Ep 13: Why Musicians Quit

In this episode, John tackles a side of the music life that can be tough to face. For some, it may hit close to home, especially if you’re finding yourself in a difficult spot or questioning where things are headed. But instead of avoiding it, John leans in with the kind of honest, practical questions that help you sort through the noise and move forward with intention. 

This episode isn’t just about why people quit. It’s about what you do when you feel yourself drifting in that direction. It’s about asking better questions before you make a decision you don’t fully understand.

Transcript

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You are listening to the Gig to Live Podcast. Welcome everyone. I'm John Foles. I am a full-time working musician. This podcast is where I share the strategies, the mindset, and the lessons that help performers build something that works and something that lasts. We'll talk about smart moves, self-inflicted wounds, happy clients, drunk patrons, more gigs, better gigs, what to keep, what to toss out. If you gig or you want to gig, this podcast is for you. Well, hello everyone, and welcome to episode 13. Why musicians quit. I'm really hoping this episode isn't a downer. I want to talk about some things that, frankly, are reasons people usually quit anything in life. And then some that I think are more specific to music, but they all count. And I want to ask some powerful questions about these things. Uh, they're things I've asked myself. I want to find some hope. I want to find some ways forward, especially for those of you that may be struggling. But if you're not in a spot where you feel like quitting uh and you think this might not apply to you, then I would ask you to take a listen anyway, because we're all human. And even if we feel like we're on top of our game, it's impossible to imagine being in a place where we're at the depths, but they happen for everyone, and sometimes they totally surprise us. And then one day you may find that you need some tools to help you. So stick around, please. I won't pretend to have the answer for every predicament that we find ourselves in. And while I can offer some insight from my own life, you're your own person, and it wouldn't be fair or wise for me to, you know, be prescriptive about what will work for you. And this this whole podcast is about advice. And I share a bunch of ideas, but the best way forward for all of us is to take what we know and to ask ourselves the question that surface the answers that work for us. The tragedy in any low spot in life is to stop exploring, to stop asking questions, and to just give up. So we are going to ask a lot of questions today. And I'd like to say this right at the top for some people, and I'm not saying it's you, it actually may be time to quit. Only you know that. And quitting anything is not failure. And we're going to come back to this at the end of the podcast again. But I want to say that failure is our own construct. We judge ourselves on the expectations of others or the expectations that we have put on ourselves. And certainly some things need to come to an end. They do come to an end. Maybe we could have worked harder, maybe not. But the failure game is brutal, and it's being unkind to ourselves to keep beating ourselves up and calling something a failure that's not. You know, I got fired from a job after three decades in that career, and for the first time in my life ever, I found myself saying, What in the world is going on? I am always the guy who's on top of my game. You know, John does not get fired. I was the guy who helped you succeed. And when it happened, they didn't give me great reasons. I mean, I I knew what was up, but there weren't specific reasons. They summed it up as having a difference in vision. My joke now on the other side of it is that they were exactly right. I had vision and they had none. Haha. But you know what? It it really hurt. And at first I thought I failed. I labeled it as failure. And I stayed there in that space, that failure space for a long time. Years, honestly. And I revisit it every once in a while, and I have to kill that inside of me. I kept asking myself what I could have done better. And to be fair, I I did come up with some things. I I could have listened better. I uh maybe I could have spoken more gently in certain moments. Uh, I could have been a little less full of myself at times. I can be a bit of a steamroller when I get fired up about a vision, and some people can get caught in my crossfire. I know these things are true about myself, but you know, none of it added up to you should be fired, in my estimation. It was all course correction stuff. It was growth stuff, personality conflict stuff, learning to work together better stuff. And what I eventually realized is this I didn't fail. I was good at what I did. We just didn't see things the same way. And when that kind of misalignment exists, it usually doesn't stay small. It leaks into the structure and it leaks into relationships and it builds tension until something gives. The bigger realization came much later. The things that mattered most to me, I would not have changed anyway. The mission, the direction, the way I showed up for uh uh for other people, the ideas I had, the playfulness that I brought to the team of people that I worked for and with, uh, the love for the community. I wouldn't trade any of those things to keep a position. And honestly, this sounds weird to say, but most people liked me. It was only a small handful of people that I clashed with. And so I had to completely rethink the word failure. We use that word way too quickly. Failure sounds like something is broken inside us, like something is wrong with us, like we came up short in some fundamental way. But most of the time, what we call failure, what we label as failure, isn't failure at all. It's just um an incongruency. It's a mismatch, it's a misalignment. And it's being in a place where who you are and what they want no longer fit together. Real failure, even though I hate that word, if there is such a thing, I think it's completely different. Real failure might look closer to when we stop telling ourselves the truth, when we refuse to learn new things, when we keep repeating patterns that hurt people, and we say, ah, that's just the way I am. That's the kind of falling short that can actually do damage in our lives. But losing a job because you and an organization don't see the world the same way, uh, that's not failure. That's clarity, even. Even if it shows up in a painful way, even if you feel betrayed. So yeah, I'm saying a lot about this at the top because I really believe strongly in this. Maybe you've tried gigging before and you felt like a failure. Let's call it the F-word. And maybe you're getting back up on the horse. Maybe you're thinking about transitioning out of music because you've been hitting walls and you feel like a failure. Well, I'm hoping that you can recast some of the ways that you're feeling in a different light. When my kids were young, my son played a bunch of sports. And one like spring and summer, my son wanted to try baseball. And so, you know, we were supportive parents and we we dove in. We did all the things. We were snack parents, we helped build the float for the city parade, we did the big opening day festivities, we were there all the time, elbows deep, barbecues at our house. We had a swimming pool, so it was a great spot to host a bunch of kids. But about halfway through one season, our son came to us and he told us he hated playing baseball. He thought it was boring. And he was visibly affected by the stress, the stress of telling us, and also the stress that he continued to carry because he stayed doing something he didn't think he should be doing anymore. He was crying when he told us about it. And the truth is we had a suspicion because we could we could tell he was losing interest. He didn't like getting dressed for practice or games, uh, you know, so it was hard to get out the door. He sighed a lot. He didn't have the same energy and the drive that he had, like other sports like soccer. And when he started, he was fired up. He was so excited for a new sport. He soaked in everything baseball and tried to be the best that he could be. But he got to a spot where he realized that it wasn't for him. And we asked him if he felt like he could finish the season, and he said he would try a little longer, but it kept getting worse. And so he ultimately just said, No, I want to quit. So we let him. Well, one night I get home and I had a message on the answering machine. Remember those? Cassette tape, rewind it. Uh, and the message was from his coach, and it was a tirade about us being irresponsible parents and how we were letting the team down and letting our son down because we weren't teaching him about resilience and follow-through. And I immediately called the coach. I didn't yell at him, I don't think. Well, if I didn't, I know I wanted to, and I imagined, you know, hitting a line drive baseball to the cup. Only a metaphor. Hallelujah. Just kidding. But I told him I strongly disagreed with him. First of all, it's a sport. It's a volunteer sport. A sport that we paid for. And secondly, I didn't need him telling me how to parent my child. Third, my son is nine years old at the time. It's not like he dropped out of college at the 11th hour, one class away from a degree after, you know, we spent hundreds of thousands of dollars and had some kind of an agreement. Uh fourth, the team was not going to be in dire straits. They had plenty of kids to play. It's not like there were only nine nine-year-old players, and my son quitting was going to cancel the season for everyone. They had an abundance of players. Quite frankly, uh, more people were going to get more playtime. Kids were probably excited. Finally, I thought there was a bigger lesson than resilience that he learned. He learned that he could walk away. He learned that he could always talk to his parents about anything. And then sometimes in life, we try things on for size and it just doesn't work. And sometimes it's healthy for us to recognize the stress is too much and we need to back off. And I told the coach all these things, and he hung up on me. All of that to say. The choice got down to wisdom, and we as a family made the best decision that we could for that scenario. I still to this day think it was best. I think that in life there are certainly times when we should persevere, we should get over a hump, we should find new tools, we should take advantage of growth opportunities and all of that good stuff because everything is hard at one time or another. We don't quit anything just because it gets hard. But sometimes we don't know exactly where we're at in the process. We don't know what part of the story that we're at. And so having good questions to ask ourselves is an amazing helpful tool. Uh, you know, if we continue in something out of fear or coercion or expectations of others or a lie that we've told ourselves, uh, something that we're masking and that we just soldier through, then it can be super dangerous to our health, not only our mental health, but our physical health and to our souls and to our identity and to our energy. So maybe you learned what you believe you were supposed to learn and you can move on with your head held high. And maybe a better opportunity presents itself and it's time to confidently walk through a new door. Maybe you tried it and decided it's not what you thought. But with both of those stories I told you, and I realize this is a long setup. My former employer and the baseball coach story, I've realized over the years that some people love to stand on the sidelines of our lives and tell us how we're doing. Maybe uh they see you struggle or even make a mistake and then they issue a verdict for you. But they're they're judging from the cheap seats. They don't have a finger on the pulse of what you are experiencing. Nobody gets to define whether you are winning or losing. Nobody puts baby in the corner. So some people unknowingly push people over the edge when they offer advice, when what we really need is someone to come along and ask powerful questions to help us see things from a different perspective, to gain clarity, to do a little course correction, maybe. And I don't know exactly where you are today, my friends. So with that said, let's unpack a top ten list. Let's ask some questions and help us move forward, help us be discerning. Drum roll, please. The top ten reasons musicians quit. Number ten money. You haul gear, you practice for years, you drive hours, you market yourself constantly, and the pay still feels like side hustle money. It feels like mad money. The money you make doesn't match the effort, and it it doesn't seem to be getting any better. Truth be told, this is not just a music-specific problem. A ton of jobs feel like there's too much month at the end of the money. So uh not telling you what you should do, but here are some questions to ask in regard to money. Should I raise my rates? Should I get another job? Should I diversify within this job? And I talk a lot about diversification, by the way, in episode four, diversify or die. I highly recommend giving that a listen. Should I stay local? Here's a big one. Should I change my lifestyle and cut things from my budget? Should I live a more humble existence? Someone once told me there are two ways to make the money work. You either make more of it or you spend less of it. So those are some good questions to start with. Number nine. It's it's akin. It's the kissing cousin of the last one, but it's different. Number nine. Inconsistent money. You may find that you go through seasons where the money is insanely good. You feel like a rock star. Like a you know, it's a summer on the beach where everyone's hiring you, and then you hit winter when everything closes and it's a barren wasteland, and you start to get behind on your bills and start arguing with your spouse. So here's some good questions to ask. Am I living within my means? Am I saving for the tough times? Is it even possible to save for the tough times? Can I work a seasonal job to shure up things in the tight months? Is my spouse or my significant other currently working and might they consider helping to shure things up? Are there opportunities to play in places that I haven't thought of before? Can I create my own musical income stream? Can I sell off some gear? Should I see a financial counselor that's gonna help me with my budget? Do I have a budget? Do I know where my money is even going? Alright. Number eight. You're just too tired. It's less glamorous than it was when you first started, and the late nights and the long drives and the hauling gear is burning you out. And burnout's not just a music thing, but let's be honest, it's one of the careers that is most apt to make you tired. The emotional energy on top of the physical stress can sometimes feel insurmountable. So here's some good questions to ask as you move forward. If you feel tired, ask, when's the last time I rested? Seems like a duh, but we don't always ask ourselves, we don't always take good care of ourselves, right? Do I ever take time to rest as part of my routine? And we're gonna have an episode coming up on rest, I promise. I am a big believer in this. Can I decipher between mental fatigue and physical physical fatigue? Um, is this the kind of work for me, or am I more suited to this as a hobby? If I could reduce my workload, would I still feel tired? Am I bored? And I need to switch things up? Do I feel like I have lost my sense of purpose and I should talk to a therapist? Uh what's the part of this that I really care about and can I salvage that part? Or should I pivot? Can I reinvent myself? Am I eating and exercising right? Am I okay trying uh uh uh uh you know for a longer period of time? Can I stick it out just a little bit longer? And if so, am I willing to put a uh an end date on that time? Do I feel obligated to do this now? Or does it still feel like a choice to me? Somebody once told me that the good definition of wealth is when you still have choices. When you run out of choices, man, you can you can feel like you're in a real poor spot, right? What conversations should I have to help me decipher what's going on? Who else do I need to bring into this conversation with me? So that's number eight. Number seven, feeling undervalued. Some of us not only get a thrill from playing music because it's fulfilling in and of itself, but we have this spot inside of us that wants connection with other people. You know, we we share a song, a story, because we are deep down, we're hoping someone else responds to it. There's something about seeing those heads nod, seeing those smiles, hearing those attaboys, seeing those tears. And oftentimes, musicians will feel like those times are few and far between. And so maybe you start feeling like you're just a jukebox, you're just a hired hand, you're just background noise. And you know what? You could get that anywhere. You could feel like that anywhere. So it starts to feel yucky. So maybe ask yourself these questions. Again, these are all questions I have asked myself from time to time, not only with music, but with with other career choices and other things I've decided to do in life. Here's the questions. Are my expectations fair for the room? Are my expectations fair for the venue? Where do I feel most alive? When is the last time I revamped my set and it gave me energy? Is it possible to play more intimate environments that lend themselves to interaction with people and I can I can read the room better? If I play solo, might I find camaraderie playing with another person? What kind Of interaction would make me satisfied? Am I overworked to the point of feeling disconnected? Do I take time to shake hands in the crowd and have conversations before and after or on breaks? And if I do something like that, do I think that might help? And then I also think another important one is how are my relationships outside of gigging? You know, we just want to beware that we're not getting all of our, you know, all of our relational food and uh all of our value from what happens with our gigging career. Number six. Too many bad experiences, you know, empty rooms, loud crowds that just don't care, uh, venues that don't promote the shows, owners that don't listen, bad tips, late nights, broken equipment, mean people. A lot of things can make a gig go sideways. And one of the things that keeps me from spiraling, and I have before, but one of the things that keeps me from spiraling is realizing that those kinds of things, those issues, are generally not specific to musicians. Every job has a suck quotient when all of the bad things add up. So, some questions that have helped me along the way. What part is actually in my control? Because identifying those things is really good to know so we can evaluate them and weigh them against the things that we can control where we may be needing to put some more focus. Uh, some things are just part of the jobs, you know, part of the job. But oftentimes, if we work on the things that we can control, then it makes up for the sucky parts. So am I tolerating something I shouldn't? And might addressing it make a difference? Do I need to confront any bad behaviors by others, or do I need to just move on? Am I avoiding a hard choice like raising my rates or setting boundaries or you know, dropping venues, playing a new town? Uh what am I doing prior to the experience to help or to hinder? Number five, the toll. Uh this is different than being tired. Uh it's related, but you know, maybe it's physical, maybe it's mental. But performance and gigging life is no joke for the toll that it can take on us. Uh heavy equipment can ruin backs and arms, your voice may get strained. Mine is strained a little bit right now, actually. Your neck hurts from banging your head, uh, your ears are ringing, your feet are sore from standing, your sleep cycles have been destroyed. The mental strain is even worse. All of the tiny things from rejection to, you know, identity crisis to relationship strain to money issues to the constant push, and it it really can't be ignored. Whether it's physical or it's mental or it's both, musicians have serious questions to ask ourselves if we're going to sustain anything, if we're going to be able to do a reality check and see if something needs to change. Every job has physical and mental fallout, but plain music is different. It's different than a nine to five job as far as the emotional and the physical strain, and don't let anybody tell you different. Everything falls on you. The schedule's demanding, you're always chasing the next gig. There's no safety net or security things like vacation pay or health insurance or PTO. The feedback from people is immediately felt, uh, you know, a lot of the times, and it's not always as stellar as we'd like. There isn't really a scoreboard except for the ones that we make for ourselves, and we'll talk about that in another episode. And we are the product. This is the big thing, right? We aren't selling widgets. Our taste, our voice, our ability, our presence, our style, our vibe, it's all very personal. If if I sell a physical product and somebody puts it down, that's fine. That's on them. I mean, I guess unless, you know, I handcrafted the product, then you know, that carries some weight. But let's say I just sell Ford trucks and someone hates Ford because their daddy always drove a Chevy. Well then, big deal. Eventually somebody is going to buy a shiny Ford from me. And when I am the product on the showroom floor, and people judge me, that's steep. Even if it's a a mental hurdle, it quickly becomes physical and we feel it in our bones, and it it can and it does eventually take people down. Are we taking care of our eating then? Hydration, sleeping needs? Are we neglecting something we we know that we need in our lives? Are we seeing a doctor? Might we benefit from having a therapist if we don't already have one? Uh are we taking any medications that we should be taking? Do we calendar time for ourselves? Are we giving our spouses or our significant others the time that they need? And in return, is that feeding our souls? Do we schedule time for rest? I'm really looking forward to a whole episode on rest. Do we exercise? Are there stretches we can be doing? Do we ever schedule a massage? Take a visit to the chiropractor? Do we have any spiritual practices that we've been ignoring? If we don't have any practices, might it be time to investigate what that might look like for us? All right. Number four. Relationship strain. Your friends want to get together for dinner, and everyone's available on Friday night. Friday! And you say you aren't available. Well, how about Saturday, they ask? Well, Fridays and Saturdays are the two biggest days of the week for a musician. And you don't work a nine to five, your weekend looks much different. Or your spouse or your significant other wants to go on vacation and they they work a nine to five. And you work the weekends and some private parties throughout the week, you play in some retirement communities throughout the week, and maybe you do some singing telegrams, but they have vacation time and vacation pay. And when you go on vacation, it not only costs the money that you drain from your account, but you also have the money that you missed out on that weekend. Or your wife or your husband works long hours and at night they just want to come home and relax. They want they want to have a cocktail, they want to eat dinner together. And just about the time that they're pouring a glass of wine or making a cocktail, you are loading your gear in the car. The truth is you can't pretend that the schedule is going to change. If you do, then then you're fooling yourself. The musician lifestyle is not what some would call normal. It is life in the upside down. My wife and I have learned that, and we we've learned that we need to be super proactive to be on top of this. Is if it's not on the calendar, then it doesn't happen. So, you know, I'm scheduling gigs six months in advance, at least. Our calendar meetings consist of talking about vacations and time with friends a year in advance. So I don't schedule gigs when we want to be away together. And while my friends understand my schedule, it's still tough. Uh, and it there's a there was a bit of a learning curve, but it's still tough, you know. We make it work by being proactive. But do I have to miss spontaneous events with friends? Yeah, I do. And sometimes my friends uh move the event to a place where I'm playing, and that's super fun, so we can be together. Sometimes my friends, though, they have house parties and they go to concerts and they they go out for a drink, they have a game night, and I'm not there. But you know what? That happens in every job. It's just that our job requires more planning. So we need to ask ourselves some questions. Have I had a serious talk with my friends and my family about what it takes to do this job without having it, you know, to come up in the heat of battle? Am I being proactive to make sure I'm giving my friends and my family what they need from me? Am I letting them know how much I need them? Do my friends and my family support me in what I'm doing? Have I ever asked them what they need from me to make things work better? Am I willing to make some sacrifices with some planning ahead? Am I prepared that some of my relationships may actually change forever? Am I fully present when I am with my friends and family? I think these are all really important. Number three. Unrealistic expectations. I want you to succeed. I want me to succeed. That's why I started this podcast so we can all get better at our craft. And honestly, as I talk through these things, it it helps me. It's like self-medicating, you know. I get to toss these things around and remind myself of what I really believe. And I'm often saddened when I see someone hitting a wall, and I know it's because no one told them that it was going to be like this. You know, maybe they grew up on American Idol and Survivor, where people play games and become millionaires and people hand them record contracts, and they did karaoke a few times, and their friends told them they should do music full time, or they sang at their church, and everyone told them they're a gift from God, and their voice was a cross between Fergie and Jesus. Um, stepbrothers reference, by the way. Or, you know, it's on the other end of the continuum. They're a well-seasoned musician. They know how to command a room, they're awesome at their craft, and then they just decided to do it full time and they quit their nine to five, not counting the cost. And they weren't prepared to be a business person, and now all of a sudden it doesn't feel fun anymore. Or, you know, some other version of some story with unfair and unrealistic expectations. So here's some gut check questions for us. Uh, am I expecting consistency in a non-consistent business? Do I need to take business courses online or in person? Do I need a manager? Am I expecting every opportunity that comes along to be a yes? Am I believing my talent is enough to get discovered? Do I know what it means in my mind to make it? Do I know what fulfills me? What does fulfill me? Am I afraid of taking a break because I think it might all fall apart? Am I honest about my level of skill? What kind of a musician am I and what stages are best fit for me? Do I seek external validation to a fault? What are the stories that I'm telling myself? Am I working the business or is the business working me? Have I listened to all of the episodes of the Gig to Live podcast? I'm only I'm halfway joking there, but honestly, that's why I do it. I think we have some good information to talk through. Number two. People are exhausting. Music is the people business. People are beautiful and they're strange and they're odd and they're quirky and they're demanding and they're super sweet and they're unkind and they're downright brutal sometimes. And they're really kind to us, and they're encouraging, and they're total poo-heads. All of it. And if we let people have control of our headspace and dictate our energy, then we are certainly going to collapse. Because this job is not just about music, it's about people management. And this is why, you know, I'm convinced some artists make it big and then they disappear from public life. They become reclusive. It's because of other people. And the older I get, the more I become introverted. People don't give me energy like they used to. I really do love people, but not in the same way I used to love being around them, at least. I don't get the same energy. And I I love being on stage with a room full of people. That is awesome. But conversations with strangers after the show, you know, they don't hit the same anymore for me. I'm tired. And you could be a total introvert and you can hide on a stage. And that's not bad. It's really good to recognize that. There are a few things we can ask ourselves to keep all the people's stuff in check so we're full of life and energy and loving people in ways that, you know, don't beat us up and make us want to hang up our tight pants. So am I just too overexposed? Do I have too many gigs? Too many gigs in crowded places? Can I identify the kind of interaction that drains me and can I avoid that? Can I only play venues where I'm removed from having to interact too much with people? Uh if it's drunk people that grate on me, should I stick to the venues where it's less likely to happen? Am I trying to win everyone over? Do I need everyone to like me? What fills me back up and am I avoiding that? Do I need someone with me at my gigs to help manage people? What are my social media habits and how might that be affecting me? How am I spending my breaks? How am I preparing myself beforehand? Have I thought through good answers to questions that people ask that exhaust me? Number one. They realize they made a mistake. And now we're kind of coming full circle here. The gigging business is not for everyone. It's okay to realize that. It doesn't make anyone less than. It doesn't mean you failed the F-word. You have permission to tell yourself the truth. And maybe your music story doesn't match the story you have in your head or it looks way different than the path you imagined. Sometimes the most honorable thing anyone can do, rather than sticking to anything because of internal or external pressures, is to make a change. And if you sunset your gigging career in the way that you've been trying, then life isn't over for you. Music doesn't go away. It's a beautiful part of you. So maybe it turns into something completely different, like just playing for friends or doing private parties as they come along, or just letting it fill your soul on your own front porch, or joining other musicians as a guest and letting them do all the heavy lifting. Maybe you shift. Maybe you go into songwriting, management, become an engineer. Uh you start a recording study studio or you work at one, or you get into running sound, or you become a booking agent or a coach or an event promoter. Maybe you take a break and you start fresh down the road. So ask yourself: do I need to redefine my relationship with music? Do I fit better in a different role? What's enough for me? What else fuels me besides the stage? Do I need professional assistance to figure it out? I think they're all good questions. And there we have it. For today, I really appreciate you all. Have you told your friends about this podcast? I think that's the greatest thing. I ran into a buddy last night who was playing a gig. I got to see him play one song at the end of my gig, and he told me that he has told a few of his friends. Oh man, I love that so much. Thanks, Randy. I would love it if you would share this podcast with people. Subscribe, rate it, please, but even better, tell a friend. Is there something you want me to talk about? Is there someone I should interview next? We've got some great interviews coming up. Oh my goodness. Then email me at gig to live podcast at gmail dot com. And remember, stay creative, stay after it, stay hired. Let me live.