 I was told, early and often, that a successful musician goes through life with his instrument (or in this case, microphone) in one hand and a briefcase in the other. The briefcase, heavy with symbolism, is a signifier for one’s commitment to the business side of music. Many artists, musicians among them, try to remain aloof from the nuts and bolts, dollars and cents side of their craft, usually to their detriment.
Why is that? It seems natural to the scheme of things in a well-ordered universe that those favored with talent and ability should have gigs showered upon them and that the fruits of those gigs, bucks and glory, should automatically ensue. I know that you’ve already parsed and snorted at that concept, those of you who’ve trod the path of music as a profession, since we don’t live in a world that’s tailored for, or one that is especially sympathetic to artists.
Ever since the death of Haydn, which sort of signaled the end of the happy, court-subsidized musician, we’ve been forced to exist at the bumpy crossroads of art and commerce, a most unhappy intersection that tries to quantify talent in dollars and impels the artist to wear a hat, or in this case carry a briefcase, that in most cases is not of his choosing.
I am going to resist my chronic temptation to rant about record labels and other various parasitic institutions that trammel the life of the musician. Rather, I believe that there are certain baselines that one must establish for oneself prior to grabbing the symbolic briefcase and playing in traffic.
Nearly everyone I’ve ever known, at least in our society, has some kind of kink around money. Often our parents’ attitudes toward money have colored our own, or we have accepted some preconception about money that makes our interaction with it somewhat strained. Most of us possess unconscious (and often fear-based) assumptions about money – what it is, what it means, its relative importance to us as individuals, what its possession or lack thereof signifies about us as people. We tend not to examine these deeply held beliefs, and most of us act out these beliefs over the course of our lives. I would urge you to do a little self-inventory around money. You might be surprised at what you dig up. Some people believe that money is inherently evil and fear it; others hold that it is inherently good. Some fear that having too much is immoral (and how much is too much?) or that being broke makes one an abject failure in life. Happiness quotients are irrationally tied to money too. How many of us have told ourselves that we won’t be happy ‘til we’ve made x dollars? How many of us have finally amassed our ‘happiness wad’, only to find that we’re still the same, and still unhappy or unfulfilled?
I would like to suggest that all of our myths around money are just that – fictions. I think of money simply as a form of energy, and as such it is neither inherently good nor inherently bad. As an illustration, look at fire, another form of energy. Fire doesn’t have an inherent bias. It can cook your dinner or keep you warm or burn down your house. It’s just energy. The Protestant ethic that pervades our culture sees financial prosperity as a form of God’s favor, and its lack as a testimony to sloth and worse. How would it feel if you saw money merely as an energy with neither positive nor negative charge? When you work and are paid for your work, is that not an exchange of energy? Your time and effort have been recompensed with the ability to sustain yourself, to buy food and shelter and toys. That’s an energy exchange. Maybe you don’t feel adequately compensated for the energy you put into your work, and that the exchange of energy is not a balanced equation. You wouldn’t be alone, as so many feel underpaid for the work they do. Which brings me to the next, and perhaps most salient question you can ask yourself – What are you worth?
Only you can determine what you are worth. In the business of music, you alone can set a value on your time and abilities. The music business does not typically reward and recognize talent for the sake of itself. I wish it did. Our society as a whole does not venerate art or artists, so the artist must value herself, and be unafraid to ask for what she feels that she is worth. You may not get it, but it’s a certainty that you won’t get it if you peg your worth too low. I was once asked point-blank what I thought I was worth. I hemmed and hawed and coughed and dissembled and could not ultimately answer the question. I may have had an arbitrary dollar amount in my head but was too hung up to name it. The questioner watched my discomfort with some amusement, and let me get to the point at which I said, “Uh, I guess that I don’t know what I’m worth.” He laughed and told me that the answer to the question of what I was worth was “whatever you can get.” At the time I found the answer to be jarring, mercenary, un-artistic, and crude, but it proved out over time. You, as an artist, must establish your own worth. The business will always try to get the most out of you for the least compensation, and your sense of your own worth may be the only thing that ultimately brings you what you feel that you deserve.
What you feel that you are worth is intimately tied to your unconscious convictions about money. Once you unearth your feelings about dough, the next task is to find the neutral zone from which you can act freely. In that space you don’t feel good or bad about money. It’s just energy – stuff. I once had a semi-yucky job selling high-end stereo gear, and it accomplished the task of helping me to find the neutral zone. At first I was embarrassed at the price tags and too cowed to haggle with customers. After a while I lost the sensitivity to money as a personal, moral, or social issue. I realized that money is just money, and we attach all sorts of judgments to it that get in the way of dealing with it effectively and efficiently.
If you find yourself asking questions like ‘What should we charge for gigs?’ you are a prime candidate for a little self-analysis around money. When you find yourself standing at the intersection of art and business, you will be asked to define your worth, and your worth will inevitably be challenged. Your internal sense of your worth as an artist can be your strongest ally at the bargaining table.
Only you can decide if a gig is worth it. If what is being offered to you feels inadequate, you must decide if accepting the gig is going to make you feel better or worse about yourself as an artist. If you are in the phase of career building that dictates that you do every gig that comes along, accept that as part of the process, but don’t gripe that you’re not getting enough for your work. You will know if you have violated your own integrity if you feel abused or taken advantage of. Don’t beat yourself up if that happens. Just take note and try not to repeat the mistake. Again, you are far less likely to be one of the numerous smoking wrecks that litter our metaphorical art/commerce intersection if you take some time and get clear about your relationship with money. You may be very surprised at what you uncover, and also pleasantly surprised at the freedom you may find as a result of your inquiry.
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