Ep 32: Perspective in The Suck

In this episode, John takes a look at a reality that applies to just about every line of work: every job has a component called "The Suck." Even careers we love come with parts we'd rather skip.

The challenge isn't eliminating The Suck. The challenge is keeping it in perspective. John shares ten common frustrations musicians face and explores how a simple shift in mindset can change the way we experience them. 

Transcript

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You are listening to the Gig to Live Podcast. Welcome everyone. I'm John Foles and I'm a full-time working musician. This podcast is about building a music life that holds up over time. It's practical, enjoyable, sometimes uncomfortable, but it's always about helping you stay in the game and actually enjoy the life that you're building. We'll meet some wonderful working musicians from time to time. So whether you're just getting started or you've been doing this for years, you're in the right spot. This podcast is for you. Hey everyone. Right at the top today, I have a favor to ask you. I want to ask you to subscribe to this podcast wherever you listen. Subscribe, like, follow, give it a good rating, all of the things. And please tell your friends, I know some of you are, and I really appreciate that. I would like to see this podcast grow. If you find it helpful at all, please do this for me. I appreciate you. The other night was a beautiful night outside. People were out in town, they were walking around, having cocktails on the street of the town I was playing in because they have a social district where you can walk around and consume alcohol. Kids were riding scooters around, people were shopping, the sun was on its way down, the sun was positioned in the western half of the sky, so one side of the street was shaded, and it still had about three hours before it set. It was warm, it wasn't hot, it was really a perfect night. And I started to unload my equipment and I was kind of whiny. I was tired because it was my second gig of the day and I wanted to go home. And as I was wallowing, I also chuckled to myself because I know this. Every job, even if it's one you really enjoy and are thankful to be doing, every job has a part that we call the suck. Just because you enjoy gigging and playing music does not mean that you have to love every part of it. You can love teaching and hate grading papers. You can love driving a truck and hate how your lower back sometimes hurts. You can love owning a restaurant and hate dealing with the reviews. I've never met anyone who absolutely loves every part of their job. Not for the long haul anyway. Sometimes I hear people talk about how they love their their job. They love everything about their job, and then I realize, oh, they're just in the honeymoon phase. Over time, you start to realize the suck. I was talking to a friend about having a positive outlook about the sucky things in music, and they accused me of masking. They said I was practicing toxic positivity. Well, okay. They have an unfair and erroneous definition of toxic positivity. Toxic positivity is when you deny that things suck at all. You put a spin on every negative thing and you don't acknowledge the pain. I used to see toxic positivity all the time in the culture that I grew up in and that I once existed in. Someone loses their job after 30 years and they hear someone say, Oh, you know, everything happens for a reason. A person is grieving a death and hears, well, at least they're in a better place. Oh, please. A musician gets treated poorly by a venue and they're told, Well, just be grateful that you have a gig. Or someone's depressed and hears, you know, just focus on the positive. That stuff is stupid and not helpful at all. That is indeed toxic. Toxic positivity denies the reality of the situation. And it's dangerous. It's a dangerous thing for our mental health when we try to convince ourselves, you know, this doesn't bother me. I'm not tired. Everything is great. That is masking. The problem doesn't disappear. It goes underground like a root that eventually tears up your foundation and your driveway down the road a bit, and then it starts to tear down your neighbor's fence. It starts to affect other people. I'm suggesting that we reframe and reorient the reality that we're in. Well, reframing looks like I'm tired, but this is part of the life I choose. Loading gear sucks, but it leads to a performance that I enjoy. This task is annoying, but it's temporary. That's the reframing. The reorientation part comes with reminding ourselves of the important bigger picture, like I'm doing this because it supports my family, or I'm doing this because it's my lifelong dream. Or I'm doing this because this gig gives me freedom I wouldn't have in another job. I'm doing this because fill in the blank. And maybe reorientation looks like asking ourselves a simple question like, is there something I need to change to make this suck less as I enjoy what I love? It really gets down to perspective. Perspective, that's what we want. Perspective helps us endure what we need to endure at the time. We can always problem solve what we may need to change. I think that we are the healthiest when we do both of these things. We find our perspective and we problem solve. So without further ado, which by the way, this is the only time I ever use the word ado, how about a top ten list? Drum roll please. The top ten things that suck and finding perspective. As we go through this list, we're going to talk about the fatigue and the perspective. So the thing that sucks and how we can look at it perhaps in a different way. Number one songs you're tired of playing. Okay, where's the fatigue? Well, you've played the same songs hundreds or thousands of times, at least it feels that way. Now let's talk about the perspective. Remember that you're not playing it just for yourself. You're playing it for the people in the audience, but not only that, you're playing it for the person that is hearing it live for the first time. Focus on their experience rather than your familiarity with the song. I have to play this mind game with myself often. I remember why I added the song in the first place. I say to myself, John, you only add good songs. This song isn't old, it's only old to you. And sometimes I'll change the arrangement of the song, I'll slow it down, I'll speed it up, I'll mute the strings and lay down a looping scratchy rhythm. I'll change the key, I'll finger pick instead of strum or I'll strum instead of finger pick. Sometimes I'll rest it for a month and then I'll bring it back. But that's how I find perspective with the songs that I'm tired of playing. Number two. Playing the same venues. Where's the fatigue? Well, it's another night at the same brewery, the same winery, the same restaurant. You've been there you can't even count how many times. Now how do we find the perspective? Look for what's different instead of what's familiar. Because there's different people, different moods, different opportunities. Ask if you can set up in a different area, or if you orient yourself on the stage differently, how might that look? Bring some new stage props. Wear a new hat. Get different lighting, a different rug to stand on. Dress up the stage. Don't order your same drink and your same food. Change it up. Try something new on the menu. Make sure you walk in with at least three new songs to that restaurant. Keep track of the songs you did the last time you played there and don't repeat them. Think through your set list each time you play rather than referencing the song list that you've been using. Ask your fans on social media before the gig even starts what song they would like to hear you play at the venue and then prepare for it. Number three. Loading and unloading gear. Where's the fatigue? The constant setup and teardown, the monotony and sometimes the exhaustion. How do you find the perspective? View it as proof that you're actively working as a musician. The gear only gets loaded because the gig exists. It's the necessary bowl of doo-doo that you have to choke down in order to enjoy what you love to do. Don't be afraid to ask for help, by the way. Truth is people are always willing, and you can have some great conversations and bond with people over moving your gear. If you're like me, you don't want anybody messing with winding your cables. You have a specific way to do it. You know, you protect them. There are some people that I won't let wind up my cables. I find ways to, you know, find other things for them to do while I wind the cables. But some people would love to learn. I know they're teachable, I know they're responsible, and they can really help even with the cables at the end of the night. You may be in a band and the equipment list is lengthy. Dear musician, ask for help. I used to carry a lot more gear around with me. Oh my goodness, those were the days. Two speakers. Each speaker weighed a little over forty five pounds, then I had big bulky speaker stands, multiple guitars, amp heads, mixers. In the early days, I would move all of that by myself. And then I learned after a bit that I could save my back, my arms, my neck, and my mental health. I could save a lot of strain by asking for help. I kind of learned this by accident, by the way. I, you know, I always felt bad. I never wanted to ask anybody for help. I thought, you know, hey, I made my bed, I'll sleep in it. This is what I do, this is part of what I do. But then I have this friend, Michael, who is still a fan, and he still comes to some of my shows. And a few years ago, he asked if he could help. I turned him down so many times. And then one day I decided I was going to let Michael help because uh I actually felt like I was robbing him of some blessing. I know that sounds weird, but I could tell he really wanted to help. And oh man, that night taught me a lesson and I never looked back. It was indeed a good thing for Michael. He got a lot of joy out of it. I couldn't believe how fast it went, by the way. And every time Michael came to a gig, he would help me not only load my gear back up, but if he saw me driving into the parking lot, he was there early and he would help me unload it and bring it into the venue. Now, I often ask people to help, especially if they're standing there talking to me after a gig. You know, hey man, I'm enjoying the conversation. Can you do me a favor? Can you help carry this stuff to my truck? I've never had anybody turn me down. Another thing that can help is to do an inventory of your gear and decide what is unnecessary and what you might trade for something different. I carry more than 120 pounds less gear than I used to travel with. I did the math, I'm not kidding. No longer do I bring three acoustics to a show. No one really cares that my Martin sounds different than my J200. Now, if I'm doing a songwriter showcase one evening, you bet I'm bringing different guitars, maybe the Gitoleli, maybe the mandolin, but no longer do I load everything I own to be displayed on the stage. Number four. Small audiences. Where's the fatigue? Well, playing for a room that isn't packed? Yeah. That can be that can be a little mind job. How do you find the perspective? Think of it as an intimate performance rather than a small crowd. Some of the best connections happen in smaller rooms with less people. Some positive things happen in small crowds, conversation, banter, laughter. Relationships can strengthen. A venue owner becomes more aware of your professionalism and your crowd interaction. And this seems weird, but tips are often better because you're seen and people are more aware of the work that you're doing for them and they feel like they're part of what's happening. Small audiences are often the best time to take risks, to try new songs, uh, to play songs differently, to tell different stories, to find new stories that rise to the top because of the interaction that you're having with people. Number five. Feeling ignored. People are talking and eating, and you're just gonna sit in the corner and eat some worms. Wham wham. I get it though. I've had those nights. So where's the perspective? Remind yourself that if that is one of the worst parts of the job, we have it pretty great. I can think through all the jobs I've had from the time I was a teenager until now, some of them had some pretty sucky parts. So I try to reframe it in my mind. If I offered you a job where one of the worst parts was that you sit in a room and you play music, whatever you want to play, and you get paid for it. But the trick is no one is going to listen to you. It actually doesn't sound that bad. Wait a minute, you're gonna pay me to sit and play music no matter what? Done. The other option is sitting at home and playing where no one listens to me, and I don't get paid. Some gigs uh you'll have them in the palm of your hand, and others you just won't. But what a great gig. Doing what you love? Also remember that even in the most attentive audiences, there's always things distracting an audience so they aren't listening. It's the nature of public performance. And if you feel like you're a human jukebox, just remember those people are having fun with their friends, laughing, and enjoying one another's company, and you get paid to play in their background and be part of their story. You get to be part of their evening. Not a bad gig. Number six, promoting yourself on social media. What's the fatigue? Constantly posting where you're playing. How do you gain perspective? For me, I think of it as a journal. I'm creating a diary of the places I play. Or think of it as helping people who really want to know where you're playing. One thing that has helped me as well is to take some time to make my social media posts creative and to tell a story with them from time to time. Your fans are interested in your stories. They like to see clips of you playing live. They like to know what's going on in your life. It's like your social media is your own reality TV show. Number seven, being on every night. What's the fatigue? Having to engage, smile and interact constantly. Boy do I get this. I grew up in a church culture where the band was expected to start each Sunday morning with a celebratory, energetic song and presence that no human being should be forced to keep up no matter how much hope they have. The perspective then Well, authenticity is often more effective than enthusiastic energy. You don't need to be smiling all the time. You don't need to be a smiling performer every second that you're at the venue. Being honest and vulnerable and telling real stories is attractive. At the same time, I would say if you keep showing up like little mister or little Miss Mopypants, it's not going to be good for you in the long run. So you may need to just take a break and replenish. But I do remember playing a giga once where someone wanted to talk my ear off at the end, and I I just couldn't do it. And I said to them, you know what, I am really sorry if I seem disinterested. I I'm not. I'm thoroughly exhausted. My mind is in a different place. I'm in a rough season. So could you please give me some grace as we talk? They responded very well. They thanked me for my honesty. To be honest, they weren't entirely self aware and sensitive to the moment, but at least I didn't feel like I had to fake it with them. Number eight. Hearing the same comments over and over. You know the fatigue. Play free bird and similar things. You should be on American Idol. What do you do for a living? My uncle plays guitar. I've never seen you play here. Are you new? You know, referring to a venue you've played fifty plus times. Yeah, that can get old. So where do you find the perspective? Treat them as part of the shared culture of gigging musicians. They're caricatures of themselves. Every performer collects the same stories. The more you hear the tired old things, the more seasoned you are. So consider yourself lucky. Laugh with them. Make jokes out of the things that they say. You know, when someone yells, free bird, I always say something like, There he is, everyone. He comes to every one of my shows. People laugh, he laughs. Or I'll say something like, there's always one. There's always one, ladies and gentlemen. Or my favorite thing to do is to make up another song called Free Bird on the spot and play it. I can't tell you how many times I've done that. I'll say, you know, Freebird is one of my most requested original songs. It's about a bird. That I had as a child, it got out of its cage. My mom comforted me by telling me that he was free. And then I start playing a sappy ballad and I throw everyone off guard just for fun. Number nine chasing new gigs. What's the fatigue? Sending emails, making calls, hearing no Where's the perspective? Think of booking as planting seeds. Most opportunities come from consistent effort over time. Not a single phone call. Not a single email. It's easy to think that you failed. It's easy to point the finger at a venue when they don't respond, but that's the way of sales. And yes, you heard me right. If you're a performing musician, you, my friend, are in sales. In all honesty, being a full time musician has more in common with real estate sales than it does with actual music. Professional musicians have to rely on relationships, referrals, reputation, follow-up, repeat customers, networking, being on someone's mind when someone needs you and the planets align. That sounds a lot like real estate. Every once in a while I'm reminded of the pithy grabbers and the bumper sticker wisdom I used to hear when I sold insurance as a kid. And I smile because I'm really in the same business. I just changed what I'm selling, and the product is way more fulfilling to me. I used to hear things like aim for the moon and be content with the sky. Or what you do today will reflect in your business 30 days from now. Or every yes is hiding behind a lot of no's. Or activity creates opportunity. Or the fortune is in the follow-up. Or don't count the calls, make the calls count. Or your pipeline is your paycheck. Or the best time to make a sales call was yesterday. The second best time is now. I know. Barf. But honestly, there's a lot of truth in these silly little proverbial sales statements, even if they do belong on a poster with a kitten hanging from a tree. Number ten. The routine itself, all of it, the fatigue is the overall cycle. Add songs to the list, practice songs, travel, set up, perform songs, tear down, tick, repeat me, mew over and over and over. What feels ordinary and monotonous today is something that you once dreamed of doing for a living. Sure, I mean not all the little particulars, but remember those things are part of what you really want to do. Another thing that helps me out is I'm always asking my friends how things are going at their workplaces, and I hear stories of being overworked, betrayed, undercut, lied to, their exhaustion, hating their jobs, looking for new jobs, hitting dead ends, feeling like their schooling was a waste constantly. It's all part of how I Jedi mind trick myself. Thanks for hanging out today. I hope this is helpful. Remember, please subscribe, please like, do all those great things. Stay creative, stay after it, and stay hired. Let me live.