One of the most vexing problems a professional musician faces is a game plan. How much more effort can he or she expend in searches for paid gigs? When you’re young and much hungrier there is a deep well of enthusiasm for the quest. Some musicians I’ve known over the years have obviously worked out the delicate combination of persistence, confidence, friendliness and tamping back doubt. Ultimately, the most successful ones share something that cannot be taught: the suspension of the rejection as a personal affront. That starts with getting one’s ego under control.
“If only I could make them understand just how much their business would benefit by letting me contribute to the ambiance of their establishment.”
In the beginning anyway, you figure that’s what the owner or manager wants to hear and on the surface you’d be right. The problem is – they’ve heard it all before and reality vs promises is something they’ve experienced, most likely more than a few times. There are other strategies of course and none is better than having someone already employed by the establishment vouch for your talent, experience and ability. There is also the idea that offering an appearance or two without charge might be enough to keep the door open. But that is dangerous in many ways and will be the subject of another blog entry in the near future.
As the years and then decades pass those rejections begin to be more tolerable, at least from a more practical point of view, i.e., there are always more places to play. Timing can be hugely important. More than once I’ve gotten a gig by being the first one who walked through the door at a moment in time when an establishment has decided to add or resume live music but of course that is pure luck.
This outlook can only be attained based on long-term experiences, good and bad. Back in the early 1970s I was camping with some friends at a campground in Acadia National Park in Maine. A middle-aged guy was in the campsite next to us and when he heard the guitar music coming from next door he walked over. Turns out he was a professional musician, a drummer who had worked with some pretty well-known groups over the years, both on the road and in the studio. We asked him how he ended up at a secluded campsite in northern Maine. He basically mumbled something about needing a break from his busy schedule and after playing some gigs in Boston he just got in his car and headed north with no set plans about how long his break would be.
This we found a bit strange. If he could easily get gigs whenever he wanted, why the heck wasn’t he back at it? Basically, he said, I just couldn’t face another session or gig playing with some young group who had neither the drive nor the temperament (or talent) to move away from the lightweight pop music.
Well, said I with all the confidence and ignorance of youth, you would never catch ME playing music I hated even if there was serious money involved.
Mr. Drummer just shook his head and I detected more than a little disdain as he said: “Well…OK… I remember saying just about the very same thing thirty years ago when I decided to try breaking into that tight circle of so-called “professional” musicians. I wish you luck maintaining that lofty goal. Really, I do! Because the fact is, ‘luck’ isn’t as random as you might think.”
With that, Mr. Drummer got up from his chair and began heading back to his campsite. We shook our heads and proclaimed – he’s just jaded. It’s so sad that he seems to have totally lost touch with the reason he started playing in the first place. In retrospect I’m pretty sure he was hoping to hook up with some young hippie-ish girl who took the “Make Love, not WAR!” moto literally and would gladly jump into his sleeping bag. That’s what numerous magazine articles of the time had pretty much confirmed, right?! But alas, all the hippie chicks around that campfire were spoken for and frankly had no interest in some cynical middle-aged dude who may have looked alarmingly like their father.
But I’ve never forgotten what he said and over the many years since that evening his words made more and more sense. Or as Mr. Dylan put it so well: “I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.” These days a rejection doesn’t put me in a state of minor depression for a few days or longer. The let-down is always there, make no mistake, but I handle it much, much better than I did in my youth. All it really took was confidence that a rejection was not personal. I’ve learned that a hard ‘no’ may very well involve private decisions or situations the owner or manager may be dealing with and have no explanation. In fact, that truth is almost always lurking close to the front of my brain, especially when the establishment is brand new or has undergone a complete personality change with new management. It’s likely that unrealistic promises won’t help you land that gig and if you do, the owner expects a full house from the first gig and onward, which in a totally seasonal area like Cape Cod is virtually impossible. So, who takes the blame for that? I’m guessing you can guess.
As some reading this know, I had a dream gig for a bit over 13 years. Just about every Sunday over those years I played at the (old) Daily Brew café, only a 15-minute drive from my home. Because I was playing in a very small space inside there was no need to haul heavy amps or a PA system. I expanded my set-up a bit during summer and early fall when I played outside on the back deck but it was still a relatively simple exercise. The owner gave me free reign in terms of the music I played and I was keenly aware that volume control was very important. I had to accept the fact that it was definitely NOT a concert and for much of the time my function was not much more than helping fill in the gaps in conversation.
This proved to be an excellent opportunity to take a step or two back and try to make my ego accept and understand the reality of the necessities and requirements of being a professional musician on the local level. I learned a few things over those years that served me well. If there was just one person who was actually listening intently I would make believe that person was my only audience and I owed that person my best possible performance. Another important lesson: It was quite likely there were others listening but not responding until they walked past me to the door and said something to the effect of – Nice set! I really enjoyed your music!
See! said my ego. See!! You DID accomplish what you set out to do. You added something positive to the ambiance and there WERE people who understood why I sat there week after week, year after year. So I just keep plugging away, chasing down rumors of new playing opportunities and leveraging gigs I do play by asking the people hiring me to please recommend me to others.
Never, ever take a steady gig for granted. Treat every chance to put your music in front of people as something very special, something that very few people get to experience.
Peace & good music,
Gene
“If only I could make them understand just how much their business would benefit by letting me contribute to the ambiance of their establishment.”
In the beginning anyway, you figure that’s what the owner or manager wants to hear and on the surface you’d be right. The problem is – they’ve heard it all before and reality vs promises is something they’ve experienced, most likely more than a few times. There are other strategies of course and none is better than having someone already employed by the establishment vouch for your talent, experience and ability. There is also the idea that offering an appearance or two without charge might be enough to keep the door open. But that is dangerous in many ways and will be the subject of another blog entry in the near future.
As the years and then decades pass those rejections begin to be more tolerable, at least from a more practical point of view, i.e., there are always more places to play. Timing can be hugely important. More than once I’ve gotten a gig by being the first one who walked through the door at a moment in time when an establishment has decided to add or resume live music but of course that is pure luck.
This outlook can only be attained based on long-term experiences, good and bad. Back in the early 1970s I was camping with some friends at a campground in Acadia National Park in Maine. A middle-aged guy was in the campsite next to us and when he heard the guitar music coming from next door he walked over. Turns out he was a professional musician, a drummer who had worked with some pretty well-known groups over the years, both on the road and in the studio. We asked him how he ended up at a secluded campsite in northern Maine. He basically mumbled something about needing a break from his busy schedule and after playing some gigs in Boston he just got in his car and headed north with no set plans about how long his break would be.
This we found a bit strange. If he could easily get gigs whenever he wanted, why the heck wasn’t he back at it? Basically, he said, I just couldn’t face another session or gig playing with some young group who had neither the drive nor the temperament (or talent) to move away from the lightweight pop music.
Well, said I with all the confidence and ignorance of youth, you would never catch ME playing music I hated even if there was serious money involved.
Mr. Drummer just shook his head and I detected more than a little disdain as he said: “Well…OK… I remember saying just about the very same thing thirty years ago when I decided to try breaking into that tight circle of so-called “professional” musicians. I wish you luck maintaining that lofty goal. Really, I do! Because the fact is, ‘luck’ isn’t as random as you might think.”
With that, Mr. Drummer got up from his chair and began heading back to his campsite. We shook our heads and proclaimed – he’s just jaded. It’s so sad that he seems to have totally lost touch with the reason he started playing in the first place. In retrospect I’m pretty sure he was hoping to hook up with some young hippie-ish girl who took the “Make Love, not WAR!” moto literally and would gladly jump into his sleeping bag. That’s what numerous magazine articles of the time had pretty much confirmed, right?! But alas, all the hippie chicks around that campfire were spoken for and frankly had no interest in some cynical middle-aged dude who may have looked alarmingly like their father.
But I’ve never forgotten what he said and over the many years since that evening his words made more and more sense. Or as Mr. Dylan put it so well: “I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.” These days a rejection doesn’t put me in a state of minor depression for a few days or longer. The let-down is always there, make no mistake, but I handle it much, much better than I did in my youth. All it really took was confidence that a rejection was not personal. I’ve learned that a hard ‘no’ may very well involve private decisions or situations the owner or manager may be dealing with and have no explanation. In fact, that truth is almost always lurking close to the front of my brain, especially when the establishment is brand new or has undergone a complete personality change with new management. It’s likely that unrealistic promises won’t help you land that gig and if you do, the owner expects a full house from the first gig and onward, which in a totally seasonal area like Cape Cod is virtually impossible. So, who takes the blame for that? I’m guessing you can guess.
As some reading this know, I had a dream gig for a bit over 13 years. Just about every Sunday over those years I played at the (old) Daily Brew café, only a 15-minute drive from my home. Because I was playing in a very small space inside there was no need to haul heavy amps or a PA system. I expanded my set-up a bit during summer and early fall when I played outside on the back deck but it was still a relatively simple exercise. The owner gave me free reign in terms of the music I played and I was keenly aware that volume control was very important. I had to accept the fact that it was definitely NOT a concert and for much of the time my function was not much more than helping fill in the gaps in conversation.
This proved to be an excellent opportunity to take a step or two back and try to make my ego accept and understand the reality of the necessities and requirements of being a professional musician on the local level. I learned a few things over those years that served me well. If there was just one person who was actually listening intently I would make believe that person was my only audience and I owed that person my best possible performance. Another important lesson: It was quite likely there were others listening but not responding until they walked past me to the door and said something to the effect of – Nice set! I really enjoyed your music!
See! said my ego. See!! You DID accomplish what you set out to do. You added something positive to the ambiance and there WERE people who understood why I sat there week after week, year after year. So I just keep plugging away, chasing down rumors of new playing opportunities and leveraging gigs I do play by asking the people hiring me to please recommend me to others.
Never, ever take a steady gig for granted. Treat every chance to put your music in front of people as something very special, something that very few people get to experience.
Peace & good music,
Gene
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