"It's like these songs are your babies and you don't want anybody to think your babies are ugly! You never really know until you throw it out there if it's gonna take. And that is a really scary and vulnerable place to be, so having those songs be embraced is the best feeling in the world. That's been our dream our whole lives"
About this Quote
The “babies” metaphor does a lot of quiet work here: it’s funny in a slightly self-deprecating way, but it’s also a shield for something harsher. Calling songs your babies admits the creative process is intimate, messy, and irrationally protective. It frames criticism not as a professional assessment but as a social taboo: nobody wants to be the person who calls your child ugly. Scott smuggles in the reality that even successful musicians still crave a kind of gentleness from the world.
What makes the line land is how it refuses the myth of the pop machine as pure calculation. “You never really know until you throw it out there” punctures the fantasy that artists, labels, or algorithms can reliably predict a hit. Underneath is an anxiety specific to the streaming era: songs don’t just get released, they get judged instantly, publicly, and forever. The “throw it out there” phrasing sounds casual, but it’s basically emotional free-fall.
The vulnerability she names isn’t just personal; it’s occupational. A musician’s “product” is also their identity, and when the audience embraces a song, it’s not simply validation of craft, it’s acceptance of the self that authored it. The final beat - “our dream our whole lives” - widens the lens from a single release cycle to a childhood-long narrative of wanting to be chosen. The subtext is relief: not that the work exists, but that it’s loved.
What makes the line land is how it refuses the myth of the pop machine as pure calculation. “You never really know until you throw it out there” punctures the fantasy that artists, labels, or algorithms can reliably predict a hit. Underneath is an anxiety specific to the streaming era: songs don’t just get released, they get judged instantly, publicly, and forever. The “throw it out there” phrasing sounds casual, but it’s basically emotional free-fall.
The vulnerability she names isn’t just personal; it’s occupational. A musician’s “product” is also their identity, and when the audience embraces a song, it’s not simply validation of craft, it’s acceptance of the self that authored it. The final beat - “our dream our whole lives” - widens the lens from a single release cycle to a childhood-long narrative of wanting to be chosen. The subtext is relief: not that the work exists, but that it’s loved.
Quote Details
| Topic | Music |
|---|---|
| Source | Help us find the source |
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