Welcome to Interior. My name is Jamison Isaak, and I've been making music as Teen Daze for a decade now. I'm using this space to journal through the process of releasing my next full-length record, Interior. I've been covering a few of the ins and outs of this process, and hopefully I've done so without getting too inside. This week, I’ll be discussing the emotional toll that releasing new music (or any creative project) can take.

First thing’s first, after years of working on it, I’m so pleased to announce that my latest full length record, Interior, will be released on December 10, on one of my favourite labels, Cascine. The first single, Swimming, is available to stream, and comes with an official music video by Nicole Ginelli that is truly a trip.

The album announcement also comes alongside some tour dates (my first in two years, because of, you know). I’m going to be re-entering the world later this year, with four release parties in Vancouver, Brooklyn, Los Angeles and Palm Springs. Here’s the tour flyer created by one of my favourite artists, Julian Duron.

Okay, now that the housekeeping and plugs are out of the way, let’s talk about what I went through yesterday, with the release of the first single.

This is kind of a vulnerable thing for me to talk about, so please be gracious and patient with me. If at any point it feels like I’m drifting into DJs Complaining territory, know that that was never my intention. I feel like I’ll most likely drift into Depressed DJ territory instead. Let’s see what happens.

Last night I fell asleep thinking to myself, “Why on earth did I just work so hard, for the last six months of my life, to have no one care about this record/new single.”

It’s not even a true statement: I received messages from lots of people throughout the day yesterday, congratulating me on the new release, telling me about how incredible they thought the music video was, expressing their excitement for my upcoming tour dates. I even had some of my favourite producers go out of their way to tell me how much they like the record and the single. I had fans come hang out at the three digital events I hosted, asking me great questions and engaging with me in a way that felt like real social connection, and not some vapid, surface-level, artist-fan thing. Some people even took the assertive action to share the new single over their social media, which I never expect and always appreciate. All of that is to say: there are definitely some people that care about this release.

Still, after a long day of promoting the single, hosting digital events, posting on multiple social media platforms, I was exhausted. When I logged off and closed my laptop, all I could think of was, “That was all pointless.” I was immediately hard on myself, and felt disappointed by the response to the album launch. I was texting with a friend, and expressed how the day had felt “like I just spent six months building up everything we needed, and the whole thing landed with a thud.”

Another quick aside: I’m re-reading this post, editing things, and when I read it back, it’s pretty easy to spot the depression. I’m making small steps, but it’s clear that I could be doing more to work on my mental health. Because when I get to the end of a day that should be a celebration, and I’m bummed that I wasn’t celebrated enough? Yikes. That’s not great to read.

Also, I want to stop for another second to acknowledge all the people that have been working alongside me to help get this record out into the world. My manager, the folks at Cascine, the digital marketing company we’re working with, my publicist; all these people have a stake in the success of this album, and they’ve been working their asses off to make sure this record does well. These feelings are not a reflection on their work whatsoever. They rule, and in a lot of ways they were responsible for a lot of the good that I experienced yesterday.

So, back to my self-loathing: why did the day feel like a failure? Why can I not see the good for what it is, and why do I only focus on what didn’t happen?

That last question is for a therapist I guess.

I think a big part of why I felt the way I did after yesterday is the metrics that musicians are now expected to use to value their work. I’m not going to go all web3 optimist bro on you. But my god. To think that I spent a good portion of my day worrying about whether or not people were streaming my new song, because if they didn’t, I might lose my shirt? That’s fucked.

Anyways, with those metrics in mind, here’s a little transparency for you:

• The new single was streamed just under 1000 times yesterday on Spotify, about 200 times on both Apple Music and Bandcamp.
• The official music video got around 400 views yesterday.

Those aren’t crazy numbers. When I’ve released music in the past, it’s garnered a lot more streams, press, and general attention. But there are an infinite amount of circumstances that could have made that happen.

Here’s the thing: no matter the amount of streams my track received, I think I would deem a failure. But why? Why should it matter how many streams a song gets, or how many views a music video gets? A part of it is tied to the financial success of the record, undoubtedly. But if a thousand people stream the single, would I consider that a success? Or does it need to be 10,000? A million? Do I need to sell out of album pre-orders on the first day in order to be able to go to bed without thinking the day was a failure? Is success strictly linked to financial gain?

It’s a little bit too much to handle really, because I’m setting myself up for failure no matter what. It’s a tough thing to navigate, and it really does take a toll on my mental health.

I found myself spiralling a bit last night: if people don’t like this record, or maybe even worse, are ambivalent about it, how am I going to be able to stay in a position where I can keep making records as my full-time work? What am I going to do if I’m not making music for a living, which has not only been my work, but also my identity for the last ten years. Truly some of the most ridiculously privileged nonsense my brain can come up with. Still, it was where my mind went.

It’s a rough thing to be ten years deep into your career, and still have these thoughts plague your mind. I know how dramatic that sounds, but it really does feel that way. I look at artists I came up with, who seem to have guaranteed success, no matter what. They’re too big to fail. Sell out tours, festival spots, huge social media followings. And I’m left asking:

Why don’t I have what they have?

That friend that I mentioned earlier, the one I was texting with about this last night, left me with some good advice: “Fail often, win big.” (Thanks Beamer). There’s no way of controlling how something like an album, or any creative endeavour will be received. All I can do is work hard on a thing I love, and do my best to share it with as many people as possible.

Another thing I’ve been thinking about is this phrase of “What’s yours is yours.” The success that I’ve had in my life is for me. It’s a waste of time and energy to compare myself to other artists, because their successes are theirs. There’s probably some artist out there that’s looking in on my career, most likely through my social media, saying, “Why don’t I have what he has?” It’s important to have a healthy perspective on all this.

This leads me to where I want to end this: why did I write this?

I debated whether or not I should share all of this with you. Would it actually sound like DJs Complaining, would it sound whiny or privileged? Maybe. Again, not my intention, but I can see how you might see it that way.

Mostly I just wanted to get something across to two different types of people that might be reading this: the artist and the listener.

To the artist, this is meant to communicate that if you feel self-doubt, or if you find yourself measuring your worth based off how many streams you get, you are definitely not alone. There’s lots of pressure to succeed in very certain ways when it comes to these things, and the truth is that success looks different to all of us.

To the listener, I want to put a bit of humanity behind the song you’re listening to. When you decide to press play on a song, there’s a lot that went into the process of getting it to your ears. It doesn’t mean you need to fall in love with every single thing you listen to. But just understand that there are (usually) human beings on the other side of what you’re listening to. Also, if you love something you hear, tell someone about it! There is so much stuff out there that competes for a persons attention, and if a song can break through, one of the best thing you can do for an artist is to tell some more people about it.

Thank you for reading this, and for giving me your time. Writing this was therapeutic.

Hopefully next week will be more uplifting. See you then.