Endings and Beginnings

Northumbria was released today.

There was no social media blitz. I didn't post any teaser trailers. I didn't put out any viral snippets. I didn't get on the handle of kingmakers and tastemakers and say 'hey, check this out.' I didn't do a 'Making of ...' video, or a track-by-track releasing them weekly at the same time on my carefully curated Youtube channel, tying it in with Insta and Twitter to pressure interest to the point of release.

I simply pressed a button and released it.

One moment it was a file on my laptop.

The next it was available to seven billion people all over the world.

That's pretty cool.

(I did to my due diligence first: ISRC’s, registration of compositions, copyrights, publishing, etc).

I understand that in that context, Northumbria is just another speck of content in an endless, ever-flowing, ever-expanding ocean of it.

I also understand that because I haven't joined in the game of how content is released now Northumbria has come out without any of the things attached to it necessary for it to be caught in the digital nets that trawl these seas to bring them to the surface and to attention.

How do I feel about that?

Well, I feel okay, thanks.

Here's why:

I wrote and recorded and mixed and mastered and produced Northumbria knowing that it was unlikely to be followed by a gazillion downloads and a sold-out 183 date world tour, the breaking of America and elevation to global icon status.

(Although I'll take them if they're going ...).

I wrote, recorded, mixed, mastered and produced Northumbria because ...

... which is the first, last and only reason you should ever set out to create anything.

Any artist who picks up a paintbrush; any writer who sits down at their laptop; any musician who picks up their guitar and starts to create with one eye on how they're going to sell it once it's done isn't creating art.

They're making product.

There's nothing wrong with that. Commercial imperatives are as important as any of the other motivations we work from in our lives.

Making something with one eye on how it's going to play, however, means you're not letting the content and the form develop organically. You're snipping and cutting and trimming and self-editing from the get-go. You're writing to the video; you're creating to the marketing campaign; you're producing for the twitter ad.

Northumbria came out the way it did, though, because no other consideration was on the radar other than making it. I had very little to do with it. Yes, I had to do the legwork; the everyday magic of creativity that is the thing that renders inspiration tangible. I talk about that throughout Origin(al) Stories.

The main thing I did, though, was get out of the way and let it happen.

The eight tracks, 23 minutes of music and the universe of atmospheres, stories and images that Northumbria conjures now exists in the world independently of me.

That's exactly as it should be.

I understand that releasing anything in the twenty-first century demands the integrated campaign mentioned above: the social media blitzes and activity; the orchestrated release of teaser trailers, viral snippets, pre-release build-ups; a daily diet of press releases, reviews, reactions, fan interactions and the whole smorgasbord of PR.

I don't feel compelled to make content like that in the same way that I felt compelled to make Northumbria, though.

Primarily, this is because I don't think that more content makes for a better experience and I don't think more content equals better content either.

Anyone coming to, say, Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band now does so through over ten thousand assorted books about the Beatles; a billion hours of footage on Youtube where the principals talk about it; and people who knew the principals talk about; and people who never met the principals or the people who knew the principals talk about it ... all the way down to videos of people 'reacting' to it for the first time; dedicated twitter feeds; and a whole cultural industry that revolves around talking about the Fabs and their work.

When The Beatles released Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band (Revolver was a better album, but Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Heart's Club Band had the moment), though, there was only the music and an album cover.

The first is a mediated, curated experience where expectations and reactions are primed and managed.

The second is a pure experience: just you, your reaction to what you hear and your growing relationship with those sounds.

I also don't feel the need to make more content to support Northumbria because the contemporary need for content to accompany content is not artist or audience-driven.

It's platform-driven.

Here’s why:

Without constant uploads of new content, platforms don't exist.

Their owners would like to believe that it's the platform that's the product, but the reality is that without the content that others produce nobody would ever visit Youtube or stream Spotify.

This is ironic, because the owners of these platforms are billionaires while the musicians who create the content that made them billionaires make nothing unless they're called Ed, Kanye or Beyonce.

Northumbria is now available on Spotify, iTunes, Apple Music, Amazon, and all of the major platforms - because that's how we release music nowadays.

Even if it got three million plays, however, the algorithims involved would still shovel the money towards Ed. Or K. Or B.

It takes 200,000 plays via streaming to make a musician the same amount of money that they would make from one play on radio.

Did you know that?

That's the game as it stands.

That's fine.

That’s the game.

I just don't think adding endless extra content to Northumbria makes it a better piece of music.

Would I like to talk about Northumbria?

Of course. I'm proud of it.

Sit down with me and let me buy you a coffee and I'll happily talk your ear off about the sounds and what it means to me and what it might mean to others. I'll get right into the land and the sea; and the soil and the history; about where it might fit in the contemporary moment and where it stands in the grand scheme of things. I'd love to talk about what tunings I used, and how I did this bit and where that idea came from.

Would me saying any of that make listening to Northumbria a better or worse experience?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Would me saying what it means to me help you find what it means for you?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

After all, even though if Barthes taught us anything he taught us that the author-gods died a long time ago and the reader brings their meaning to the text, there's nothing wrong with context.

On one level, I can see that creating further content for Northumbria could be fun. After all, I recorded sonically the visual themes I saw in my head and in the world around me so there's an obvious overlap there.

It would also be a Sisyphean task, though: creating content to reflect content.

Don't create extra content.

Create the content that counts.

Enjoy the music.

In the end, that's all there is.

©℗ A. I. Jackson

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The Origin(al) Stories Journal was launched to track the writing and recording of the Northumbria album. You can read about the thought processes behind decision here. It has continued as a collection of posts drawn from my personal diaries, project journals, and process notes. Showing how I’ve found a path to doing something, often via experimentation, missteps, false trails and blind alleys, these posts do not offer definitive insights into any of the projects on The Landing Stage. They are just postcards from the ongoing journey.

Have a great day, be a positive force, and tell those you love that you love them.