Making a Record Is Fucking Wild: On Process, Obsession, and Letting a Debut Album Exist

Making a record is so fucking wild. I don’t think I’ve ever been this excited and equally depressed in my life. Don’t get me wrong, the positive energy in me overwhelms any negative thoughts, but they still exist and linger beneath the surface. When you want to do something to the best of your abilities, but reach a point where it no longer depends on you, that’s where frustration can really get to you.

In 2025, I spent five months in Mexico, and I worked on the production of this record at least three days a week, for as little as four to five hours in the studio each day. My producer and I had to make our schedules work (mainly his, as I was in Mexico literally just to work on the record), but we found the time to create something that we are really proud of.

At the end of July, I came back to England with the produced tracks, which are yet to enter post-production. You know, all the technical bits: adjusting instrument volumes, vocal editing, mastering, effects, and all of that musical engineering. I had never felt more confident about my music, because for many years those songs lived in my phone as voice memos, so having them finally materialised was a huge step that made me realise, “Oh shit, I can actually do this.”

If I’m going to get real, the truth is that I could accelerate the release of this record if I wanted to. It could very much be released this summer if I just rushed post-production and got it done cheaply. Then I could proceed to release a “marketing campaign” to my twenty Instagram followers who actually engage with my content, and then I could release single by single, or the entire album, as an independent artist, only to end up with maybe fifteen plays, which would not be worth eight years of work. Eight years of writing, of lived experiences, of money, of travel, of production, of fucking hard work.

In fact, I am very impatient. I am probably the most impatient person in the world, but this album has taught me to hold my horses. In 2023, after we produced and did a quick mix and master of what will be the lead single, I was going to release it with a music video that October. A music video that I was going to rush, but a music video nonetheless. There were no other songs produced by then, though, so I said, “Girl… wait. There’s no point in releasing this now if you won’t have anything else to release in the next six months.” That’s the thing about me: I get so excited to the point where I just want to release everything. But I’ve understood that, in this life, if you want to do things super professionally and be taken seriously, it’s all about having great publicity.

If you want to reach audiences outside your social media bubble, you need targeted ads, you need to curate your audience, build a community, create buzz, and do press outreach. And though it might be cute to think that you’ll post a video of yourself singing or release a single and people will love it and your follower count will just grow and grow over the following six months, the reality is that it doesn’t really happen like that. Those things are achievable, of course, but they’re going to cost. They’re going to cost you a publicist, a music PR agency, or, at the very least, some Facebook and Instagram ads.

On top of that, it feels as if, today, your engagement and follower count are all that matter. There are labels or music agencies that explicitly say they only manage artists with 50,000+ followers. So you could very well have a good product with only 400 followers and be overlooked, or have a shitty project with no substance but 70,000 followers and they’ll go for that - because they know that those followers and that engagement translate into sales, and ultimately they want to make money, right? Investing in a new artist with no followers, no matter how good they might be, seems to be a higher risk than investing in an artist who has an average product but whose numbers at least promise some sales of albums, tickets, or merch.

This is so frustrating. I try not to give it too much thought, really… but there are days when...oh boy. I just want to scream like Regina George in that iconic scene.

In my mind, I have: okay, I still have post-production to pay for, which will be either partially or fully carried out in England, and that will be very costly if done by the type of professional I’m looking for. Then we have the visualisers, the promo material, producing all of those shoots, which is more money. Then we have the music videos, which, let me tell you, your girl is a visionary who wants to direct and edit each of them (most of them are already scripted, by the way), and that production cost is going to be quite something. And on top of that, I have to pay for publicity?????? I’m not Anna Delvey, you know. I can’t just make money appear out of nowhere and shout “RUN IT AGAIN!” when my card doesn’t go through. Even I know my limits lol.

So I focused on the little things that I can do. I thought, “Girl, you’ve dealt with LIFE magazine, with so many companies, you’ve reached out to tech investors for work to secure thousands of pounds in sponsorship, you’ve got this! Focus on the little things, and eventually you’ll get everything you need.”

So I started planning trips to London very strategically around certain events and key dates that could maximise my time there. I began sending a demo to pretty much every single record label out there, as well as to other music agencies. I went to a networking event where you could meet music industry professionals. I sent the demo to beta listeners to get an unbiased critique of the album (which resulted in majorly positive reception, for which I'm very pleased) and I phoned, contacted, and mailed all of the “big three” record labels. It’s not like this album can’t happen without being released under a label, but having a record label behind me would take this album to Mars, and having a proper budget for the creative vision and the publicity would literally make my shoulders feel lighter.

In late November, I received an email from a London-based music agency that represents Grammy Award–winning producers, not artists. However, they also work as a media and publicity agency for artists, focusing on maximising reach and building community. The CEO emailed back saying he loved the songs and the concept and that it would be great to meet. There I was, one week later, arriving at the Tea Building in Shoreditch, ready to meet him. The thing about him was that, in his first email, he wrote things that clearly showed he had listened to every song and read everything I wrote in the booklet. So for the first time, I felt like I was being taken seriously by someone in the industry.

We got along really well, really fast, and it all functioned almost like an interview. He asked me how I got to England from Mexico, what my story was, why I’m so drawn to English heritage (which is a big part of this album). He even asked whether the necklace I was wearing was part of my branding for the album, to which I replied, of course it is! It was a great meeting. I even showed him the visual story of the album. Spoiler alert: the songs tell one story, but the music videos tell a different one. The album is actually divided in three chapters, as if it were a book. I showed him all of that because I wanted him to see that this is way more than “Oh, I have a few songs and I want to be a pop star.” I actually kind of hate that “pop star” label and only use it as a joke, because I see myself more as a songwriter and an artist than a fabricated thing, you know? Sure, I love the theatricality of pop music (which is also a big part of this album), but that still needs artistry.

He read every word, and I expressed exactly what I needed to make this happen in the way I ideally want it to happen. He said, “I know your vision is very cinematic,” to which I replied, “Yes, and that worries me!” haha. He went on to explain everything they could do for me as an agency and said they would absolutely love to work with me on this. He suggested a Los Angeles–based producer and multi-instrumentalist that I could potentially hire for post-production (one who currently tours with BØRNS), and I explained what I needed from a team. It was a great meeting, and I felt a great vibe from him. I even gave him a physical copy of the demo I had previously emailed to him. He seemed genuinely happy to have it.

Once back in the north, I received an email from him with a deck outlining more details of what they can do and what they’ve achieved for other artists. I replied saying that I would love to work with them on the campaign for the songs once they were ready to be released, and suggested that it might be a great idea if he could facilitate an introductory meeting with the Los Angeles-based producer. However… I am a business girl. I might not be in the music industry yet, but business I do know.

So I started thinking, “Okay, great, I have a great feeling about him and his agency, but I do need to ask more in-depth questions, because ultimately this won’t be free. You’re looking at £1,000–£2,500 per song.” I felt completely justified in asking more technical and financial questions, such as: How is the campaign budget broken down between advertising spend and agency fees? How do you ensure playlists are genuine and avoid the risk of low-quality or bot-driven traffic? Based on my artistic direction, which audience segments do you believe would respond best? Will I have access to social media dashboards, or at least receive detailed reports on spend, targeting, and performance?

I’m sorry, but if I’m eventually going to be paying someone £2,000 per song, I think it’s pretty basic to ask these questions before committing to anything. But instead of receiving a transparent and detailed response that would reassure a potential new client, after sending that email, I received nothing but silence. I never heard back from him. I guess maybe my questions insulted him, or maybe he thought "What is this girl who doesn't even have a fucking manager doing asking all these questions? Who does she think she is?!"

It felt pretty sad, not going to lie. It’s been two months now, so I don’t think he’s still “tailoring his reply” lol. That interaction is a perfect example of what this journey has been like so far. One moment, you’re listening to Hung Up by Madonna while walking through Shoreditch on your way to meet a music industry professional who could be the person you need to know to make it in this business; the next, you’re back at square one, in your pyjamas with a bowl of cereal, wondering how the hell you’re going to make this happen.

There are days when I cry. Days when I feel like a wasted talent living in the middle of Cheshire, where nothing really happens, and I can’t help but sink into sadness, feeling like all the odds are against me. But then, when I come out of it, I take my CD, press play, start singing, dancing, and performing the setlist of my first tour (because even that is planned!!), and I feel renewed, with new energy to keep pushing forward. Listening to my music at full volume and performing these songs across my living room brings me back to life and makes all of this uncertainty and anxiety worth it. I have never wanted anything more in my life.

The road ahead is still uncertain, and to be entirely honest with you, I have no idea what it looks like. All I know is that, for now, there’s a small strategy I’ll begin activating with some stores this month. The first one being in Liverpool, and then London. Post-production is coming (eventually) and that’s as far as I can see right now. I think that might be a better approach for my mental health, because it also helps me understand that I simply can’t control everything. I know it will happen for me; I just need to be patient and keep working towards it.

So, baby steps. Always baby steps.

If you finished reading: thanks! You deserve a ticket to my first gig! Hehe (I mean it, send me a text and I'll put you in the Eduaspreadsheet lol)

Edua xx