"I'm Above a Day Job"

There’s a certain breed of creative who thinks survival jobs are an admission of failure. They picture themselves as the unbending purist, refusing to divert so much as an hour from their craft. They imagine the world will reward that stubbornness with some cinematic discovery moment; what the world actually does is move on without them.

Years ago, I was collaborating with another composer who was perpetually teetering on the brink of financial collapse, bemoaning his empty bank account whilst somehow finding the resources to squander on guitar pedals, novelty gadgets and assorted distractions. The one investment that would have measurably improved the quality of our work, acoustic treatment for his space, remained perpetually “out of budget". Not because it was unaffordable - because it was never a priority.

One day, after yet another tirade about his financial hardship, I told him the obvious, and plainly: Find a job. I wasn’t suggesting he abandon his ambitions, only that he secure a financial foundation robust enough to withstand the inevitable periods of inertia that accompany creative careers. His reply was delivered with the casual finality of someone convinced their delusion was strategy: “I’m not going to invest time into anything that doesn’t advance my career”.

The absurdity of the statement would have been comical had it not been so tragic. For here was someone unwilling to invest time into anything that did advance his career, either. Deadlines drifted past like ships in the night. Work arrived in fragments (or more commonly, not at all). Any momentum we might have built together was suffocated under the weight of his own inaction.

I have never once entertained that luxury. I have always understood that the work you don’t want to do - the unglamorous, uncelebrated labour that takes place far from the spotlight - is often the scaffolding that allows the real work to ever get built at all. If survival requires turning my hand to something beyond my immediate passion, I will do it without complaint and without the self-sabotaging belief that such work is beneath me.

I’m fortunate to say that work has been consistent for a number of years now, though make no mistake: My mum owns a cleaning company. If there were a gap in my books, I’d be right next to her at 5am on a Sunday, mop in hand, cleaning office buildings.

This is a reality that many in creative industries refuse to acknowledge until it is too late: the field is littered with the carcasses of those who mistook performance for progress, who were seduced by the optics of ambition yet failed to grasp that endurance is the only virtue. 

The breakthrough they were waiting for may well have arrived one day but by then they had already been washed out to sea, pulled under by their own stubborn refusal to weather the long, unremarkable stretches between storms.

The truth is not that difficult to swallow, though many will spit it out regardless: the ability to persevere, to remain standing long after others have fallen away - that will do more to secure your future than any short-lived blaze of recognition. If that means working outside your ideal domain for a season, then so be it. The game is only won by those still playing when the opportunity finally beckons.

I’ve never had that problem. I’ve worked my arse off to advance my career and I’ll continue to do so. However, I’ve also never been too proud to do whatever’s necessary to keep the cash flowing in the meantime. If that means doing something completely outside of music for a stretch, so be it.

You might not get that big break for years. That doesn’t mean you stop and it certainly doesn’t fucking mean you sit in poverty, shrouded in self-pity, waiting for the call. It means you find a way to survive without surrendering the work entirely. Those who can endure the longest without folding are the ones who eventually win.

So if the gigs dried up tomorrow, would you still be standing when the next one appeared, or would your pride have already taken you out of the game?

The industry doesn’t care how talented you are if you’re no longer here to be hired. Stay in the game by any means necessary; it’s the only way to win it. There will be two types of people who read this article. Those who nod, agree and survive. And those whose careers die in the shadow of their precious defensiveness.