I guess I’m beginning to realize that after all this time I may have lost the ability to externalize the constant rejection that comes with selling one’s own wares in (what’s left of) the music industry. I used to be able to shut out all the NOs while fixating on the handful of YESes. Now it just seems as everyone’s telling me what I already suspected was the case: we’re barely keeping our heads above water… kid, you’re on your own.

I went to a Billboard/Adweek “Music and Advertising: Bands and Brands” conference last week, and I left more than a little dispirited, as if I’d finally been cornered by the fact that NO ONE seems to be making a living from selling sound recordings. Now the consensus was that music artists were going to have to latch ourselves onto brands to make an income from music.  Seriously, if I heard “TV is the new radio” one more time, I was going to puke blood.

I don’t think there’s anything fundamentally wrong with syncing my music to advertising (I’ve written music for commercials and even sang a Labatt’s beer jingle), it’s just that it’s YET another small group of gatekeepers filtering out entire classes of music based on aesthetic choices that might have nothing to do with music itself. When I make a record, I’m making a record. I grew up listening to albums, and that’s how my mind works. Arts for art’s sake, money for god’s sake. Not all the music I make is meant to accompany a marketing message.

I guess I should also internally debate the whole “Should artists give away their music for free?” hand-wringing-devaluation-of-music argument here, but I’ll spare you the drama. I’m just kind of a funny mood today, I’m so tired of having to justify my place in this world of music, and I honestly just want to get this record OUT THERE for the hundred or so of you who still care.

Therefore, Pop Psychology is free for a limited time (payments also gladly accepted, thanks to Bandcamp)

http://downloads.bryk.com/album/pop-psychology

I suspect if you’re already here, you just might find it to be my strongest attempt at making “pop” music, though lyrically it’s a little bitter in places.

It sounds even better up here on the West Side, amidst the clamor of construction, the whirr-click of Yellow Cab receipt printers, and the whizzing-by of bratty kids with iPod shuffles clipped to their scooters (hell, even Elliott barks at them, but he barks at little old ladies in wheelchairs too, and BOY is that awkward.)

Thanks for all your love and support. I’m here all year, tell your friends.

Db