There’s a quiet question that creeps into my mind more often than I’d like to admit:
Am I good enough?
I’ve been a full-time musician for years now, playing gigs every week across clubs, pubs, weddings, and functions. It’s how I pay my bills. It’s my craft. It’s my life. But still, that little voice finds a way in:
“You’re just a cover guy.”
“You don’t have any formal training.”
“Look at that other musician online; better gear, better voice, more followers, more likes.”
Social media is a trap. I’ll scroll through my feed and see polished promo shots, packed-out shows, flawless vocal runs; and it’s hard not to feel like I’m falling behind. Like I missed a memo on how to make it all “work.”
And don’t even get me started on trying to book gigs. I send out dozens of emails and messages. Most venues don’t even bother to reply. But then I see other musicians getting work there. That kind of silence can feel personal, even when you know it’s probably not. It chips away at your confidence, even though I know, just like others who have given me a chance, these venues would book me back if they would just give me a go.
Don’t get me wrong, I’ve got some awesome venues who support me and keep the work coming, and I’m incredibly grateful for that. But I’m talking about new venues. The local music scene is always shifting; venues change management, drop entertainment, start it up again, or suddenly switch focus. You’ve got to keep putting yourself out there, because standing still means disappearing. It’s part of the hustle, but it can feel like shouting into the void some days.
What’s tough is that music is all I’ve ever done. I’m self-taught. I don’t have qualifications in sound engineering, composition, or performance. I’ve learned everything on the job. Through years of trial, error, and the occasional panic about whether I’m doing any of this “right.”
But here’s what I do know: I love music. I love performing. And I’ve worked damn hard to make a living from it. That’s my definition of success; not fame, not awards, not going viral. Just being respected for what I do, and being able to live off it.
Sometimes people are surprised when I tell them I do music full-time. I get the same look you’d give someone who says they’re a professional tuba juggler. But what they don’t see is the vulnerability involved in what I do. Every time I step on stage, I’m putting myself out there, hoping the crowd connects, hoping the venue sees value, hoping I get asked back. It’s not just a job. It’s a piece of who I am, on display every night.
The music industry can be brutal. Thick skin helps, but it doesn’t make you bulletproof. Rejection stings. Silence stings more. But I keep going because I love it, because I need to, and because I believe that what I do matters.
I don’t know if other musicians feel the same. I assume they must. But I do know that even in my lowest moments of self-doubt, I keep showing up.
And maybe that, more than anything, is what makes me real.
Mate you have been a must for a bloody long time and a good one to boot. Never get that crap in your head we all love and respect you for entertaining our life’s brother
Pub and club venues are not the benchmark for musical success. They are a business. They book the acts that give them the best bang for buck. They aren’t interested in the quality of music. They just want some noise in the corner that doesn’t cost them much and sells beer.
Most venues couldn’t care less and engage “agents” to fill the spots for them. When was the last time you were asked to provide a demo to a new venue?
All they want to know is “how much?”
I remember years ago agents pushed demos, sent out posters, and organised newspaper articles. All they do now is look at a calendar, send a few emails, and collect their 10%.
If you’re making a living in this environment that is geared to getting the product at the lowest price, then I’d say you’re very successful.
I always remember a great mentor of mine telling me, “Music is not a competitive sport.” You play for you, with passion and success will find you.
Thanks for the thoughtful comment, Frank. I think you’re spot on. Everyone’s definition of success is different. For some, it’s charting on Spotify or selling out arenas. For others, it’s having the courage to get up at an Open Mic night and share something real. Neither is more valid than the other.
I’m lucky to live in an area where musicians are (mostly) paid fairly well for their work, but yep — there are still plenty of venues that just want cheap noise in the corner to keep the tills ringing. That part hasn’t changed.
I’ve got mates in other areas and states who are fantastic muso’s, but they earn significantly less per gig. To make ends meet, they’d have to gig 5 or 6 nights a week. It’s tough, and it really reinforces what you said: if you’re making any kind of living in this game, you’re already doing well.
And I love that quote, “Music is not a competitive sport.” That’s gold. If you’re playing with heart and staying true to your craft, you’re winning.
I completely understand this feeling — as you know, I’m also self-taught and haven’t been in the industry for long. I often doubt myself too. And, as we both know, my skin is very thin! I’m working on it, though, and it really helps to remember that 99% of people are much kinder than we expect them to be – but for some reason we always remember that 1%.
People have told me so many times that I should go on a talent show, genuinely perplexed as to why I’m not interested. Or they hear I’m writing music and seem confused that I don’t have a defined goal — especially one involving fame or sold-out shows. But honestly, I just want to do it to see if I can. To enjoy it. To explore music and see where it leads — if anywhere at all. I’m not chasing that kind of success — not that I’d necessarily get it anyway, lol.
It is hard not to compare ourselves to other musicians though. I try to remind myself how cool it is that I get paid to do music at all. Who would have thought? Definitely not me. It happened so quickly, as you know, as two years ago you were helping me to choose out and learn just three songs to do an open mic – my only goal at the time that has quickly grown into a profession (one I had never even considered was for me).
Anyone older than me will probably laugh, but I often feel like I was late to the industry, starting at 23. Sometimes it seems like people my age had a ten-year head start — they already knew what they wanted and were playing paid gigs before it even dawned on me that this was an option. But there it is: it’s not a competition. We all have our own journeys.
I started fairly late, too, at around 17-18 years of age. But you’re never too old and I know working musicians who didn’t start playing guitar until they were in they’re 40’s, and still managed to get out and start gigging. Like you said, we all have our own journeys and if you are happy with what you are doing, that’s all that matters. There are muso’s out there who want to be more, always looking to improve their skills and work on being famous, etc. That’s cool too, and I wish them all the best doing so.
I think as long as we, as individuals, focus on our own path and appreciate the venues and people that do support us, it will be a lot easier to push aside any negative thoughts and haters. Easy to say though, hey lol