Look down at me and you see a fool, Look up at me and you see a god, Look straight at me and you see yourself.
Thanx for choosing to Download this album, I'm hoping you are able to spare some change as a donation, every dollar helps to keep my projects going. I appreciate your support and Interest. For more info, feel free to visit the main Rodent Tapes homepage
In this day and age it isn't easy being a truly Independent Artist, the hopes of the Internet making it easier have for the most part not come true. Of course getting heard and releasing material has never been made easier, the Record companies haven't got it their own way anymore. Anybody with a computer can in theory have his/her own record label these days, either to release their own material or with some effort and a bit of searching put together a small collection of Independent artists and release their material.
I use my label to release my own material and samplers of artists I collaborate with, like many artists I live hand to mouth.. It's a struggle getting projects off the ground and seeing them finished..In fact I found that it was easier to get some financial return for my art back in the cassette culture days. Digital Downloads have made it a lot harder to receive any, even the smallest amount of financial rewards for my art.
Of course getting heard is in itself a reward, but, doesn't put food on the table, so, it is more than true that the internet is a double edged sword, on the one hand, Independent can again truly mean what it says, but sadly the buying public don't seem to have caught the bug yet, and if there is no support for artists such as myself, then eventually we will be pushed aside by the big Corporations.. all that will be found on this double edged Internet is the watered down pop that has so flooded the market and true art Music & Otherwise will become as extinct as the dinosaurs. Artists such as myself need the support from those even slightly interested in Independent art, By listening, buying downloads when and if possible before art goes the way of the dodo.
Thanks to our artists, we pretend well, living under canopies of painted clouds and painted gods, in halls of marble floors across which the sung Masses paint hope in deep impatsi of echo. We make of the hollow world a fuller, messier, prettier place, but all our inventions can't create the one thing we require: to deserve any fond attention we might accidentally receive, to receive any fond attention we don't in the course of things deserve. We are never enough to ourselves because we can never be enough to another. Any one of us walks into any room and reminds its occupant that we are not the one they most want to see. We are never the one. We are never enough.