The Promotional Paradox

Learning to get over myself, step by step

Earlier this week, one of my lovely, much-valued subscribers tagged and linked me into a discussion/post on Facebook (thanks,

Andrea Mann

!), referencing the way in which I’m aiming to use my presence here on Substack as a means of deepening the relationship between myself as a music artist and my audience - especially those who have been and remain very invested in what I’m doing.

I often find myself thinking about those of you who fit that category, often with a sense of incredulity; that there are people who genuinely follow what I am doing. I find that unbelievably humbling, and I am truly grateful.

It served as a helpful reminder of how important this aspect of sharing work is for all creative practitioners: we do, of course, find meaning and satisfaction - I hope - in our work in and of ourselves, but it is of equal importance that we are able to find both the people and a platform/method through and by which this connection can occur, although, ironically, even a decade into my career as a solo artist, I am wryly aware, still, how uncomfortable pursuing that sense of connection can make me feel.

Why?

Because it is everything.

While, granted, there are some creatives who somehow seem to be unaffected by the Promotional Paradox affliction (the inbuilt discomfort felt whilst telling everyone about what you have made), I’d say my admittedly wholly anecdotal, non-scientific evidential “study” would suggest the majority of creative professionals find the promotional activity our careers require to be so very challenging, perhaps even anathema to our outlook, approach and rasion-d’etre for creating in the first place.

The challenge of maintaining the intent of our artistic integrity versus making a sustainable living challenge t’was, of course, ever thus. A few years ago, I had a great email exchange with fellow pianist and writer

Rhonda Rizzo

, who quoted me in her super blog post ‘A Musicians Dilemma: Balancing Commercial Interests and Artistic Intent’, in which I said as much. Literally.

(n.b. I prefer to think of it as being consistent rather than just saying the same things over and over again!)

I have always looked on enviously at the confidence with which more extroverted creatives appear to have no problem sharing their work with the world.

If only I could be so confident!

How do they not seem to feel awkward?

What if people think I’m a horrible show-off?!

I imagine there’s undoubtedly some god-awful false humility still stuck like a limpet to my aching, introspective heart which causes significant blockage. All that I must decrease stuff, and so on.

So the thought process goes: it must be so freeing to have such an embedded sense of confidence in yourself and your work.

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It is at this point - and with only a modicum of regret - that I must add an extremely deep, all-consumingly meta addendum to the conversation.

A few years ago, I was having weekly sessions with a therapist, and I remember the most pivotal, profound, gut-punching question(s) they asked me. It still catches me, in the pit of my stomach, just thinking about it - haunting me, in a good way.

“Why music?

Why do you do it?

Why is it so important to you?

Why do you give yourself so fully to it?

Of course, I brushed off all of these perceptive exocets with a customary, self-deprecatory quip about it being the only thing I was remotely good at, or words to that effect, before dissolving into a puddle of hot tears, feeling fully seen and uncomfortably known.

It got to the very essence of my insecurity about everything I had and was continuing to do - is what I’m doing any good? Am I any good? Do people even like me? Have I just been lucky? What if I’ve used up all my good ideas?

We talked over it for many sessions. It was good.

More than the reasons above, though, the experience helped me to remember it is perfectly natural and understandable to feel a deep sense of discomfort when engaging in the wholly necessary process of promoting a new piece, album, tour or item of merch.

This is because the answer to the question my therapist asked is that music is the only thing which ever made sense to me, whilst it is also such an important, powerful and meaningful way of being able to connect with people, in spite of my personality-type. As such, it can often feel like having to endlessly promote your work detracts from the very point of it all: finding meaning, freedom, fulfilment and joy in our self-expression, and to connect with others who appreciate, are drawn to, and have an affinity with the creative results of these endeavours.

Therefore, the fundamental challenge which comes with the necessity of promoting our work is, we are, by extension, promoting ourselves. It is this awareness and gentle acceptance (with all the self-care this requires) which goes beyond the face-value marketing and promotional activity, towards something wholly more significant, vital and life-giving: the opportunity to connect with like-minded people who are seeking not just what you can make and create, but also what and who you are - not a purely transactional interaction (merch purchases aside!), but a deeper, long-term investment in the artist-audience relationship.

I began to realise I was not simply making music out of necessity to keep paying the bills; yet it was also not as trite as saying “oh, but the music just pours out of me, I just can’t help it!” For at times, the tap doth not flow.

It runs deeper than that.

Our work cannot exist without us and all the complexities and insecurities we exhibit, exude and inhabit.

With each year that goes by, I’m learning to trust in greater measure that what I am saying and making does have value, is meaningful, and, crucially, resonates with other people - perhaps someone like you.

Not as someone with all the answers or some form of musical soothsayer, but someone trying, doing, making and creating: sometimes succeeding, sometimes failing; always trying.

I guess it is an inherently paradoxical endeavour by its very nature; and maybe it has nothing to do with personality at all.

But it is most certainly worthwhile, which is why it really is worth it.

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A number of years ago when in my mid-twenties, one of my first jobs was teaching music in a primary school. Despite being an unqualified teacher, the leadership saw something in me which I probably didn’t know I had. It was a challenging place to work in a tough area, but I loved it. I taught there for 9 years.

In my time, there were a couple of occasions where I had the absolute worst days, full of lessons and sessions which couldn’t have gone any worse. Everything went wrong, the behaviour was appalling, equipment got damaged, and I could barely keep control. A fish so far from the water it was untrue.

We had an older teacher who did one day a week, leading the Design & Technology curriculum. In his sixties with forty-plus years of teaching experience in similar learning environments, I distinctly remember a couple of occasions managing to stagger through to the end of the day and collapsing in the staffroom, shellshocked, ready to resign on the spot, desperate to never teach another lesson more.

I remember how he was able to cajole me in those moments with empathy and understanding, helpfully pointing to the many contextual and external factors which might have led to such events taking place, and how I was simply the person in the firing line, and, ironically, someone who created a sense of normality which allowed for these behaviours to come through.

On a few occasions, he mentioned how what was most important was not dwelling on the catastrophic day which had just occurred, but whether you’d be there in the morning the following day.

The school was in an area where the expectation was that you wouldn’t be there. When it was difficult, you just left. Too hard.

Those few times, when walking through the front door felt like an impossible step, it became a very simple choice. It was about pure determination, and the desire not to be beaten.

Keep Showing Up.

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I’m aiming this year to continue learning to be less apologetic about my art, my creativity and my craft.

I’m aiming to keep finding ways to say what I need to say.

I’m aiming to be more me than before.

I’m aiming to keep sharing, in the hope and belief that this really is the good stuff.

Thank you for sharing it with me. Do share it with anyone else you think might like it.

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