicism and figured I’d take it as a challenge to execute the idea in my own way. It took me a day to put it together, and when I finished the edit, I passed my phone to Adriana and said, “Look at this melodramatic thing I’m going to put on the internet tomorrow.”

When another friend of mine saw the overwhelming reaction to the video, he said to me, “Stay the course and keep doing the covers. But try to make another one of these narrative videos and see what happens.” So, a month later, I made another one, and that one reached 1.3 million people. I began receiving offers for partnerships — everything from audio companies to Hawaiian shirt brands and activewear. On top of all that, the algorithm started feeding me new people I’d never seen before, basically saying, “Here. This is what you’re doing. These are folks like you.” And that was the strangest part (yes, stranger than the Hawaiian shirt opportunity); I found myself inspired by this world of… I don’t know what to call them because I’m not going to use that term.

That’s not intended to be a backhanded compliment, but there isn’t a whole lot of delineation among the people who post stuff on the internet. You can be a comedic actor trying to showcase your abilities in between auditions, or a 9-year-old who garners billions of views unboxing toys. You can film yourself doing your makeup, or read bite sized segments from your New York Times bestseller. By today’s definition, all of these people are the same — they are content creators.

It’s an umbrella term that seems to be unanimously disliked. I felt guilty of my own prior judgements, as I was suddenly exposed to filmmakers whose work rivaled the highest level production music videos I’ve seen. I found visual artists and mixed-media animators. A dad who does jiu jitsu and makes video essays about fatherhood, each of his posts shining a light on the most microscopic, easily overlooked fragments of life and magnifying every bit of beauty in each. I tried to tell a friend about him, but I watched his eyes roll when I lead with, “So, I guess you’d call him a content creator but…”

All of it felt different than everything I’d been experiencing within the music world, where I felt like I was constantly being asked (and told to partake in), “Please look at me. Please listen. Please save it. Please buy it. Please.” Whereas these videos simply said, “I made something for you.” And that’s a shame, because the groveling within my own community is the result of a decimated business model and system that leaves its artists fighting for crumbs. It’s not their fault.

Despite the inspiration, I’ve been hesitant to take advantage of any opportunities and partnerships because of the connotations. No, I’m not gonna hawk Hawaiian shirts on Instagram, and I would never support anything or anyone I didn’t believe in. But those instinctual boundaries are interesting to recognize, because I haven’t been able to draw those lines within the music world. There is so much compromise. So much tongue biting. So much control to relinquish. Comparatively, the opportunity to serve as the creative director, copywriter, cinematographer, and editor on a video piece of which I’d maintain full creative control feels… pretty good?

I reached out to Blake Kasemeier, the storyteller who writes about fatherhood, when I saw him post a Valentine’s Day video that was a brand partnership with a jewelry company. I told him about that voice in my head that clings to the punk rock mentality and shies away from certain opportunities. I was very grateful he took the time to give me a truly insightful response which was packed full of wisdom, so I’m just going to leave you with the two lines that stuck with me most:

“…there is nothing within punk rock’s ethos that proclaims that you shouldn’t be able to make a living off of your art… your fans want to see you succeed, otherwise they are not your fans.”

You can follow Blake on Instagram @blakeoftoday

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THE RECORD CLUB

Last week’s selection was Zach Bryan - The Great American Bar Scene (2024)

You can find my ramblings on last week’s record in the comment section below.

This week’s selection is…

Week #8
Maddie Cunningham - Revealer (2022)