This as-told-to essay is based on a conversation with Jason Myers, a marketing-firm executive and professional bass player in the band Icarus Witch. He is based in Pittsburgh. This story has been edited for length and clarity.
I started playing bass in heavy metal bands in junior high. I wanted to become a professional musician, but as soon as I got out of college in 1993, I started a side hustle doing publicity for concert promoters and record labels for in case my rock-and-roll dreams didn’t pan out.
The side hustle was really a full-time day job, which made managing a serious band challenging. I’d have to book studio time at night and work until the sun came up, and I could only book shows on weekends unless I took time off from my job.
In 2003, the band I’m still in today, Icarus Witch, got signed to a label. We put out our first record in 2005 and started getting radio play. As our popularity grew, I wanted to accept longer tours. But the money you earn from touring is essentially a loan against your royalties, so I had to keep working to sustain myself.
Out of a 24-hour day, the band is only on stage for maybe an hour. The rest is spent traveling, waiting, and sleeping. There was a lot of wasted time I knew I could fill, and we were entering an era of greater WiFi capabilities.
As the years passed, I started to recognize that the music industry was shrinking. People were downloading songs instead of buying CDs, and there were fewer opportunities to make money. Even though my band was successful, it felt more like a personal victory, and I realized it was time to make some adult decisions about how I would protect myself in the future.
In 2010, I was asked to join a marketing and PR startup called The Content Factory that was early into the remote work thing. I had previously worked with the owner and founder, Kari DePhillips, at another startup. Though I’d only ever done publicity and marketing for bands, Kari said that didn’t matter.
Soon after, my band went on tour with the veteran group Y&T, and they were gracious enough to let me work from their bus since we were following them around in a small van. When we’d stay at a hotel, I’d sit in our room after shows working, while my bandmates would check out the local bar scene and meet up with fans.
These days, my band is more selective about the shows we play because going on tour doesn’t make as much financial sense as it once did. That’s why you see exorbitant ticket prices when a band does decide to go out.
I’m still with The Content Factory. I worked my way up from account rep to senior vice president of PR and social media marketing. I still enjoy the hell out of playing music, but the company’s well-being is on my mind all the time now.
When you’re in a band on the rise, it’s easy to feel invincible, like this is going to last forever. But you have to look out for yourself. No one is going to save you.
I used to have this mindset that if I allowed myself to think about a Plan B, I’d somehow jinx my chances of making it big. In hindsight, I realize that’s foolish. You can plan for your future and live the wild life at the same time. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.
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