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Multi-band shows on any level, be it a national act with a local opener in a concert hall, a battle of the bands at a local high school, or the Bonnaroo Festival, can be a great musical experience for both the performers, and audience. They can also be a logistical nightmare for event organizers, production companies, crew members, and the musicians. The key to these kinds of events running smoothly is highly organized and coordinated advanced planning and an overall spirit of teamwork.
Typically, the most well run multi-band shows have a designated stage manager, usually hired by the event, the production company, or the headlining act. In the days and weeks prior to the event, the stage manager will coordinate between the event buyer, the production company, local crew, and the tour managers of the bands and artists involved. In a perfect world, the proper planning and effort will result in a painless day of load-ins and load-outs, sound checks, line checks, and performances, all happening glitch free and on-time. Unfortunately, we don’t live in a perfect world.
Some of the problems that can arise might range from performers and equipment arriving late, bad weather, equipment problems, a shortage of stagehands, ineffective communication, and often, just poor planning. I was recently involved in a show that suffered from literally all of these problems.
At any multi-band show, especially on a national level, there are some unspoken rules and protocols that come into play. If the event has hired a national act, they probably signed a contract and agreed to the terms of that acts rider. Usually these riders will provide very specific guidelines regarding all of the details pertaining to the daily activities and performance requirements of that artist or band. In many situations, it also gives the artist and tour manager final say regarding opening acts, set lengths, backstage traffic, etc. All of this must be mutually agreeable in advance, but after both parties have signed off on the rider, each will have specific responsibilities and expectations. In short, the tour manager of the headlining act and the event buyer will have complete authority over the performance related events of a given show day.
If there is more than one national act, the other acts tour managers will also have a big say, but all in accordance to each acts specific rider and the agreements made when the show was advanced. This is where it can get a little grey as some artists riders might conflict with another’s. In these situations an unspoken rule comes into play, that being that the headliner has the ultimate say, followed by the artist with the second billing, followed by third billing, etc. if there are two or more acts that each receive equal billing (co-headliners), there is usually a mutual decision making between tour managers and the event buyer. The lines can become greatly blurred on a smaller scale, such as local bands performing together in a nightclub, or regional festivals, as these situations seldom have signed contracts.
Regardless of a given events level of profile, or organizational efficiency, being a team player is of utmost importance for all involved, especially the musicians.
On a recent Rhett Akins show I worked, we were co-headlining with another national artist, Ashton Shepherd. Several days prior to the show, the events stage manager contacted me and asked if our drummer would be willing to use Ashton’s drummers kit, both to save time, and much-needed stage space. After checking with our drummer, I agreed to this request, as did the band scheduled to play before us, Matt Stillwell. The event had four bands total, and the first band scheduled to play, a regional act, would be setting up their drums in front of the other drum kit. The sound checks were scheduled to take place in reverse order of the performances, and would be starting at 1:00 PM on the day of show for a 4:00 PM showtime. Sounds simple enough, right?
Not. The first thing to throw the schedule off was bad weather, as it rained in the morning pushing back the production set up. Ashton’s band began their set up at 2:00, and it was understood and accepted that the show would probably not start on time. About a half-hour into their set up, I walked out to the stage to discover the openers enormous eight piece drum kit being constructed in the middle of the undersized stage. When I asked the drum tech why he was setting up these drums before the other bands had sound checked, he replied “The stage manager said I have to have these setup by 4:00 no matter what.” I told him that the stage manager was wrong to request this, as there was simply not enough space on the tiny stage for three other bands to set up their backline and sound check. This resulted in a big argument between me and the unyielding drum tech, which resulted in another big argument with the stage manager.
The stage manager didn’t want to budge on his decision, despite the fact that he had discussed none of this with me in advance. Of course he was wrong in his actions, as this kind of decision-making was a complete breach of our rider, in addition to being just plain stupid. So rather than continue with the stalemate, I suggested asking Ashton’s drummer, Brian, if he would be willing to share the use of his kit with one more band. Brian agreed, asking simply that the positioning of his drums not be altered, a request that both Rhett and Matt Stillwell’s drummers had both previously agreed to. Perfect. Problem solved, right?
Nope. When the openers drummer was presented with this option, he said “I can’t play these drums without moving them. I need to change a few things. The height of the symbols, the height and angle of the toms, I need to move the hi hat cymbal stand so I can replace your kick pedal with my double kick pedal.” The look on Brian’s face was that of “you’ve got some nerve, kid”, but in the spirit of making this all work out, he agreed to let this unenlightened fellow make some of these changes.
In the end, it all worked out. The show started late, but all four bands play their shows to an enthusiastic crowd. This story underscores a few great points. Ashton’s drummer presented a grand gesture of goodwill will by offering to share the use of his drum kit. This is not expected in these kinds of situations, and is actually quite rare, but when it is offered, it’s another unspoken rule to simply not move the positioning of the drums, especially when specifically requested. His initial generosity, and his willingness to budge on his own principles for the common good, exemplify the meaning of the phrase ‘team player’. On the contrary, the opening band’s drummer and his tech acted in poor taste. They created an unnecessary tension between musicians and crew members and “took” something that was not offered. They created a feeling of ill will. They were essentially, a stick in the mud.
Every event contains two drastically different groups of people. The people that go to the show, and the people that are working the show. If you’re part of a band and performing at an event that has multiple bands, try to think of yourself as part of a team. A team of musicians, stagehands, crew members, and event staff all working together to present one great day or night of musical performances. You’re all on the same team, and need to work in harmony. You need to watch each other’s backs, protect each other’s gear, and work in a spirit of cooperation, not competition. No matter where you fall in the pecking order, being a team player and working towards the common good of all involved is ultimately what makes a great show. And being organized doesn’t hurt either.
Getting a good gig is largely dependent on having the right connections. While talent and skill are certainly important attributes, knowing somebody on the inside track can be an extremely important factor when it comes to finding work.
Since my arrival to Nashville, one of the more memorable and interesting tours I’ve been fortunate enough to be a part of was the Toby Keith ‘Shock’ N’ Y’All’ tour of 2003. I had been in Nashville for about a year with no steady income to speak of, when I received a tip from friend and Toby Keith drummer, Dave MacAfee, that Toby was in need of a new guitar tech. I had previously met Dave at some of the Tuesday night hangs at the Fiddle and Steel, where I had sat in with the band he was playing with on a few occasions. Although I had moved to Nashville to pursue a career as a player, I decided to check out this opportunity, as I was badly in need of some steady income by this point.
Dave gave my number to Toby’s tour manager who hired me after a brief phone interview. I had no previous experience as a guitar tech, but I was hungry for work, and eager to learn. Ultimately, it was Dave’s recommendation that got me hired. If I didn’t know Dave, it is unlikely that I would have even heard of this opportunity. But even more importantly it was Dave’s recommendation to Toby’s tour manager that gave me instant validation. Dave had been already working for Toby for several years by this point in time, and his backing was all I needed to get my foot in the door. Once I was “in”, all I had to do was make good on my commitment, which I did.
If I hadn’t already established a reputation of being a competent, trustworthy, easy to work with player, Dave never would have recommended me for this position. In reality, if I didn’t have my act together, I probably would have never even met Dave, as he is a standup guy and a consummate professional who associates with others who are like-minded. While the old cliché “It’s not what you know, it’s who you know” is essentially true, having your act together doesn’t hurt either.
The Nashville Musician’s Survival Guide is meant to help musicians, songwriters, artists, and everyone that moves to Nashville for a career in the music business find their way. I have done 
my best to describe in words what it’s like to live and work in this town. But words can only go so far. If you’re already here and working at your career in music, you’ve got a pretty good idea about the landscape. But for those that are considering relocating to Music City, the book, and the website, will contain as many photos as possible, to help give a taste of the town.
So this morning I drove into the city with my digital camera and tripod to try to capture some of the “uniqueness” this place has to offer. I parked in the big parking lot across from the Tin Roof on Demonbreaun, just a few hundred feet from the ‘roundabout’ at the beginning of Music Row, and set out on foot. The first photos I shot were of the controversial statue that sits right in the middle of the roundabout. I remember 
the public outcry when this statue of naked people making music and dance was first built. Honestly, I don’t see what the big deal was all about. The way I see it, the statute is elegant and tasteful and represents the musical melting pot of this city.
Next it was on to the BMI building, a massive piece of architectural wonderment that I find to be both awe-inspiring and menacing, kind of like the music business itself. On the other side of the roundabout circle, there’s a statue I had never noticed before, that of a man sitting at a piano in Owen Bradley Park. Right around the corner is BMI’s little brother, the ASCAP building, which sits right at the beginning of ‘The Row ‘. After snapping some photos of these obvious landmarks during this now sweltering 90° morning, I walked a little further down 17th grand, one of the two one-way streets that comprise Music Row.
I’ve driven on these streets hundreds of times over the years, passing by the studios, publishers, and innumerable brick buildings that house the core of the Nashville music business community. But on this day, by foot, everything looked brand-new again, and this 
gave me the feeling of the mysterious city that this was for me upon my arrival eight years ago. As I slowly walked down the long lonesome sidewalk of 17th Avenue, I realized how much of this city, this place, I had never really seen. As I stood on the curb staring curiously at these historic and iconic landmarks, I began to perceive Nashville like a newcomer again. I became curious about what was around each corner, about what was going on behind the doors of these buildings built upon music enterprise.
A car pulled up to Curb Records and out popped a well-dressed woman carrying a briefcase. An older gentleman in a leisure suit exits the Sony building talking on a cell phone. A young man carrying a guitar case disappears down an alley next to one of the recording studios. Where are they going? What are they all doing? This hot morning stroll was putting me in the kind of mindset I was 
in when I first came to town, curious and full of questions, searching for enlightenment. After working in the Nashville music industry for eight years, I rarely go out exploring anymore, as I tend to go to specific places of business as required.
About an hour after this photographic journey began, I returned to my car, as the heat was getting to be unbearable. I took lots of photos, but realized there’s so much more here to capture. I plan to go out and do this again several more times before I am done with this project.
So for everyone that is new to town, or thinking about moving here, hopefully, these photos will give you a little taste of Nashville. I hope you enjoyed the tour.
What is a fair price for our services as musical entertainers of the world? This is highly subjective, but in general, most musicians are underpaid.
My career as a professional musician began in New England, where I played the nightclub circuit from 1989 to 2002. When I first started out I made $300 per week salary in a top 40 band called Crossfire. We played about three nights a week on average, 50 weeks a year so I was basically making $100 a night. I left Crossfire in 1992 to join one of the first incarnations of a new local band, Jet City. The early version of this band was a bit disorganized, and we had literally no draw, rendering our pay to about $30-$50 per player per night. Shortly after this I started the cover rock band Shockwave, and we began playing around southern New Hampshire and the Merrimack Valley for similar wages initially. By the peak of that band’s popularity in the mid-to-late 90s we could draw 50 to 100 friends and followers nightly, plus whatever local following the bar already had. This got our nightly fee up to between $700 and $1000. We had our own production, a sound engineer and lighting designer, and each earned between $100 and $125 nightly. By the year 2000, Shockwave was dismantling and I started a three-piece blues rock band, and my nightly average went down to about $75 to $80.
In 2002 I relocated to Nashville and quickly learned that in-town nightclub gigs that guarantee a hundred dollars per player per night are few and far between. There’s a handful of gigs that might pay that, but for the most part, clubs pay a base pay of $20-$50 per player plus tips, and if you can draw 50 people it won’t necessarily get you any extra money. If your gig is in a tourist hotspot, and you play the right songs and work the crowd correctly, you can make $100 a night, sometimes even more. In those same scenarios you could also make $40 or $50 depending on the circumstances of a given night. This is why so many players in Nashville work towards landing touring gigs as a tour will pay you a considerably higher wage (usually $250 per show day or higher).
In recent conversations with friends back in New England, I learned that a hundred dollars per player per night is still somewhat of an average wage. It’s a sad state of affairs, but the truth is that musicians are a commodity, and we are working in a world of supply and demand where the supply far outweighs the demand. In this day and age if you’re getting $100 per night to go out and play music locally, that’s pretty decent money for us musicians. It’s just sad that when you factor in the cost of living increases and inflation, $100 in 2010 is considerably less than $100 was in 1989. I was, however, encouraged to also learn that in the New England club scene today, having a strong following, or possessing the ability to create strong sales at the cash register can still help bands to command a little better money. I guess in reality, that’s how this whole base pay plus tips thing works as well. Build a crowd and get them dancing and drinking, if they like you they will tip = earn more money.
If you play in a band and have reached a pay ceiling in your region, the “base pay plus tips” concept might be worth trying in a club or two. The way this works in Nashville is that clubs guarantee a minimum base pay of typically $200 to $300 per band per night, they don’t have a cover charge, and a tip jar is placed on the front of the stage. The lead singer will make an announcement, usually near the end of each set, that the jar will be coming around, at which point a friend or band girl friend will walk the tip jar around the room, stopping at each table or patron for tips. Not everyone will tip, but many will. The better the party you have going on, the better the tips will be. You can also use the tipping concept to joke around with the crowd. For instance, when somebody requests Sweet Home Alabama or Mustang Sally, you respond by saying “That song is usually at least a $20 tip.”
The reality is that it’s simply hard to earn a decent wage as a musician. So ask your price, take the gigs you find acceptable, and try to make it fun, because it doesn’t look like we were meant to get rich doing this.
It’s springtime, and festival season is upon us. The time of year for county fairs and outdoor music festivals is here, and along with it comes the unpredictable variable of the weather. Working as a tour manager and touring musician, I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been in situations where a concert promoter or event coordinator seems to think they have magic powers when it comes to predicting the weather. They all seem to have a crystal ball that literally guarantees them a clear day despite any meteorologists forecast.
First of all, anybody that plans an outdoor show is taking a big risk, as these events are booked months in advance with no way of knowing what the weather will be on the day of show. Outdoor concerts and events on the highest level, usually have stages with a roof, and optional sides that can be put up in the event of rain. This will keep the performers and equipment protected, although typically leaving the audience exposed to the elements. Concerts and events on a smaller scale have varying degrees of preparedness, and many have stages with less than adequate covering. Also inherent to many of these smaller “townie” style events are event coordinators that can be a little less than rational when it comes to contingency plans for bad weather.
A few years ago I worked an outdoor show in Alabama in the month of June. The forecast all week long called for heavy rain and severe weather for the day of our concert. On show day, we arrived around noon, and it was already lightly sprinkling. A local high school football field was the site for this concert, and a large stage, with a roof but no sides had been constructed at one end of the field. Earlier in the week, I had suggested to the event coordinator that if the weather was looking bad, to have the concert in the high school gymnasium. As the weather predictions seemed to be spot on, I again made the suggestion, as there was still enough time to move the event inside. Of course, I was overruled, as the event coordinator said that the gym couldn’t hold all of the people they were expecting, along with the line “Most of the bad weather is supposed to blow just south of here.”
Right.
Not. By the time we were ready for sound check a couple of hours later, the rain started coming down heavy, and a strong wind was blowing the rain across stage. We quickly covered our 
gear, while the sound company frantically covered their equipment with large tarps. A couple hours later, the rain subsided long enough for us to do a brief sound check, which turned out to be our only performance on this day. No sooner did we finish the sound check, when the sky opened up with a vengeance, soaking us to the bone as we ran for the bus. By 8:00PM, our official show time, the steady rain was now accompanied by lightning, and the soaked concertgoer’s standing on the wet field were told to retreat to their cars for safety. We were all on standby for the next couple of hours hoping that the weather would pass, but the radar showed otherwise. Even with the certainty of this night upon us, I’ll never forget standing outside of the bus in the pouring rain and arguing with the promoter, who was now practically begging us to perform on the wet stage, an electrocution waiting to happen. With rain dripping off the front of his hat and in between an almost constant barrage of loud thunder, I believe his words were “It looks like it’s going to clear up any minute now.”
That particular show was no exception. I, like many touring musicians, have been in similar scenarios countless times. In fact that particular summer, we were rained out four or five times. Without the proper advanced planning, some situations don’t allow much of an option. But sometimes a show could be salvaged at the last minute if an event coordinator would simply bite the bullet and realize that a smaller concert indoors might be better than no concert at all.
Tomorrow, I’ll be leaving for an outdoor show in northern Alabama. Our group is scheduled to perform on a couple of flatbed trailers covered by “an awning” at 8:30 PM tomorrow night. Earlier in the week I suggested to the event coordinator the possibility of renting a large “circus style” tent, complete with sides, as rain has been in the forecast for almost a week now. As of this moment, the National Weather Service forecast says “Thunderstorms are expected to become widespread during Saturday across northwest Alabama, and spread gradually eastward during the afternoon and evening hours. A few thunderstorms may be capable of producing flash flooding.” I guess we’ll soon find out if he went with my tent idea. Regardless, I’m hoping we get lucky, but experience tells me to be prepared to hear the words “It looks like it’s going to clear up any minute now.”
Nashville Tennessee remains a prime destination for many musicians, songwriters, artists, and industry professionals, and in light of the city’s unique musical heritage, this constant influx will unlikely stop anytime soon. But beneath the suggestive title of “Music City” is a place that for many newcomers might be more aptly titled “Mystery City”. For in reality, the Nashville music scene is a massive, diverse, competitive, and ever-changing community whose true scope and nature are near invisible to those not working within it. Becoming one of the few fortunate musicians to find work and acceptance within this community can be a formidable task, and even when those goals seem to have been achieved, sustaining that career long term can be just as challenging, as I have learned first-hand.
My Nashville adventure began like many transplants to Music City, a cross-country pilgrimage with a U-Haul full of belongings, some life savings, big ideas, and no clue about what I was getting myself into. That first year of 2002 would prove one of the hardest, with my wife and I both trying relentlessly to find employment, struggling to pay the bills, and earning the bulk of our income by selling off possessions on eBay while going out on the town at night to network. About one year into this new life, the networking paid off, and I landed a job as a guitar tech on the Toby Keith 2003 Shock ‘N Y’ all tour, a true financial lifeline. I have spent most of my years since that tour working for country music artist and songwriter Rhett Akins as tour manager, band leader, and lead guitarist. Along the way I have, and continue, to work some in-town club gigs and recording sessions and I still panic trying to pay the bills every winter when the touring season slows to a crawl. Overall, I am earning a living from music and I credit this good fortune to having an invaluable combination of skills, work ethic, and a friend in the music community who pointed me in the right direction.
This kind of good fortune is not the case for all who venture to Music City, and along my journey I have met many struggling musicians and artists who have had much harder luck. At a recent blues jam, I met a drummer who had been in Nashville for about a year. He had done a couple of gigs in town, but nothing consistent, and nothing that came close to paying any bills. He was doing his best to try to insert himself into the scene but wasn’t having much success. “How do you get a road gig, or any gig in this town for that matter?” he asked. I could see the look of desperation in his eyes as he told me that his savings were now all used up and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do next.
Unfortunately, this kind of story is far more common in Nashville.
That conversation, as well as other similar tales, led me to the realization that the world outside of the Nashville music community knew very little of its inner workings, and that there is a real need for this information to be available to the masses. What originally began for me as a series of blogs and message board postings has now evolved into the soon to be completed book “The Nashville Musician’s Survival Guide” with its companion website www.survivenashville.com. Written from my perspective of being a working musician, the book outlines the structure and potential jobs within Nashville’s recording, touring, and nightclub communities. The basic job requirements, pay scales, and networking required to land those jobs are explored in great detail. Additional perspective in the form of several recent and ongoing interviews with music professionals will also be put forth, including A-list session bassist Mike Chapman, self-made indie artist Colt Ford, touring musicians, nightclub musicians, club owners, songwriters, engineers, managers, bus drivers, and more.
Nashville is a funny place. Everybody comes here to fulfill their dreams in music but most are unable to survive for any real length of time. Many of those who do survive long-term end up so trapped in the business end of things that their musical integrity often suffers. It seems that for many people, the Nashville experience isn’t what they hoped it would be. The key to surviving Nashville is to have a clear vision about your long-term goals, find different ways to earn income working within the current music scene while working towards those long-term goals, and use your relationships and connections from within the music community for financial survival and to achieve your long-term goals. None of this can be accomplished without some knowledge about the current state of the Nashville music community, a long-term commitment to this place and without building real, lasting relationships. It is my hope that this book and website will help some to accomplish their dreams.
In the meantime, good luck on the path.
Since first moving to Nashville in 2002 I have worked on several national tours, and for the most part, have had the luxury of traveling around on Prevost XLII tour buses, the luxury liners of touring. In my opinion, traveling by tour bus with a professional driver is, by far, the most comfortable and stress-free way to travel long distances with a group. Many musicians, past and present, are not so fortunate, and for some, “vanning it” is the only option. At a few different points during my touring years, I too have wound up in that category.
A couple of years into my life in Nashville, I played a handful of gigs with a regional cover rock band. On one particular weekend, we were hired to play at a biker party on top of Fredonia Mountain, a remote area far from civilization as we knew it, near the Tennessee-Alabama border (think Deliverance). Kelly and I left Nashville early afternoon driving in, you guessed it, a van (our trustworthy 2001 Dodge Caravan), loaded with my guitar equipment, a bag lunch, and some sleeping bags, as we were planning to sleep over after the show. The majority of the 130 mile drive was on Interstate 24, and we made it to our exit in just under two hours. The last 20 or so miles of the trip were on backroads, winding through hilly terrain, with a couple of small towns occasionally popping up out of nowhere. Keep in mind that this took place just prior to the era of affordable GPS technology, so we were relying on our printed out directions from Microsoft’s “Streets and Trips” to guide us.
After driving around for about an hour, unable to find the access road to the mountain, we realized we were lost, and stopped at a convenience store to ask directions. There were two guys standing outside their pickup truck in the parking lot, and upon asking them how to get to Fredonia Mountain, they answered in a dialect of hick that was so far removed from the English language it might as well have been Klingon. At this point, now afraid to step outside of our van again, we realized we were on our own, and began to backtrack using our printed out directions. After taking a series of turns onto, what the directions labeled as “local roads”, we turned down one particular gravel road that, at first, seemed like the most logical access point to the mountain. As this gig was on top of a mountain, and we were driving on mountain roads, with the directions literally reflecting each new turn we took, we had no reason to think we were on the wrong track. 
Any thoughts of such certainty quickly vanished when the gravel road upon which we were traveling emerged from the forest allowing us a horrifying view of reality. Kelly, who had been driving up to this point, stopped the van suddenly when we saw out of the driver’s side window, a sheer drop off about 3 feet to the left of the van. The view out of her window was that of treetops a couple hundred feet below us, and with the road being deeply rutted and on a downhill slope, we couldn’t back out of this predicament.
Already a mile or so down what was obviously an old logging trail, and no longer in cell phone coverage, we had no choice but to continue forward, in the hopes that this road might bring us to our destination. I got out and walked ahead of the van, slowly helping to guide Kelly through this dangerous section of road. After a few hundred feet, the drop-off section now passed, I hopped back in the van and we continued driving down this trail. Another mile or so of slow-going on this rough terrain and the dirt road became suddenly blocked by some fallen trees, making it obvious that we were going to have to turn around. Kelly, who was now in a near state of panic with dusk approaching, asked me to make the drive out. As there was no place to turnaround on this dead-end road into hell, I backed the van up for about a half mile to a spot that would allow a six-point turn. One more panic stricken ride past the lookout of death, and we emerged safely out of the forest.
We eventually made it to our gig (somewhat late), and as is it turned out, this logging trail brought us to within 5 miles of it. Unfortunately, the Microsoft provided directions, while bringing us to the base of the mountain, failed to show the dangers of these “local roads” and that the only safe access road was about 30 miles around the other side of the mountain. I wish we had a camera with us on that day, as our view out the van window of the valley of death was beyond words. The near perilous experience we lived through on that unforgettable day did teach us some valuable lessons we will never forget. Don’t ever completely rely on a Microsoft program to get you safely from point A to point B, always be suspicious of anything labeled “local roads”, avoid asking locals for directions whenever possible, and, always beware of the pitfalls of “vanning it”.
It’s been one year, almost to the day, since I embarked on my first book writing project, The Nashville Musician’s Survival Manual. And while there is an end in sight, there is still a huge amount of work to be done. I have never attempted to write a book before this, and it has been a massive learning process. One from which I have learned even more about the music business, the literary process, and myself. It takes a lot of hours to write a book, and one of the biggest challenges has been staying focused on such a detail oriented project over a long period of time. Being a working musician at this point in Nashville requires one to wear a lot of hats, and the hats I have been wearing have been that of a working guitar player, tour manager, and studio owner, while also working as a marketing director and content writer for a website company (not to mention my new role as a startup author).
It’s such a paradox, all throughout the book, I make references to the necessity for musicians to wear a lot of hats for survival. I am now finding myself wearing more hats than ever, and while I’m okay with this, the very nature of this kind of fragmented existence doesn’t always allow me to put my efforts where I really want or need to.
I just finished transcribing and editing an extensive interview for the book with world-class recording engineer Bob Bullock. Bob talks about this issue of wearing a lot of hats for survival and how this new age is forcing many of us to do so. He also said that while he now has to wear a lot of hats, he still works at being exceptional at one thing, which in his case, is that of a mixing engineer, and why it’s important to have at least one specialty to give you a competitive edge. In my case, my specialty is guitar playing, but I have found that guitar playing alone won’t pay all of my bills. I love playing guitar, I love the feeling I get when I’m playing with a live band, or recording in the studio. Through the process of researching and writing this book, interviewing musicians, and recalling some of my prior musical experiences, I have found a new appreciation for the musician in me. I just wish I had a little more time to wear my musician hat. Meanwhile, I can at least write about it.