“I grew up thinking that if you got into business, your music would suffer. It’s a very big misnomer and it cost me a lot of money for 30 years.”
-Mark Garrison, legendary pianist for David Bowie
While waiting at the cafe counter for my vanilla bean latte, I opened my laptop, preparing to write an article on how larger-than-life personas of David Bowie, Lady Gaga, and St.Vincent gave them the artistic freedom to be and write anything they want.
I was approached by a fresh-faced barista who promptly introduced himself as Judah. I shook his hand and he continued to speak.
“I hear you’re, like, a composer, or you write music or something… I’m thinking about going to school for music and I’m wondering if you think that’s the best way to learn or if you had any other suggestions”
Oh did I ever. I closed the lid on my laptop.
“What do you play and what do you want to do?” I asked, trying to get a sense of how I would answer.
“I play a little guitar and I sing. I want to be a songwriter. I kinda write things by playing around, but I want to understand how music works so I know what I’m doing.”
My mind teleported back in time to the moment in my life when I decided to take on the financial burden of attending Berklee College of Music to pursue a career in music.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” my dad asked. He wasn’t optimistic about my chances of making a decent living in music.
My father, an extremely talented rock drummer, had spent the past two decades as a weekend warrior, performing in cover bands at local bars, church festivals, state fairs, and weddings.
While I had a deep admiration for my dad’s skills as a drummer, I chafed at the thought of performing for a small crowd of middle-aged people spilling beer on their shoes while shuffling side-to-side (dancing, I guess) to a cover of Meatloaf’s “Paradise By The Dashboard Light.” My pretensions of being an original artist led me to conclude that my path to commercial success lay in becoming a jazz musician (it’s okay, you can laugh).
His question wasn’t intended to dissuade me from pursuing music or going to college. He was concerned about me taking on a mountain of student debt without an economically viable way of recouping on my investment (my words, not his).
It didn’t help that my generation was professionally handicapped by the self-limiting ethos that art and commerce didn’t mix. As a teen, I was influenced by the punk mentality heralded by artists like Nirvana’s Kurt Cobain; Focusing on the business side of art made you a “sellout.” It would take years to shed this false belief and needless to say, it kept me poor and artistically unfulfilled.
My mind travelled forward a few weeks to the moment I walked into my Berklee dorm bathroom for the first time. On the wall near the toilet, hung a handwritten note that read “Pick One…” above two side-by-side rolls of toilet paper. In marker, someone had written the words “music diploma” on one roll, “songwriting degree” on the other.
While I don’t regret my decision to attend Berklee, not only was I not properly equipped with an approach to learn to improvise (a core ingredient of jazz performance), I was taught how the (now obsolete, pre-streaming service) record industry works, but not how to make money as a musical artist.
Sure, I could hear a song on the radio and immediately name the sequence of chords thanks to three semesters of ear training and contemporary music theory. I could conduct 3/4 time signature with one arm while conducting 4/4 with the other. I even gained more practical abilities, like dictating the music I wrote onto staff paper and charting out full band orchestrations.
But I had no clue how to earn a sustainable living as a performing musician.
My only model was my professors and they were paying the bills by teaching. This fact brings to mind the detestable saying, “those who can, do, and those who can’t, teach.” However, my professors included a roster of commercially and artistically successful musicians. They were in the camp of those who can and do and yet they also teach.
The problem was, the teachers didn’t share how they planned out tours, let alone how to at least break even after factoring in lodging, logistics, and bare necessities. Or how to avoid getting stiffed by club owners and what to do when it happens. They didn’t explain how to price your merch and cd’s (ha!) in a way that factors in the margins you need to make a profit from the costs of manufacturing, shipping, and selling these goods.
One of the worst, most impractical pieces of advice I ever received on campus came from a lecture in which Professor Livingston Taylor (songwriting brother of the better known James) brought in Aerosmith’s Steven Tyler to speak to us about the music industry.
When Professor Taylor asked Steven Tyler the secret to the Aerosmith’s longevity over the decades, Tyler spoke of the importance of “staying relevant.” As an example, he cited the band’s recent Super Bowl Half Time performance alongside the current pop stars of the day, ‘N Sync and Britney Spears. This prompted a smattering of booing from the student audience, to which Tyler shot back, “How many of you have a million dollars in your bank account.”
He wasn’t wrong, and these pairings of young and old artists have become regular fare for subsequent half time shows. Nonetheless, I felt the collective respect for Tyler lower several notches within the auditorium full of idealistic fledgling artists who had yet to face the real world challenge of balancing artistic integrity with the need to earn a living.
In my music business lectures, the impact of Napster (and eventually, Spotify) and the resulting commoditization of recorded music on musical artists was feared but not yet realized, and as a result, we weren’t equipped to pivot or prosper at its onset.
Instead, I learned the ins and outs of an A&R deal (aka getting signed by a record label). If you’re unfamiliar, this somewhat antiquated business model was once the yardstick of success for many musicians. The importance of getting an A&R deal was already in decline while I was studying it and today it’s unnecessary thanks to the ability for independent musicians to record, distribute, promote, and sell their music online.
Sure, I learned about copyright law, but no one connected the dots for us enough to explain why our copyrights were a potential source of significant income in the music publishing and licensing realm. We didn’t learn how to negotiate or evaluate contracts. No one touted the importance of the economic opportunity cost of the projects and gigs we pursued.
Artists tend to lack a tangible way of understanding the value of their time, let alone weigh the value of what they're getting paid for a gig, painting, or work for hire compared to the benefit of the next best alternative. Those who do mistakenly view the next best alternative to be akin to giving up, growing up, and getting a “real” job. In fact, most artists fail to see their artistic careers as a profession and a business or they buy into the false script of the starving artist.
This ultimately imposes limits to one’s pursuit and development of artistic expression. In fact, for many of us, it pushes us to either give up and relegate our art to hobby status or to take safe and less artistically fulfilling paths. The wedding photographer. The cover band. The commercial graphic designer.
I’m not trying to be condescending, I’ve worked each of these professions, I know the artistry that can exist within these gigs. My point is, we artists sometimes feel the only viable path is to curtail our BIG dream and settle for something financially safer that still uses our skills. It sorta scratches the itch. And then, at 44 years, we look at our deferred dream and wonder if we made the right decision.
… I looked up at Judah and delivered the advice I wish I had received at his age.
I shared how streaming services like Spotify are not a viable way to make money because 1) They pay only a fraction of a cent per stream, 2) most of the money goes to the record label (if you have one) before it gets to you, 3) Spotify’s payment calculations are largely skewed toward big name artists, leaving little to independent artists.
I shared how many artists barely break even when they tour due to travel, lodging, incidentals, and the occasional mishap.
I shared how, in just a few short months, I will finally pay off my significant student loan debt I acquired while attending 1.5 years of Berklee College of Music over twenty years ago.
But I didn’t want to crush his spirit or dissuade him from pursuing his dreams. I gave the most critical piece of advice I’d give any young artist who is driven to pursue their dream, regardless of the obstacles: Learn the business side of art or you will struggle to realize the full expression of the artistic side of your music.
He thanked me for answering his questions and offering my advice. I reopened my laptop and resumed typing.