I often credit the music industry for making me a better writer, but not in the way you might think. I wrote a ton of music and lyrics, but neither did much for my authorship. And to be honest, most of the material I wrote in my twenties makes me cringe today. I thought I was pretty deep back then (spoiler: I wasn’t). What music did for my writing career was simple: it destroyed my ego.
The music industry is a funny thing. It’s also a terribly corrupt and abusive thing. I once read an interview with Jason Ringenberg (of Jason & The Scorchers), who offered some keen insight. He was discussing his decision to leave the music industry in favor of going independent. He said that “Major labels create the illusion that you are the band that’s going to be the next big thing, when, in reality, only one in 10,000 bands becomes the next big thing. The other 9,999 owe a whole bunch of money to somebody.”
This one quote encapsulates the music industry better than any article or book. I experienced it first hand when I was offered a juicy contract during my days with Sydewynder. Luckily, my music remained more hobby than dream. I had a full-time career and legal representation. When I presented the contract to my lawyer, he chuckled in disbelief (the terms were deeply unethical). I rejected the offer. Most musicians don’t.
It was then when I realized that struggling musicians are easy pickings for the industry. If you work a dead-end job to fuel your dream, then a contract with lots of zeroes will feel like victory. But the thing is, they count on you ignoring the fine print. You will sign your life away for a shot that is guaranteed to miss.
Sydewynder – LIVE
When I started performing in my teens, my ego exploded onto the stage. I was a rock star! My audience steadily grew and before long, I was performing in legit venues with lighting techs and monster PA systems. At one point, my band was booked to open for Godsmack in a 19K capacity arena. The show was sadly canceled due to a tour extension, but the industry took notice and started to court me.
By that time I had written and released three studio albums. They were good, but fell short of industry standards. Nonetheless, I owned the stage. When Sydewynder performed, you were guaranteed a spectacle. At the end of the day, that’s what my fans appreciated.
Most of my album sales came from live shows, but once the industry got ahold of them, I started to receive waves of insider criticism. I learned something about myself, a point they hammered over and over and over: my band sucked.
In reality, I did suck, but not to the degree they made me believe. I put on a great show with decent music. My biggest failing was that I wrote for the stage, which didn’t translate well to radio (with some notable exceptions that enjoyed a lot of airplay). But if I took the industry’s criticism at face value, I may as well have been farting on a snare drum.
And therein lies the scam.
It’s a lot like basic training in the military. They tear you down in order to rebuild you in the image they want. It works great for soldiers, not so much for musicians. The music industry beat my ego into submission, to the point where I believed every toxic critique. I was young and ignorant, so it never dawned on me to ask, “If you think my band sucks, then why do you keep showing up?”
Sydewynder – final promo shoot
I was lucky. I got out before I signed away my creative licence. I still own the rights to all of my music, thank goodness. The industry wore me down to the point where even performing lost its appeal. They infected me with a self-doubt that I just couldn’t shake. And so, I hung up the guitar and walked away. It took several years to regain some objectivity, but the damage was done. I never set foot on stage again.
Looking back on it, I can appreciate the experience. But if I had to do it over again, I would avoid the industry like the plague. The one lasting scar I have is a charred ember that used to be my ego. Ironically, that’s what gave me a leg up in writing fiction. I can swallow the harshest criticism with a smile on my face and thank the reviewer for their opinion. Hell, I welcome it. If it’s useful, I implement it. If not, I ignore it. Simple as that. I slaughter my darlings with extreme prejudice and rework my failings, no matter how big.
So yeah, the music industry made me a better writer. I acknowledge the lesson and heed the experience, but I will never thank them for it. It would be like thanking the fracking industry for that flaming water trick.
