A letter to myself from two years ago

Dear Mike,

I'm writing to you from Madrid, the same city you're in now, though some habits have changed quite a bit. About two years have gone by. I won't tell you everything that's coming, because part of the fun is not knowing. But I do want to put a few things in writing, in case they help, and in case I need reminding of them myself.

First things first. You're going to make far more songs than you think. I'll give it to you in numbers, because I know you like them even if you say you don't: 273 singles and more than 280 music videos. Yes, more videos than songs. Don't ask me how. Well, all right, I'll tell you: by directing them yourself, one after another, learning in each one what you didn't know in the last. Plus hundreds of short videos you won't even try to count.

Don't panic. It doesn't all happen at once. It happens in small steps, the kind that don't look like anything at the time.

About the label

You're going to introduce yourself as the first AI songwriter. I know right now it sounds like a risky line, a bit provocative, the kind of thing you say half joking. Use it anyway. It'll bring you questions, some kind and some less so, and you'll learn to answer them without apologising.

I'll tell you now what you'll be asked most: who does what. And you'll always give the same answer, because it's the truth. The lyrics are yours, all of them. You produce the music with artificial intelligence tools, but you're the one who decides, who discards and who chooses. Say it again and again without tiring. Some people will take a while to get it and some never will. Both are fine.

And don't let yourself be dragged into the argument about whether it's real music. You'll lose hours there. The songs answer better than you do. Put one on and keep quiet.

One more thing about your job titles. You'll end up introducing yourself as a producer, writer, composer and artistic director, and also as CEO of your own label, MIKE SAIN'T LOUIS. I know the CEO bit would make you laugh right now. It still makes me laugh a little. But it's accurate. You'll be making every decision a record company makes, just at the same table where you eat.

About what you can't control

You'll spend a lot of time trying to guess which song people will like. You won't guess. I'm telling you now to spare you some grief, though I know you won't listen.

One of your songs, «Tan Cateto», is going to bring a lot of people to you through TikTok. I'll say no more. Only that, when it happens, don't try to force a repeat. What worked once isn't a recipe. It's a lucky break put to good use.

And I'll tell you the opposite too: there'll be songs you think are among the best you've ever written that slip by with hardly anyone noticing. It'll hurt. Not out of vanity, or not only, but because you'll know there was something there. Accept it early. Songs have their own luck and you don't get to decide it.

About order

Release things, but think first about how people will find you. For a long time your songs will be scattered across platforms and social networks, loose, and not even you will remember where each lyric lives. One day you'll have a website of your own, mikesaintlouis.com, with a page for each song, its music video, its full lyrics and its Spotify link. With a search box and the lyrics sorted from A to Z. Build it sooner. I'm begging you. You'll save yourself hours of hunting for your own songs like a scatterbrained fan.

You're also going to make a trilogy. Three albums you listen to as a single story: «Descubierto un nuevo planeta llamado GAYFOLK», «Ojalá se pudiera viajar a GAYFOLK» and «El día de la liberación». A place where you can be who you are, the longing to get there, and the day you finally arrive. I won't tell you more, because that story is one you have to find for yourself, song by song. Just one thing: you're going to give it away. Free, no sign-up. And you won't regret it.

About you

This is the hardest part to write. You're going to doubt a lot. Whether you release too much, whether you repeat yourself, whether what you do makes sense. Some doubts will vanish and others will still be here, with me, as I write to you. That's all right. The doubts won't stop you. They'll make you more careful, which is different.

You're going to write about gay love, about exes, about pride and self-esteem, about everyday life. With humour, with camp, with that whiff of copla, the old Spanish torch song, that comes from you're not quite sure where. Some people will think humour takes the seriousness out of all that. Ignore them. Humour is your way of saying serious things without your hand shaking.

And one last thing, the most practical. Sleep. Really. There'll be nights you spend editing a music video that could have waited till morning. There's nothing wrong with leaving something for tomorrow. The catalogue isn't going anywhere.

I'll let you go now, you've got a lot of work ahead and you don't know it yet. Enjoy it. Even the boring parts. Especially the boring parts, which are most of it and where everything really gets done.

A hug from here,

Mike

What came out of these two years is at mikesaintlouis.com.