As an artist, if you’re still making work past thirty, that says something. You probably got better along the way, even if friendly (or professional) interest declined. What a sad ratio. As a creative who took another path, you may not want to be the bitter rocker at the dog park. Neither cares about the latest buzz band nor relates to some heartbroken 22-year old. You can capitalize on the kids but you can’t stay one forever. Whatever this imprint represents, it proudly exists outside, offline. It promotes time as a virtue—and variable. Like Literally exists, in part, because of the middle career.
I’ve said many times, from the back of a packed club: This band won’t exist in two years. It took me years to realize that was the point. But what happens then? What happens when the band you loved stopped making records—or kept going!—with kids or mortgages or demos to share? What happens to a writer when her option isn’t picked up? Like Literally exists to champion and answer those questions, too.
Everyone here understands the hours and honors the traditions of building a solid practice. Only now, we’re carving a new model for discovery and collaboration in a saturated media landscape where that’s not always the case. It’s all new to someone, somewhere. And that’s fine. You can gorge on a million experiences today, but you can’t digest them any faster. There’s a profound excitement to living the long game, cutting through the noise and staying the course. And curiosity doesn’t diminish as priorities change. We just bring more of ourselves to the expedition. Like Literally exists for anyone living outside the bubble—and if you made it this far, it’s probably worth your time.