Staring into the future of my album launch is something like standing on the edge of a cliff, looking out over a seemingly-unending seascape. I have to jump in the water, and I have to swim. It’s inevitable and it’s scary. I don’t know how far it goes; only that I can’t see the land on the other side yet.
I’ve been a musician for as long as I can remember, and I know a little about music. I can play Beethoven and write a pop song and improvise in a room full of musician-strangers. But I don’t know anything about the business. How it all goes. How an album is birthed into the world. All these years, focusing solely on the product – the music – with no attention to everything else.
That’s the mentality of the hobbyist. Someone who writes music and jams and plays shows purely for fun, purely for the love of it. I love music, no question there. But I’d also love to share my music, and connect with people who listen to it. Without any business, without any marketing, without any plan, my album will be a tiny drop in an ocean that’ll disappear as soon as it arrives.
That’s how it went for The Criminal Kid’s first album in 2012. Our band broke up mere months after our studio recording sessions, and our album release came and went without much fanfare. No one had the heart to promote it. We were idealistic kids who had no idea what we were doing.
So here I am, a month out of the studio, staring at the ceiling and saying fuck. What am I doing? How do I do this? How do I share this?
There’s a knowledge gap. How am I supposed to plan for something I don’t understand?
I could keep staring at the ceiling – staring at the sea – or I could understand. Learn to swim, and learn to swim well.
That’s where I’m at right now, my friends. My face buried in books and piles of notes. I’m going to figure this out. We’re going to do this thing.