by harlowmedia | Oct 22, 2019 | Pro Tips
“Hey dude, you playing at Wombats, that new bar in town?”
Hell no man.
“Why dude?”
Not enough money man.
“What do you mean? Isn’t some money better than no money?
No man, we know our value.
As someone who has booked myself and artists, I have actually used the phrase “We know our value” as to somehow tell those bars / venue owners that I’m the stuff and they can’t low ball me (1990’s). I think it was mostly arrogance as if I had some band that was better than others, never realizing there are a lot of bands (even better) that wanted that same gig. I think it was my idea of a marketing tactic or something. I want to go back in time and punch myself in the face. Why?
- I didn’t really know our value.
- I didn’t really know our value.
Read on.. maybe that will make sense.
So, what is value? By definition:
Noun: a person’s principles or standards of behavior; one’s judgment of what is important in life.
Verb: estimate the monetary worth of (something).
Interesting huh? It can have two meanings! One is based on an internal need in someone’s life (playing music as an example) and the other is based on the worth in dollars.
Frankly, I was always looking at the verb (money side), as if to share with pride my accomplishment to make that extra $100 over the last band. It’s human instinct to want to be better I suppose. My use of “we know our value” didn’t play out as I expected. It showed my cards and ultimately prevented me from being able to work with the venue for mutual benefit. Even worse, telling them “I knew our value” meant it opened me up to the question back “ok, what is your value?” .. uh oh.. what is my value? If I would have just changed the words to “we feel we can bring value to you”.
Fast forward many many years, the good news is I’ve found the money is a byproduct of what’s actually important (the noun)… not the other way around. It comes after you establish the core values.
Anyway, I’m writing this article / rambling because I think sometimes we get this stuff confused and end up losing opportunity over our perceived value (in dollars) versus our real values to get out and play. It’s a two parter because it’s long and I could go on and on about this. I expect people will disagree with me on this and that is perfectly OK. In honestly, I’m looking for others opinions and their experiences. That’s the whole idea around putting these articles (ramblings) out there.
So, back to the story, it’s a good question. If money is
what you value, then any money is better than no money right?
- If you said yes: Go get that money, go forth and prosper. No need to read further. (I’ll give you a tip though, you can make more working at Publix or Walmart than in a band – and you get insurance!)
- However, if no: Then we agree, money isn’t everything. You may actually value being in a band because it’s the coolest thing ever!
So, what are some things that you may actually value over money
musically?
- Being in a band / rockstar
- Playing to a room full of folks / fans
- Connecting with others musicians
- Sharing your song / music
- Getting in the spotlight
- Being a part of a community
- Being on tour / travel
- Meeting people / getting followers and fans
- The energy / excitement
- Fame / Ego
- Giving back / charity
- Getting drunk (I hope not)
Obviously, there are many more reasons why someone plays
music and enjoys it but when you start adding things up, money may not be the
only single thing of value. It may be what comes after the “noun” value
happens.
Side note: I can tell you with my own venue that money was never even talked about. The thought of having a venue dedicated to supporting bands / artists and providing a real listening experience trumped any thoughts of money. It’s our value that creating experiences and helping bands at that place is much more important than making a buck. We’re blessed to be in a spot to pay bands and do this type of thing and it’s great to pay the electric bill (our goal) but being a part of community growth and seeing and hearing some great bands is more than enough payment. I digress.
By now, I’m sure you are either disagreeing completely, or just maybe, it has caused you to realize that being in a band is not all about money, and you would be right, there is much more value to be had.
My goal in this part 1 was to try and look back to why you starting playing, singing, running sound, doing lights, or whatever role you have in a band.
I think you’ll find that you started playing because is the most fun experience on earth to be able to make noises, be in front of a crowd, and connect with others. It’s just plain cool. It’s hitting on some of the intangible values, which based on some of the previous articles can be most important (see the love languages article).
When I manage / managed bands or artists, I always ask the question. Why do you want to do music? The expected answers are: Girls, Money, Fame.
However, once in a while, I get someone who says “it’s all I want to do”. Those are the people who truly love and value music. Those are the ones I gravitate towards because they are fully committed at any cost and their goal is about creating something for others to receive, not the other way around.
I hope maybe this spawned some thoughts for you. It’s something I think about often. For those who play music, please don’t forget about the noun value. Don’t let the verb value be the only thing that determines your real value(s).
Don’t worry, we’re about to talk money in part 2 and I like money.
by harlowmedia | Oct 22, 2019 | Pro Tips
By Carey Henderson
I’ve been playing guitar for nearly 31 years.
I started like many people: my parents bought me an inexpensive guitar, because
they were smart enough to start this way to see if I’d stick with the
instrument first, I took lessons (from Jason Harlow himself), and spent a lot
of time driving my parents nearly out of their minds playing the same chords
and riffs over and over until I began to find some proficiency.
I can still remember the moment when I knew,
however, that I wanted to be a serious guitar player. My parents were on
vacation somewhere. At the time, we had one of those giant satellite dishes,
not these tiny DishTV ones you see remnants of now. I was still in the early
stages, and I happened across Van Halen’s ‘Live Without a Net’ special the night
that they were gone, and at the moment just before Eddie took his prolonged
solo. Sammy noted that this was the time during the show where he got to kick
back and drink a beer, and Eddie went to town. I was floored by his grinning
self, in those ridiculous pants and that wife-beater tee, as he began to rip
the sky from the ground in the way only Eddie can. I’d already been a fan of
bands like Stryper, and of course Van Halen, Motley Crue, and I had discovered
players like Steve Vai and Satriani. But I’d never seen anything like the
spectacle of Eddie doing what he does best.
From that moment on, I was hooked and knew
that I wanted to be able to do what Eddie could do.
In those early years, I was mostly into hard
rock, hair-metal, and some thrash, as well as instrumental guitar music. I can
remember riding with a friend at the time to the local mall any time we found
out that a shred guitar player had been released on the inimitable Shrapnel
Records. Marty Friedman, Vinnie Moore, Paul Gilbert, Tony McAlpine, and then
one day I heard Micheal Lee Firkins. Firkins became very quickly my favorite of
the lot, with his wild but precise use of a whammy bar to mimic slide guitar,
and his obvious blues and country influences. I cut my teeth, so to speak, on
these players. Some years later, I discovered Zakk Wylde, and then Stevie Ray
Vaughan, and to this day both remain my two biggest influences.
As my proficiency with the instrument grew,
even in my younger years, I could see my own limitations. I’ve never been any
good with arpeggios. I could tap well, and within a Pentatonic scale, I could
do two notes per string fast and with precision. In those early years, as well,
I used a Floyd-Rose set up, and learned to work the whammy bar with some
precision, though I never came close to achieving the skill of Michael Lee
Firkins. One thing that I credit to being a good player today is coming to
terms with my own limitations early on, and working within them, stretching
when and where I could, but never pretending to be something that I wasn’t.
I’ve always enjoyed serving the melodic sensibilities of a song anyway, so my
limitations didn’t hinder me terribly when it came to making music that I
enjoyed making, and music that other people seemed to enjoy listening to.
But the thing I credit most in terms of both
being a good player and never losing my love of the instrument some 31 years
later was learning quickly to command my own ego.
I find ego to be something like a drug: with
the correct dosage, it can push you to become the best player you can be, but
abused, it will derail progress, alienate you, and take all the joy out of
playing in any situation other than by yourself. There are few things that can
be as much fun as sharing the stage with other competent guitar players, and
enjoying the back and forth as you serve the music and the moment. But when the
ego is left unchecked, there is no hope of this joy.
I’ve played in live band situations since
college, though not consistently. I’ve had years on end where I took breaks
from it, only to find myself drawn back to it again because the shared
experience of music is something that I enjoy. In my many years on many stages,
I’ve seen the ego ruin the experience for many a guitar player (not to mention
the band backing them, and often the audience!) I’ve had so many of them step
on the stage with me and proceed to try and make the moment a competition,
which for me steals all the potential fun from serving the songs and the
moment. I’ve been off the stage and watched guitar players compete with each
other from the perspective of the audience member, one cranking their amp
louder, only to lead to the other player doing the same, until the entire thing
became a spectacle of ego rather than enjoyable back and forth that can come
from two competent players who respect one another.
I’ve always tried to keep my ego in check by
competing with one person only: myself. I want to be the best player that I can
be because I think that serves the music, and because it keeps out the toxic
need to ‘show up’ other players. When I want to improve, I listen to my
influences, and when I know my ego needs to be checked, I do the same. And
these days, if any adult player begins to find their ego taking over, thinking
that we are more special than is true, we only need to pull up YouTube. We can
then see kids at ridiculously young ages who can already ‘shred our faces.’ We
can also watch consummate players like Eric Gales, Andy Timmons, Joel Hoekstra,
and a host more, who all respect one another and share a stage with respect,
and learn from their example. I find doing this to be a marvelous tool in
making certain my ego is being administered at the correct dose.
Of course, there are always those players who
derive a sinister joy from wanting to show up other players, and nothing can be
done about or for them, as this is just the human condition. But most genuine
musicians want to serve the music and not destroy others. Some have this
quality early on in their journeys, and some find this as they age, realizing
with time and the wisdom of growing older that an unchecked ego is a zero-sum
game. Like the habit of abusing a drug, the ruinous monster of an unchecked ego
can never be satisfied, only satiated moment to moment in a never ending cycle.
Carey Henderson is the lead guitar player for The Michael James band and one of three guitar players in the band Reagan and The Advisors.
He can be found on Facebook and can be emailed at carey.henderson@gmail.com
