Ron Brunk “Real Person” & “These Days”

For an artist like Ron Brunk—prolific to the extreme, forever hatching golden eggs, now celebrating the release of his 38th album—there comes a point when music transcends its original purpose. From the start, Brunk has vividly mirrored the triumphs and turmoil of his personal life through rhythm, sound, and storytelling, weaving a fascinating web of accounts that cover just about everything one could endure in a single lifetime: health scares, murder, marriage, divorce, parenthood, pet parenthood, confrontations with mortality, silver linings, and much more. Having survived what most would consider unimaginable, he carries a singular philosophy on life. “Nothing would surprise me,” he says. Yet his music still shimmers with resilience and growth, serving as an anchor of hope in tumultuous times. His candid voice feels especially invaluable as instability and uncertainty flare.

This is not the first—and certainly not the last—time Brunk has used music as a platform to vocalize, analyze, and challenge the issues plaguing the human family. With every stroke of the pen, he slices through the comforts of reality, pulling back the curtain and urging others to awaken from a brainwashed, oblivious slumber induced by powerful forces. His latest two singles offer a chance to recalibrate—a rare call for listeners to “open your gut to the glory and your mind to the magnificence” of a world overflowing with pure humanity—a quality that refuses to buckle even under the threat of extinction.

About “Real Person” and the Music Video

In classrooms, workplaces, and homes across the world, AI has become the inescapable buzzword commanding everyone’s attention. Whether it sparks excitement or dread, artificial intelligence is reshaping the future at lightning speed, spilling over into every industry imaginable—including music. The mere idea of songs—or artists—generated from a prompt crushes Brunk’s spirit to a pulp. Humans make music great, not computers, so “Real Person” is Brunk’s way of fulminating against anything and everything surrendering to the technological steamroll. Blues-laden guitar riffs swagger with attitude, swinging with a surprising lightness that lifts the sentiments of a “cool cat” from irritable to humorous. Here, he comes off playful, even flirty, all while firmly rejecting a world of “make-believe.” There’s no room for interpretation: he wants real people, real music, and real love, posing the question already lingering in the back of everyone’s mind: “…am I asking so much?”

Joined by two stiff mannequins dressed to the nines, the “Real Person” music video is where Brunk starts to sound like one of the sanest people around. Standing side-by-side with him, the mannequins—despite their fashionable attire—put on the most lifeless performance imaginable. Who could have guessed? They might look like they’re “playing guitar,” or “dancing,” but they’d be frozen solid if not for him. Meanwhile, Brunk steals the show, swaying and bobbing to the beat, infusing each line with sass and vigor. No matter what computers can (and probably will) do, visuals like this prove that human connection still trumps all. The phonies and posers don’t stand a chance, not if Brunk has anything to say about it.

On the flip side, “These Days” radiates concern, the everyday despair of those without the power to push back against the “shadows creeping” around every corner. It feels like the foil to “Real Person,” wistful, reflective, electric, and affecting, like a gentle rock classic dusted off from a bin of vinyls lost to the 80’s. Brunk’s whispering, impassioned vocals let loose, spilling all the longing and angst of someone who can’t believe his eyes and ears, stunned by the influx of hate and evil festering in every facet of life, seeping into the psyche while people carry on as if nothing is wrong. Peel back the layers of his fury, and underneath lies someone too distressed for words—frightened and sickened by society’s downward spiral. From the outside looking in, he sees the many who are still sleeping, hiding from their true selves, blind to the troubles swirling around them. In a world where the foundation is warping and “nothing is as real as it seems,” the shadow of darkness threatens to consume everything. But Brunk isn’t giving up, even if “These Days” demands more strength than ever to survive.

The accompanying “These Days” music video thoughtfully mirrors the track’s poignant, dramatic atmosphere, celebrating yet another art form born from heart, passion, and human talent—dance. Graceful ballerinas twirl and stretch over Brunk’s powerful refrains, the scenery shifting and expanding like the limitless terrains of a dream. As enchanting as they are, each shot is laced with moodiness, building an eerie undercurrent that they’re not just dancing, but dancing atop the rubble of a world now long gone—aloof and unbothered, spinning merrily “while society crumbles like crepes.” Beautiful, provocative, and jolting all at once, it feels like a subtle wake-up call, a depiction of a world in which collapse is not shocking but routine. “These Days” are not like any that have come before. The fabric of reality is changing, but it isn’t set in stone. As long as voices like Brunk’s persist, there is a chance to turn the future from bleak to bright.