Dug into a new little book recently, Your Music And People: Creative and Considerate Fame, by Derek Sivers.
You may or may not know his name, but if you’ve been in a band in the last 20 years, you’ve heard of the company he founded and sold: CDBaby. CDBaby made it easy and possible for up-and-comers — for the indie bands that miced up and knew they had to catch the DIY train — to sell CDs on the interwebs with minimal friction.
That was a big friggin’ deal at the time, and it’s still a great company. My old band’s contracts with CDBaby continue, and the service now shuffles our stuff onto Spotify and YouTube and all the rest automatically. Not that we make any money off of streaming, but it’s pretty sweet to say that you can find our underground rock on the cloud-connected device of your choice.
The book breaks down the job of rockin’-for-a-livin’ to two things: First, have the goods, and second, be the guy.
The first one’s obvious, but hard to do. Havin’ the goods — that is, a full night of gig-worthy music — goes without saying. It’s a prerequisite, but one that demands tenacious woodshedding and painful practice to achieve. The idea, of course, is to make it look easy, but don’t be fooled: there’s no one that hits the stage with a consistent product that hasn’t been at it for years. Only daily discipline can get you there. As the old mantra goes, “If I don’t practice for a day, I notice. If I skip out for a few days, my fans notice. If I don’t practice for a week then everyone can tell.“
The second part is where Derek puts his own spin on what it means to be “considerate.” You might think that being considerate means taking it easy, not making a fuss, deferring to the other guy. But Derek takes a counter-intuitive approach. Fact is, music needs marketing. And when you’re doing the grubby work of pimping the product, being considerate means being the guy. It’s considerate to venues and publications to be the guy that they want to book, that they want to promote. In the world of rock ‘n roll, that guy might be a little crazy, might be a little insistent, might be the sort of fella that won’t take “no” for an answer, and that’s ok.
In other words, if you tell ’em you’re a rockstar, it’s considerate to act like one. That’s what they’re paying you for. It’s confusing and counter-productive to pretend any differently.
You know what’s not considerate? Wasting their time. Don’t be a nebbish, another whiny putz-meister who blames the monitor mix or your allergies or the cruelty of the universe for your failure to deliver.
And that’s where I’m at: I’ve poked at booking paying gigs for years, filled in for friends, jammed with amazing guys, made CDs, Mp3s, whatever it may be. At this point in life, I’ve got proof that my wrinkly cheeks and weathered voice can do the job. But walking into a new spot and letting everyone know I’m the man? That takes moxie, baby. That takes balls.
Music is hard work — there’s no way around it — but I’m getting there. Only one life to live, or YOLO, as they say. Might as well make it a good one. To quote the pros: If you’re a firework, show ’em what you’re worth. It’s better to burn out than to fade away. My my, hey hey.
If you’ve been a regular reader of Derek’s blog over the years, or if you’ve caught him in interviews and podcasts, much of this will seem familiar. But if you’re new to him, this little book is full of fresh ideas and food for thought. First, give it a read. And then, suit up and go make it work! Life’s better for all of us when you do. The world needs a few more wildmen. Rockstars, just like you.
