Ep 39: Mountains to Die On

In this episode, John explores the importance of having convictions in business and life. Every successful person eventually reaches a point where they have to decide what they stand for, what they will protect, and what they won't compromise, even when it's inconvenient or costly.

Knowing your non-negotiables won't eliminate difficult choices, but it will make those choices a whole lot easier.

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. Hello, hello. Hey, the other day I was watching an argument unfold on Facebook. It was a train wreck. I didn't add to it, but I was reading through all the comments. And man, I am always fascinated at how people will waste their energy on social media arguments. It's fascinating to me. Absolutely no one in the short history of social media stopped in their tracks one day and said, wow. You know, that stranger that just commented on that post and then posted a reel, they they changed my mind about everything. I mean, I was blind, but now I see no one. Ever. And the argument got me thinking about mountains I will die on. And then that train of thought got me thinking about mountains I will die on for my music career. There are certainly choices that I make occasionally that aren't my favorite thing to do, but I do it for the gig, like playing a song I don't like or playing for a venue where I know the owner has different views about life than I do. But those choices don't have consequences. Those ones, they may make me uncomfortable for a bit, but they don't do me harm, and they certainly don't harm anyone else. There are some mountains that I will die on, things that I will not compromise. And I thought I would share those with you today and maybe get us all thinking about, you know, what your mountains might be. Having mountains that you will die on means that you are identifying principles and values, belief systems, boundaries, things that are so central to who you are, but and you're unwilling to compromise them, even when doing so would maybe make things easier, or maybe more profitable, or they would make you more popular. I think we should all have some non-negotiables. There's also tremendous emotional freedom in living this way, because people who haven't defined their values often find themselves trying to please everyone, which is a losing game, or they adapt to every personality, or constantly they find themselves questioning whether they made the right choice. At the same time, I think it's important to choose our mountains carefully. Wisdom plays a big part in this. Wisdom comes from distinguishing between our preferences and our principles, maybe. So maybe you have a favorite sports team or a favorite brand of guitar or a microphone you like to use, or a political opinion, or a way of folding your socks and underwear. But those aren't mountains to die on. Although, I mean, I do have a way to fold my socks and underwear that I really, really think is is critical. But it's not a mountain I'm gonna die on. Ultimately, your mountains become part of your business identity. So I think they're important. So here we go. Drum roll, please. The top ten mountains. I will die on, die on, die on, die on, die on. Number 10. I have value. I don't work for free. I don't work for exposure. I don't work for less than my value. Now, understandably, someone will always try to get more out of you for less. It's just the way that business works. And uh sometimes they're big weaners about it, but but it's you know, at its core, it's not evil to try to get more for less. And I think a lot of venues uh or private parties, individuals, they want to get the most they can out of the musician for less. And someone will always plan their event without giving much thought to the environment or your needs. Someone will always try to get you for free. Someone will try to treat you like they are doing you a favor. It's not the people or venues are mean or cruel. They're just trying to get the best bang for their buck. And in many cases, they aren't educated or aware of what goes into a performance and what a musician needs to be successful. When you have a good, healthy sense of how much you are worth, then you make better decisions. Uh, people don't take advantage of you, you don't get pushed around easily, or uh, you know, you're less likely to live with this sense of scarcity, like the bottom is going to drop out at any time, and you don't know when the next gig is going to be there, so you make poor choices. You have more of a long-term vision for your business. And having value or understanding your value, it's generally just psychologically sound. Everyone knows a good self-image is important. Working as if you have value, which you do, is an outpouring of a good self-image. So number ten for me is I have value. I hope you understand yours. Number nine. My work environment matters. I don't accept working conditions that keep me from doing my best work, and I'm not afraid to ask for what I need. All the things. You know, the little things, shade, sustenance, playing away from traffic and noise. I also want to work in an environment that treats people well. I want it to have a good reputation in the community. If people constantly say bad things about the venue that I am playing at, I don't want to be associated with it. Now, as a musician, you hear about it, right? When you send out an invite list and some of your friends or your fans will say, Oh, I don't go to that place because of XYZ, then you have to count the cost. A couple of times I've had good friends say this to me. And I feel like with some of them I can say, hey, give it another try. Come see me play and tell me how it goes. But I always have to ask if it's worth it in those scenarios. I've actually sat and discussed these scenarios with a couple of venues, and they found it to be helpful. But of course, you, you know, if you're talking about something that a venue is doing wrong, or if you're going to tell a venue owner that, you know, people are talking trash about them or your friends don't want to come see you play there, you better have a good relationship with them because you don't want to just open up your mouth and just start talking about that stuff willy-nilly and make them feel bad, especially if you're not interested in continuing a relationship with them. So relationship is important if anything helpful is going to come out of that kind of a conversation. If the place looks dirty or cluttered, I won't make it a regular venue. It matters to me that if I'm inviting people to come hear me play, they get good service in a sanitary and uncluttered environment. So my work environment matters. Number eight, every audience matters. I won't phone it in. Every audience gets my best, whether there's five people or five hundred people. Now, do I have bad nights? Yeah. Do I have nights where I look back and I go, meh, I wish I would have prepared a little bit more for that or thought that through. Of course. We all do. But I never have the mindset where I go, meh, it's just a gig. I'm just gonna do it. I don't want to be half-assed in anything that I do. My ideal crowd is around 50 to 100 people. That's where I feel the most comfortable, but it it doesn't mean that less than that amount of people is going to get a half-assed performance for me. No way. I practice, I add to my set list constantly. If I don't go into a gig excited about something, I don't feel like I've worked it hard enough. I I want a new song maybe to add life to the set or or to my soul. And when I'm full of life, it spills out into the crowd. They matter. If you play with a band, your band matters just as much. No one in your band wants to deal with your lack of preparation or your lack of energy or your lack of focus. And remember, many people that are in the audience are hearing you and hearing those songs for the first time, even if it's your hundredth time playing it. Every audience matters. And when I say that, I'm also saying that every audience is different. So when I play the dive bar on the east end of town, my set list is very different than when I play the Italian restaurant on the west side. And that set list is different from when I play the lunch show near Midtown. All of those are different from the upscale bar and way different from the cocktail lounge. Different times of day, different clientele, different age groups that frequent the venue, different food choices. Is it upscale? Is it blue collar? They all affect the set list. They require different volume levels as well. And they each have different personalities when it comes to how I interact with the crowd. You know what's allowed? Can I joke around? Uh, can we converse? I need to know what the venue wants there. But that audience matters, and I need to think about that particular audience at that time and place in that venue as different than the last one I just played at. If I were to walk in and play a Sabrina Carpenter cover at the dive bar I play at, they probably wouldn't hire me back. I mean, they probably would, but you know, I don't, I don't think they would enjoy it unless the timing was perfect and everybody was, you know, already quite a few beers in and everybody was being silly. You know, but if I get it wrong at that place, I might even get in a fight. I mean, not really, but, you know, it's a dive bar. I'm not gonna place Sabrina Carpenter there. However, if I pull out that Sabrina Carpenter cover at the cocktail lounge where the average age is 26, I can almost guarantee there's gonna be a group of girls who are gonna start screaming and they're gonna come up to the stage and they're gonna be dancing with each other, not their boyfriends. Their boyfriends are gonna be sitting back at the table watching. That's just how it goes. They're going to love it. My Marshall Tucker band cover will be lost on those girls. But you better believe that's the song I need to sing at the dive bar while everybody's sucking down a Miller Light or a PBR. It's just the way it is. And it's great. I love it. They all matter, and I love them. You have to. Or you just play similar venues and keep your set list stagnant, which sounds totally boring to me. It might work for you. I know a guy who just plays wineries. He loves it. His set list rarely changes. It stays the same pretty much all the time. I mean, I've seen him play over the years, and I'm like, huh. Okay. And you know what? That's just fine. Bottom line, who we are playing for really matters. Number seven. Success is earned. I don't believe anyone owes me a career. I don't believe you have to be famous to have a successful one. I earn my living through professionalism, through fostering good relationships, and through consistency. It was the same when I painted houses for my dad years ago. People wanted a product. And that product, when working for him, was a beautified house. So I would go in, I would bid the job. I did incredible prep work. The paint job was superb. The cleanup looked like it had never been touched, like I had never been there. You know, pack out what you pack in kind of thing. Except for the fact that their 30-year-old home looked brand new and became the envy of the neighborhood. And that paint job lasted a good long time because I did everything correctly. We earned our success. And once we earned it, we deserved it. We had plenty of work and word spread about us. You know, my brother still runs that business that I worked in so many years ago, and it has been going strong for almost 50 years because success is earned. I want my music success to be built on hard work, uh, determination, stick toativeness. I want to look back on my music life and say, yeah, yeah, I really did it. Whatever it is, I did it. Success is earned. Number six. Venues and private parties, whoever hires you, uh, we are partners, not adversaries. I don't believe that venue owners are the enemy, and I don't believe musicians are victims. We are partners. I've heard too many musicians dogging on venues, and sometimes venues mess things up. Sometimes they really suck, but I'm convinced most of it can be fixed with a conversation. As musicians, it's our responsibility to troubleshoot and do the hard work of interpersonal communication when things are weird. And we need to approach it as kind of a business partner, you know, a conversation that says, I really want this to work between us, but I think we need to fix some stuff. I'm open to hearing what you think I need to change as well. I've said it before and I will keep saying it, the venue doesn't exist for us. We, musician friends, we are there for the venue. In a perfect world, there's good communication, uh, good reciprocal promotion, and a good outcome for all parties. I remember when I was in sixth grade, a long time ago, but I remember, we studied marine biology for a season. We even had a weeklong camping trip in the Red Woods of California with a trip to a marine biology lab and many trips to the tide pools. By the way, a little side note, as an adult, when I was in my 30s, I went back to play music for that sixth grade marine biology camp at the same place that I went as a sixth grader. What a trip. I did it a few times. Anyway, I'm getting off topic. In marine biology, we learned something that has stuck with me as a metaphor my entire life. It's the symbiotic relationship of different marine life. And there's three different kinds of symbiotic relationships. You ready for this, Dorx? Mutualism, commensalism, and parasitism. Now, before you think I'm incredibly smart, I remembered that there were three kinds, and I remembered what they meant, but I only remembered the mutualism word. I had to look up the other two. I knew all about symbiotic relationships. I remembered mutualism, but I had to go, what were the other two? Oh, that's right. Commensalism and parasitism. This is what has stuck with me. In a symbiotic relationship where there's mutualism, both species benefit from one another. And my favorite example of this is the clownfish. The clownfish lives inside the tentacles of the sea anemone and the anemone protects the clownfish. The clownfish in return feeds it. So they both uh benefit. Now this is besides the point, but I think I think the food that the anemone gets is actually the poop of the clownfish, but anyway, that's just a fun fact. The point is they benefit one another. Uh now in commensalism, it it's neat, but it's different. Only one party benefits in that system, but it doesn't hurt the other party. Uh so an example of this is a barnacle attaching to a whale. Whales are full of barnacles. The whale doesn't care, but the barnacle really cares because the barnacle needs the whale, and it's just along for a free ride to get food as the whale travels through the ocean. So uh that is a different kind of benefit. One party is benefiting there, not entirely bad, not as good as both parties benefiting. Parasitism is horrible. That's the third one. It freaks me out. A parasite will attach itself to its host and robs from it, eventually killing it in many cases. And sometimes, I can't remember which crab this happens with. Sometimes the parasite will control its mind. It will suck its blood, it will do all sorts of horrible things. It just takes and it takes. It's really a freaking horror show. Now, obviously, the gigging musician is looking for a mutual relationship with a venue. You feed me, I feed you, we both benefit. So again, we're partners, not adversaries. Number five. Not every gig is a good gig. I don't chase every gig. Not every opportunity is worth saying yes to. There are some venues that I enjoy playing, but man is it hard work to get gigs there. And they love me. They say great things about me. But when it comes to getting dates on the calendar, it's multiple emails, drop by, text messages, calls, and then one. Oh yeah, I'm so sorry I haven't got back to you, John. It's been crazy. Same song, second verse, next time. I don't have a ton of patience for that kind of chase, and I don't want to sound like I think I'm too good for that kind of work. It's just that there are far too many venues where it's easier, and my time and my energy are valuable. So I let those really difficult venues fall away. Not every gig, not every gig is a good gig. What I see happening with some of them is a couple of years will go by and then they'll reach out and they'll say, Man, we miss you. Can we get some dates on the calendar? That's way better of a scenario for me than you know playing the chasing game. Then there are some gigs that look like they should be a good gig. They have music all the time, they have big crowds, but when you step back and you take a look at it in comparison with other gigs, you realize, you know what, it's really not worth it. Maybe it's not the greatest playing conditions, or the pay is not that great, or they charge you for food and drinks, or the tips are always horrible. I'll roll the dice on some gigs where I have a suspicion that things aren't as great as they seem. But if I come if I come up short a couple of times, I let the venue fall away. Not every gig is a good gig. Number four, no gig is worth losing myself or the people I love. I don't sacrifice my health, I don't sacrifice my family or my integrity for a paycheck. Whatever you do for a living, you're selling something, right? If you're a professional football player, you end up selling your knees a lot of the time, or your back, you know, your spine, whatever it is. Uh talk to anybody who's played football for a long time. If you're a commercial fisherman, you sell your joints over time. Not your marijuana cigarettes. You might do that too, but you sell your body joints over time. They you destroy your joints. All kinds of construction workers, uh like roofers and carpet layers, they sell out their knees and their hips and their backs. Whatever the job, you're selling something, and you have to ask yourself, is it worth it? And you know what? In some careers, maybe it's worth it for a time. But then you get a little older and you realize the actual cost, and you end up looking for something else to do. At this point in my life, I've had a few jobs, and my health is not for sale. My mental health is not for sale, my physical health is not for sale, my marriage isn't for sale, my integrity isn't for sale. Paychecks are important. We need them. They pay the bills, they create opportunities. But I've been in jobs where I have fallen to the temptation of chasing money. Money is like a drug, and that drug has a way of asking for more and more. Just just a little bit more here and there. One more gig, one more weekend away, one more compromise, one more situation that doesn't sit right with you. For musicians, maybe this looks like accepting dangerous working conditions, you know, the heat or or the cold or playing through injuries, living on junk food, driving home exhausted at two o'clock in the morning, missing birthdays and anniversaries, or saying yes to venues and clients who expect you to leave your values at the door. But I have learned that every yes costs something. The question isn't whether there's a cost. The sweat has to come from somewhere. There's cost. The question is whether the paycheck is worth what you're giving up. My health at this point lets me keep playing. My family gives me a reason to play. My integrity lets me sleep at night. If I lose any of those, then no amount of money from any compromising gig can bring them back. I would rather earn a little less money and keep the things that matter most than make a little more money and lose the life that I'm trying to build in the first place. Don't get me wrong. I like money. I want more of it. If you have money to give me, I will take it. I just don't want to give up something I love as a barder. I don't think I've ever talked about this here, but in November and December, I am also a professional Santa. Well, I should say that's when I put on the suit, and I occasionally put it on in June or July if somebody's doing a mid-year Christmas thing, as they do from time to time, especially schools. Um, I work that business all through the year. It's one of my side gigs. Like my music career, all the same rules apply. Even with Santa, there's private parties, venues, contracts. So much of it is the same. I entertain a Santa. I man, I love it so much. I collect the greatest stories from my Santa adventures. I've even published books with stories. You can find them on Amazon, shameless plug here, uh, Because I Wear the Suit. There's two volumes out there right now of Because I Wear the Suit. Find them on Amazon or wherever books are sold. Well, a couple of Christmases ago, I got asked to be Santa for a party in the San Francisco Bay Area, and they were willing to pay top dollar more money than I had seen for a Santa gig. Actually, twice what I charge on Christmas Eve. And I already charge a good deal of money for Christmas Eve, believe me. The catch was they told me there would be nudity at the party. Mm-hmm. They couldn't guarantee that someone wouldn't want to get a picture with Santa in the nude and maybe even a risque pose. I think that's the words they use. Are you kidding me? The very thought of Santa John ending up on someone's Instagram feed or on Facebook with naked people around was gross and sad to me. Forget social media. Just knowing the photos existed on somebody's phone made me want to throw up. Not only would it be horrid for my reputation, it would soil the reputation of Santa's everywhere. Santa's not about that. They told me if I was available, there would be more parties. They, those extra parties were also willing to pay top dollar. No, get thee behind me, Satan. No. I tell you that story because it's ridiculous and obvious. I think to most of us, I don't know, maybe some of you think it's cool. In which case, we should go to coffee and talk. But if that's one end of the continuum, in my music gigging career, I've been asked to make compromises many times, most not as severe as that end of the continuum, but some, honestly, just as severe. Decisions that would ruin me, ruin my family. It's going to be different for everyone. You know what is and isn't healthy for you when you commit to a gig. And that's where wisdom comes into play. Wisdom shows up in so many different ways. We find wisdom from the past. We find wisdom from family members who have lived it, other musicians. We find wisdom from trusted friends and family. We find wisdom from common sense and intuition. Lean into wisdom. Don't trade a thing for your health, your family, or your integrity. Number three, my reputation is my resume. I don't compete with other musicians. I don't burn bridges. I build relationships because my reputation is mirr wurth? It's worth more than one gig. I'm professional, and being easy to work with is more important than being good at your craft, even. Although I'd like to think I can hold my own. I want to be known as a person and a musician who stands up for people, who loves people, who serves people, creates goodwill, a musician who curates spaces with love and humor and kindness. One venue thinking that I'm a jerk is too many. I want to live my music life in such a way that if my name ever comes up in a conversation and I'm not around to hear that conversation, I want that conversation to be full of good stuff. Number two, kindness wins. Let's be honest. Mean people suck. And that goes for me too. I don't want to be mean. Always go the extra mile when you can. Kindness is one of the most powerful business strategies that you will ever have. People want to work with people who make their day better. You know, don't you have those people in your life where you just want to be around them? When they're in the room, things are just better. Those are kind people. I'll guarantee you. If you play a gig and you wow people with your skills, if you bring the room to a fiery frenzy of energy and applause, that's wonderful. But the thing that people will remember in the long run is your kindness. I've played gigs where the tips aren't fantastic, the ambiance is mediocre, but the staff is very kind. And it seems like the crowd is equally kind. I will pick those venues to return to over the venues with the jackass manager and better pay every single day of the week. Kindness always wins. Number one rest is essential. For the past eight days, my wife and I went on a road trip. The past eight days at the time of recording this. We had a very small amount of money to spend on the trip, but it was our anniversary week, and we needed it, to be honest, marriage insurance. Marriages either cost money on the front end or the back end. We choose to spend our money on the front end. We know as musicians, it's not just the road trip that costs, you know, the $1,500 when it's done. It's not just the cost of fuel, cost of lodging. We can't, but it still costs. It's not the cost of food, the sightseeing, the special vacation expenditures. It's also the cost of the gigs that you're missing while you're away, which, depending on the time frame and the time of year, it can be more than the trip costs itself. But you know what? I have never come away from a road trip and thought, dang, I wish I worked more on that trip. I've never taken any time off for rest and thought, wow, what a waste of time. No. Rest is maintenance. It's renewal. It's a reset. If we don't take rest, our bodies will eventually demand it. Oh man, I've seen it time and time again, and you probably know some people too. They just go, go, go until they drop. You know, your bodies will demand it or your relationships will demand it. Rest as fallout of bad decision making and bad self-care is not rest. It's collapse. It's convalescence. The other thing I had to do before the road trip was an oil change. And an oil change in our truck, which is a F-250 super duty diesel, it is ridiculous. No joke, it takes like 14 quarts of synthetic oil. And I learned from my diesel mechanic you should change the fuel filter as well, every other oil change. So each oil change costs me between 250 bucks and 400 bucks, depending on if it's fuel filter change time. But you know what? That's what you do if you take care of the engine for hundreds of thousands of miles. It's the cost of maintenance. Maintenance costs way less upfront than engine failure without good maintenance. And it's the same for us. Hey, I hope you had a good time listening today. Please do me a favor, like and subscribe to this podcast on whatever platform you listen on. Please tell your friends about it. I appreciate it when you do. And as always, stay creative, stay after it, stay hired.