Too Old to Start, Too Old to Still Be Here

I wanted to jot down some thoughts on longevity today after another amazing review of the album in this month’s Classic Pop Magazine collided with a student of mine saying that she couldn’t take a gap year, because she’d be “too old” to start her career in her chosen field of the creative industries.

It’s so easy to get caught in the “hurry up” and “momentum” arguments that the music industry gives you. Especially when you’re a woman, and especially when you’re warned that you will “age out.” So I’m really thankful to be on the receiving end of reviews and accolades like these, after a decade of building a reputation in the UK for doing the thing I love more than anything in the world.

So onto that review: the lovely folk at Classic Pop gave a VERY glowing write-up to the record and called me “one of the UK’s most thoughtful and enigmatic artists.” That’s the line that stopped me in my tracks because, sometimes, it takes a moment for me to realise that I am now three studio albums (not counting Versions, the covers record) into my career, and establishing something of a reputation that only seems to be building when they all said it would, or should, be over by now.

Yes, people really do love to tell you what your limits are.

SO many people said that we could “never” top the success of The Art of Losing. Some suggested it was just a “fluke,” catching the darker zeitgeist of lockdown. Unrepeatable in every way. I should lower my expectations.

There’s a lot of subtle negging that goes on in this corner of the music world. I often notice the not-so-subtle “d*ck swinging” (as my friend Louisa calls it) in my inbox after something great has happened yet again. The slightly condescending “oh well done YOU,” followed by the inevitable caveat. The message trying to take ownership over a victory they played no part in, beyond knowing me a decade ago and trying to get me to sign an unethical buyout on my publishing. Advice framed as kindness, telling me to lower my expectations because I “just don’t understand how it works,” despite my long haul on many sides of this industry, way beyond being a producer and performer for over a decade.

I’m very thankful to be signed to a small label that thinks differently. That doesn’t accept the industry rules that don’t work in the artist’s favour, and comes out swinging with a can-do attitude and a “f*ck you” to anyone else. You can read more about how my label Last Night From Glasgow operates here and the brilliant work they are doing to change the imbalances in who benefits when a record gets sold. You might say it’s a match made in heaven for those that dare to question why the rules are as they are.

I remember the whispers and sniggers when I first started my Patreon, because I wanted total artistic control, and to fund the making of the next record with the people who loved the music, rather than a vanity publishing deal that left me in debt. I remember those who thought it meant I wasn't to be taken seriously, because they didn't understand the radical possibilities that a fan-funded model offers, or were too worried about what it might mean for their own obsolescence perhaps.

But the thing is, I’m not saying that my way is better or that the label system is dead and buried. There’s room to do things both ways. They work for different folk for different reasons. And I’m not here to rain on the parade of the band that chooses to sign with the big advance (even if we did manage to outsell them in the charts with our £135 worth of Facebook adverts…)

All I can say is that it has worked for me and my own peculiar blend of tenacity and stubbornness: There’s nothing that stokes my fire more than being told I can’t do something. It’s grist to my mill.

I can’t lie, though: there’s also a huge part of me that has believed many of the things that were said about me. There was a part of me that was poised for As We Once Were to sell far fewer copies in week one than TAOL did. We’re in a cost of living crisis. People move on. Lives change in five years. The algorithm doesn’t even let you reach the people who already follow you, let alone build new audiences. Twitter is dead. Mailing list emails end up in spam. It’s a really hard uphill climb to even just connect with those that once listened and loved your music.

But boy, do I just love the battle.

I knew the follow-up to The Art of Losing would be judged with the knives out, poised to say it wasn’t as good. So I took my time, and made sure it was just as full of quality song craft and careful production. Ignored those that told me to hurry up. That I was wasting the good will built up with the last album. I applied for and got turned down numerous times for the industry funding that is supposed to propel artists that have gathered speed and momentum to the next release.

At first I panicked. And then I stopped. Because I’ve always loved the way Fiona Apple, one of my favourite songwriters, pays no mind to timelines and just delivers another brilliant album when she’s ready.

So when my student tells me she’ll be “too old” by the time she’s had her gap year, I think of all the people who told me I was already “past it”, five, ten years ago. I think of the industry’s whole mythology of the moment you’re supposed to have “made it” by, and how little that mythology has to do with the work itself.

There isn’t a shelf life on doing the thing you love more than anything in the world. There’s just the doing of it, for as long as you’re lucky enough to keep going.

Catherine x

Listen/Buy the new album As We Once Were: found.ee/AsWeOnceWere