Why Mars Organic?
Why Mars Organic exists, what I’m doing here, and what music, taste, generations, technology, and bad endings have to do with one another.
Nobody Asked Me
But y’know, I have thoughts. I’m admittedly the absolute worst kind of Gen X—and you know exactly what kind that is—here at the cultural inflection point between two generations neither of which is mine. And yet I’d be remiss to keep shtum.
My obsession with generational demographics isn’t new. It dates to a moment when my own generation had barely been named ("x": the unknown variable) and has evolved as a secret weapon for pattern recognition and hit prediction throughout my career in music. In the present moment, I keep circling a couple of questions. What happens when a generation that built its cultural clout upon youth and fluency with new technology is no longer the youngest—or the most fluent with new technology? And what happens when the generation replacing it gives very few fucks about explaining itself or making that fluency legible to others?
Aging up happens to everybody—no apologies, no regrets—but aging out is a choice. And while nobody likes getting older, even that might be easier than getting pushed off centerstage in the cultural conversation. Talk about a bad ending. I long ago accepted that someone younger than me will forever get to say what gets to be cool, but I’ve learned that my many laps around the track will help me be right more often than not about what’s good.
The present generational handoff happens as we’re approaching a crossroads between human judgment and rapidly accelerating machine scale. That puts a premium on “taste”—which I believe is an existential quality that humans can recognize before they can explain, and which feels like a good muscle group to flex as a hedge against disruptive technologies that can learn from what humans with taste have curated.
Life Where It’s Not Supposed to Grow
And wtf is “Mars Organic?” When I started a management company a decade ago, I was drawn to the inscrutability of the name. Literally, it doesn’t mean anything. The central oxymoron—new life happening in a context supposedly inhospitable to growth—felt like a good metaphor for where I was then and where we’re at now. I’m personally more energized than ever by the new music coming out, the new generation primarily creating and consuming it, and even the aforementioned new technologies. It’s not boring. When I landed on Mars as the fictional major label in my novel When It Stopped, I couldn’t believe it had never been the name of an IRL major label. It evokes the big red planet and its namesake god of war, and sounds impressively ambitious and combative—two qualities I’ve always admired nearly as much as major labels do. Organic also describes how I want this to grow: slow, human, without optimizing every choice, thought, and word for the algorithm.
Homesick Aliens
Mars also reminds me of Kurt Cobain’s infamous “homesick aliens” quote, which more than anything I’ve come across sums up what “community” means to me. Maybe—as Kurt said—"eventually, one day, we’ll find out what to do.” Until then if you’ve ever felt like a visitor from another planet, if you can humor my obsession with generational demographics, and if you’re interested in music and taste and curation, I’ll be over here.
