Brad Skistamas (Five Times August) Striking a Chord
Brad Skistamas (Five Times August) started making music at 18 in 2001. Two decades of breakup songs, pop hooks, and quiet industry navigation. Then 2020 knocked him out creatively — until he looked at the world being created for his three kids and realised he didn't have an option. He needed to say something. God Help Us All was supposed to be his one statement. Instead, it changed everything. He lost fans. Gained a community. Wrote Sad Little Man (reached #1 on Amazon and Apple charts). Had videos censored, demonetized, and removed by YouTube for medical misinformation — not information, art. His Silent War album peaked at #5 on Amazon next to Taylor Swift and Bruce Springsteen with a zero-dollar marketing budget.
Brad and the hosts move through the false rebel rock star myth (Neil Young's Spotify flip), the artist-fan relationship rebuilt around $5/month subscriptions instead of 0.0006 cents per stream, the spiritual partnership with God that now drives his creative process, and the redefinition of success when your currency is time and your wealth is family. Where does genuine creative freedom live when the industry demands compliance and the algorithm punishes integrity?
- The unschooling blueprint Brad's parents made a decision when he was young: neither encourage nor protect, just stay present and out of the way. That non-directional attention became the foundation for a childhood with high responsibility, high trust, and zero restriction. By 15 he was teaching martial arts; by 23 he owned his first school. The same self-directed learning ethic carried into music — started Five Times August at 18, learned the industry by doing it.
- 2020 as creative rupture Brad didn't know what to say as an artist in 2020. But he was looking at the world being created for his three kids and realised he was in a unique position to speak. His oldest had been injured by early childhood vaccines — the family had already gone down that rabbit hole. When he released God Help Us All (a five-minute venting session recorded in his bedroom), he thought it would be his one say on the matter. Instead, it changed the trajectory of everything.
- The rebel rock star myth Ain't No Rock and Roll was written directly for Brad's musical heroes who kowtowed to the government during COVID. Neil Young drew a line in the sand over Spotify and Joe Rogan, called it dangerous misinformation, pulled his catalog — then two years later quietly put it back on Spotify (and Apple, Amazon, YouTube) without a word. The rebel was always a marketing gimmick. Contracts, managers, and machines tell mainstream artists what their message is.
- Censorship as art interpretation YouTube hid Sad Little Man from search results for 'medical misinformation' — not information, art. They were interpreting the art for the viewer and deciding who gets to see what. Gates Behind the Bars (about Bill Gates) was removed completely. Fight For You (a song about protecting kids, footage of people walking through streets holding signs like 'freedom' and 'kids are not science experiments') was demonetized. Brad's response: lean into it harder each time.
- The artist-fan relationship rebuilt Brad's not looking for the passive listener. He'd rather make $5/month from a fan who really believes in what he's saying than 0.0006 cents per stream. Snoop Dogg received less than $45,000 for reaching 1 billion streams on Spotify. Physical copies matter more than ever — digital music can be altered, taken down, or revoked. When you own the physical copy, it's yours. The experience of music has changed. Attention spans fractured by TikTok. Brad's music is half song, half video — both go hand in hand to tell the story.
- Spiritual partnership with God The biggest difference in how Brad creates now versus pre-COVID: he has a spiritual partnership with God that he didn't have before. God Help Us All came out of prayer — sitting and asking, what do you want me to say with my platform? How do you want me to use my talents to connect with people? He was inward and ego-driven prior to that. Now it's a spiritual partnership. He lets inspiration come when it finds him. Sometimes there are months between songs. Sometimes three songs in a day.
- Perfection as the enemy Brad used to be his own worst enemy — chasing perfection, recording the same song four or five different versions thinking more people need to hear it, but it's just not quite done yet. He'd circle around one song without growing. Now he asks: did I capture the moment? Did I say what I wanted to say? Is it perfect? Probably not. But he won't harp on it because he knows perfection in art doesn't exist. He's learned to embrace the imperfections — guitar scrapes, background voices, little stories that make a recording unique.
- Redefining success Brad's sitting here as an independent artist with three children and music is his primary source of income. He's feeding them and sustaining himself. That's winning. His world is great. Family and kids love him. There's nothing anyone online can say that will bog him down. He's been doing this since he was 18. Most people can't say that. To have creative freedom is a luxury. Currency is time. Wealth is family. Taylor Swift's in her thirties, single, childless — great, she's got wealth and fame, but what does that mean?
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