'Run Run Run, As Fast As You Can': Examining 'The Hustle' of Singing
Maybe it’s the weather, maybe its current events, or maybe it’s the impending holiday season, but for some reason, I’m feeling introspective today.
I want to take a moment and talk about something that isn’t openly discussed—something that’s professionally swept under the rug, something that your mother would raise her eyebrows at and murmur disapprovingly, “Not at the table, dear…”.
I want to talk about quitting singing.
I want to talk about the reasoning behind it, and why so many of my colleagues and peers decide to quit.
I want to talk about why I’m pulling back from performing so much, and the benefits of doing so.
I know, I know—what a weird subject for a singing blog, right? It’s a taboo subject for sure, ‘quitting’ singing. People don’t like to discuss it in public. ‘Ex-singers’ (a self-identified term, not one of my own choosing) will often speak of their decision to stop singing professionally with a defiant tone. There’s almost a palpable edge to their words; whenever I listen to their stories, I always get the sense that they feel they have to justify their decision to the rest of the professional artistic world. Why on earth would they feel this way?
…because, in some ways, they do. We (their fellow artists) make them feel this way.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. To really do this subject justice, we should start at the beginning and talk about what professionals sometimes refer to as ‘The Work of Singing’. (ßdo you see what I did there?)
For those of you who didn’t catch that, I’ll make it obvious---I capitalized ‘The Work of Singing’. It’s a proper noun, this title. No, it isn’t a book or a reference guide or what have you, but to singers, it’s very much a proper noun. When I’m referring to ‘The Work of Singing’, I’m not talking about your scales and arpeggios, but rather the actual day-to-day, 9-5 work that you must do outside of the practice room to be a successful singer.
Ya’ll know what I’m talking about: the constant scanning of websites and forums and newsletters for upcoming auditions, the steady stream of applications and requests (year-long, mind you, not just from August to February), the careful coordination of travel plans and the necessary penny-pinching budgeting, and the ever-ongoing networking and socializing in hopes of meeting someone who will further your career.
I call all of this, all of the relentless grind behind the presentation, ‘The Hustle’. And the #1 question I get asked constantly is, “You’re always SO busy--how do you handle all the hustle of the singing business?”
First, let’s actually examine this word, ‘hustle’. I very-intentionally call all the background and legwork in the singing business ‘hustle’ because –well, it quite literally IS a hustle, in every sense of the verb. You are hustling constantly in this business. In a physical sense, you will generally be hustling from place to place across cities and states (or nations, if you’re so lucky) to get to your next rehearsal or audition location. There’s generally a lot of travel involved in singing; auditions and rehearsals get rescheduled or cancelled in an instant. There are also a lot of inconsistencies in terms of scheduling in the artistic world—directors aren’t always able to be flexible when they arrange rehearsals, and houses aren’t always able to accommodate requests. Professional singers have to move quickly to keep up with current events and shifting schedules. I often find myself spending 4-5 hours a day in my car, commuting from gig to gig across the Chicagoland area; this takes its toll on my body, leaving me physically exhausted by the end of the day.
In addition to running around like a crazy person, you will also mentally be hustling— to stay relevant, to get your work viewed and heard, to book your next gig, to arrange your next coaching, to network at your next social event, to regulate your work and its quality. Singers should always monitor themselves and their presentation, both personally and professionally. It’s a 24/7 job, one that pulls all your time and attention to examine what’s practical and possible. Are you consistently updating your website to reflect your upcoming work? Are you making new recordings and putting them out there for the public to view? Are you sending out your monthly newsletter to gain audience base? Are you accruing AGMA points and garnering acquaintances to gain access to better and more challenging work? Are you considering putting yourself into audition situations where someone with power and influence could see you? Are you pushing yourself to be the best possible version of yourself you can be?
I can sum all of this up in one general statement: As a singer, if you’re not feeling like you’re continuously moving and shaking and searching and pushing yourself…well, you’re not doing something right, and your finances and gigging will reflect that.
And to be honest, this takes its toll on people.
When I was in graduate school, a fellow student was talking about The Hustle. He was older than I was and had just moved from Chicago, where he had been working and making a name for himself for quite a while. I asked him what the secret to his success in a big urban area was, seeing as there were many other performers around. He grinned slyly, and said, “It’s just a big waiting game. See, you go to all these auditions, and you meet people while you’re waiting, and you become friends. And eventually one day, you realize that you know everyone else in the audition waiting room. So you all go and you audition, and then you all go out for a beer afterwards-- and auditions become fun, sort of like these parties everyone goes to. And eventually you either get better and more relaxed at auditioning… or everyone else gives up and quits singing, and you’re the only one left to choose, so you get the work. It’s sort of like professional chicken---who is going to blink first?”
At the time, I was horrified by this.
Now, I can tell you—this shit is REAL.
I’ve been in the Chicagoland area for almost three years. I audition for everything and anything I could consider myself qualified for, and a few that I could push myself to achieve—there’s no project or production too small, if I feel it will stretch me as a performer. Because of this, I started to see a ton of friends, old ‘show buddies’ and acquaintances at auditions within my first year in the city. By my third year, I’m seeing less and less of the people I used to hang out with at these audition settings. I chock most of this up to two big factors: the absolute drain a singing career has on personal finances, and the serious restrictions it puts on your personal life.
Here’s an example of the reality of the singing world:
I average about seven auditions a month with a 25% success rate; this is ridiculously good, especially for living in such an urban setting as Chicago. I’ve been involved with 35 productions in 9 months, either in a performing or production management capacity… and even with all this paying work, 2017 was the year I finally went broke.
Need some more? Try this on for size--I have four ridiculously-talented girlfriends who are currently living in Chicago. All four of them could easily sing circles around my ass, all four went to nationally-renown music schools to earn their Masters degrees, and all four graduated with honors.
One of them has twice been chosen to participate in one of the ‘Big Five’ Young Artist programs (‘Big Five’ = Houston Grand, Florida Grand, LA, Chicago Lyric, Metropolitan Opera Lindemann Program). She is currently singing internationally with much acclaim, and has a manager who regularly schedules auditions and work for her across the globe. Regardless of this, she has been homeless for several years now due to her international performance schedule; although the work is prestigious, it is not steady, and she often finds herself unemployed (and unpaid) for large chunks of time. She adopted a lovely dog that quickly became her soul-companion…and about a year ago, she had to make the heart-rending decision to give her dog up while she moved abroad for a contract.
Another one is an extremely-successful singer on a national level. She has participated in two extremely-coveted Young Artist programs within the past two years, and is now singing internationally for Equity rates. She is renowned for her precision, her musicality and her professionalism. This past year, she broke up with her long-time partner, whom she dated for over a year across the country due to a contract. In the past two and a half years, she has moved across the country six times for contractual obligations. She is currently broke, homeless and living with family. Recently, she has decided to stop pursuing singing professionally to go back to school in order to completely change professions; she is 28 years old.
One of them has been widely-praised for her sensitivity and artistry. She participated in a highly-competitive young artist program that, while being nationally-recognized for its excellence, is also widely-known for its abusive staff and administration. Her experience with them was so scarring that she moved across the country, left singing completely and entered the world of non-profit; she has not sung a note in public since arriving in Chicago two years ago.
The last one has ambitiously pursued singing on the regional level, struggling to gain work and respect amongst her peers in a city that places her thousands of miles away from home and family. She has moved across the country three times in the past four years; neither she nor her partner work full-time positions. They have been desperately longing for a child for at least the past three years, but kept putting it off out of respect to her singing career and their financial status. After two years of living an unfulfilled home life in a place that frankly makes her miserable, she is moving across the country again to begin a new life (and hopefully motherhood).
I can relate to all three of these women and the situations they find themselves in. I personally have given up much for my singing career. I have moved across the country no less than three times. I have had to surrender my beloved dog to friends and family for 9 months while I fulfilled a contractual obligation. I have missed just about every holiday/birthdays/family reunion/funeral/wedding of my friends and family members for the past decade. I have dedicated long hours in dead-end jobs, worked overtime and scrimped/saved my wages to finance countless audition trips and recording sessions and voice lessons. I’ve gone through at least a dozen boyfriends who ‘couldn’t handle my singing coming first’. I’m currently $89,000 in debt through various student loans. My personal credit took an atrocious hit due to my ‘audition credit card’ account. I’m presently entering the formalized work force in an entry-level position at the age of 33. This is my first experience in my lifetime with having my healthcare provided, or having paid sick leave, or, frankly, having a steady form of income.
All of this is not to bash The Hustle or professional singing in general. I’m not trying to say to any young and hopeful singers out there ‘Don’t try this, it really sucks and it’s not financially feasible if you want nice things, like Kleenex and toilet paper that doesn’t come from the Dollar Store, or to not worry about paying rent or the light bill in the same month, or if you ever hope to be able to afford getting married one day…or even find the time to date to hopefully get married one day’. I’m not trying to say that pursuing a professional classical singing career in America isn’t possible (although, to be honest, the powers-that-be have made it damn-near impossible through various political and financial hoops and jumps…but these have been already discussed in a previous article, so I won’t pontificate here).
I AM saying that it’s a ridiculously hard profession that comes with serious financial and social consequences.
And it seems like nobody discusses this openly. No teacher warns their students of the financial burdens they will face. No coach will caution their clients that they might never find a partner willing to share a life with them due to the demands of their art. None of my friends and colleagues will admit to feeling overworked or underpaid, whether out of stubbornness, pride, or fear. Instead, singers almost instinctively demonstrate a ‘pack mentality’, cautiously welcoming newcomers and castigating those who seek other paths. Amongst professionals, you will hear the term ‘quit’ used frequently—‘So and so ‘quit’ singing’, or ‘She’s not doing the national audition circuit this year, I guess she’s ‘quitting’’.
I have serious problems with this term, ‘quitting’, mostly due to its negative connotations. First of all, when you say that you are ‘quitting singing’, it sounds like singing is an addiction or a habit, much like gambling or smoking. My peers will refer to someone ‘quitting’ singing in the same hushed tones an alcoholic might use to describe an old drinking buddy who suddenly decided to attend AA; there’s some resentment and envy mixed in there, along with something a little nastier. It’s as if, by someone choosing to deviate from the standardized path, the rest of us singers are somehow morally superior…and that’s just not true in any sense.
Secondly, singing is not a formalized job, so there is no real way one can ‘quit’ it. There is no ‘corporate world’ of singing, no contract that you’re going to sign and stay singing under for decades of your life. In fact, it’s wildly the opposite—most contracts are few, far and in-between, especially financially speaking. If financial or scheduled stability becomes more of a priority for people and they decide to head a different direction with their careers, or if they decide to relegate singing from a form of professional engagement to a form of personal pleasure, who are the rest of us to judge their decision??? Singing on a professional level is not an assigned task that we are forced to drudge through for the rest of our lives (although to be honest, some days in the practice room, it does feel that way), but rather a skillset. Skillsets cannot, by their very definition, be ‘quit’—they’re learned behaviors that, once learned, will remain with you the rest of your life. Yes, some skillsets can wane, and some fine motor-skills might need to be re-honed over time, but the basic skills will always remain. You can’t ‘lose’ the ability to sing any more than you could ‘lose’ the ability to ride a bicycle. It’s engrained muscle memory, always stored somewhere in the back of your brain…so unless your larynx physically falls out of your throat, you will always be able to sing your whole life long, regardless of professional intent.
Thirdly, and perhaps most importantly: there is a large stigma of guilt, regret, remorse, and an overwhelming feeling of ‘personal failure’ involved with leaving a professional singing path. We fellow artists hardly need to pile onto someone else’s emotional burden with our own judgments; it does nothing for our artform, our colleagues, or our own career paths. We as artists need to stop policing/judging others based from a place of fear and move towards radical acceptance of ourselves and each other. That would help a LOT of things…but I digress.
2017 has been an amazing year for me professionally. I’ve booked triple the amount of gigs than I ever have before, both as a director and a performer. And while this work has been amazing and fulfilling, it has frankly been utterly exhausting. Like, bone-achingly, totally-mentally-incoherently exhausting in a way I’ve never imagined or experienced before. I’m working longer and harder than I ever have before in my life—the physical toll on my body has been worse than my being a full-time bartender. More importantly, I’m finding that all of this singing isn’t actually fulfilling me the way I thought it might. Being constantly booked with performances means I’m constantly in rehearsals instead of the practice room. I never thought I’d say that I loved the process of singing, but since it has been absent in my life, I realized how much I miss that one-on-one intimacy with my instrument and the progression of improving it daily. Worse still, I’m finding that I’m not operating on the professional level that I’d like. 2017 was my ‘professional year of yes’. Instead of strategically planning my auditions to place myself on the level I would like to work at/companies I’d like to work for, I accepted every contract that was presented to me. The result was a lot of erradic, schedule-filling-but-artistically-less-fulfilling work that pays half of what I would like instead of one large, prestigious contract that pays me double and forces me to grow as an artist…I think my preference here is pretty obvious.
Even MORE importantly, my performing has taken a grim toll on my personal life. About a month ago, I had a serious-awakening moment with my partner. I had just arrived home on a Tuesday night after a long day of rehearsals (I left at 6 AM and did not return until almost midnight). I dragged myself and my various ‘luggage’ (backpack full of scores, a lunchbox with a half-eaten lunch in it, my purse/coat/rehearsal skirt/character shoes/etc) in the door, mindlessly plopped down on the couch, and immediately picked up my phone to answer emails and respond to requests. My partner gently but firmly took my phone out of my hands, replaced it with a bowl of soup, and casually asked when I could have dinner with he and his parents. I opened my personal planner…and realized that every single hour of my week was booked. I could not see my hopeful-future-in-laws until the following week at the very earliest (and even then, it would be Friday at 9 PM). This is the man I live with, asking me when I will actually physically and mentally be able to be present, and I could not fulfill that request due to contractual obligations. I suddenly realized that my life was more than one long, never-ending rehearsal schedule—it was here, at home, with my man and my dog and my family and my friends…and I was missing it.
I suddenly remembered a time that I went to watch a famous singer give a masterclass. At the end of it, during the inevitable Q and A, someone asked her what the hardest part about singing professionally was. The guest artist paused, seemingly struggling internally, then gave a great sigh and said, “It isn’t the singing—it’s everything that comes with it, and being away from home for so long, or not having a home to go to at all. If you have ever considered or discovered that you can do anything else but sing professionally, DO IT, because it’s just too hard.” This statement struck something in me, and I’ve never forgotten it; nowadays, I’m suddenly discovering that I’m living it. My life is full of music and art, and while life looks great on paper, it just isn’t the same in real life. I’m feeling overwhelmed, overworked, underpaid and tired. I’m tired of feeling overwhelmed with director’s notes and of mixing up librettos in my mind. I’m done with being angry at myself for not remembering blocking when I’m in four shows at once, or of every month being a battle to beat my bills, or of attempting to balance feeding myself with arriving to my next gig on time. I’m tired of most of my day being spent driving in my car…god, I am SO tired of living in my car. I’m done with the guilt of never being available to my partner, or of him shouldering the burden of caring for our household entirely on his own, because I’m never physically or mentally present. I’m tired of my friends and family being shocked when I show up to events I was invited to, because they all ‘assumed I’d be in rehearsal’. I’m sick and tired of always, always being tired. And as much as I yearn to be recognized by my peers, and as much as I long to be surrounded by art-- it isn’t worth sacrificing my entire life for it. Perhaps, by pulling back a little on the amount of work I undertake, I will actually increase the value of the productions I choose to be in, while also allowing myself to actually have a life outside of singing.
As my girlfriend recently said, “You cannot hustle your way into joy.”
So, it’s only November, but I’m not waiting for January 1st, 2018 to start a new resolution. I’m starting now, and my resolution is this: I will find a better way to exist, a more balanced and meaningful existence that fulfills me and my partner’s needs and wants. I want to discover a way to sustain myself physically, mentally, spiritually and financially and still remain a professional singer. I want to find a way to survive and thrive and identify myself as a singer, beyond my next contract or my next role. After all, there’s more to my being a singer than my next gig, and there’s more to me as a person than just being a singer--I’m a complete person, and if I cannot fully-operate as a person as well as an artist, then I cannot hope to survive the rest of this year with my sanity intact.
I guess this entire post is to say: it’s all okay.
As you get older, more and more of your colleagues will start to slip away from the professional singing scene. They will get married, take other jobs to support themselves, start families, and little by little pull away from The Hustle.
And that’s okay.
Maybe you decide that this is you. Maybe you decide you want to have a baby, or change careers, or focus on another aspect of your life that you feel fulfills you in a way that singing cannot seem to do these days.
And that’s okay too.
Maybe the answer isn’t to ‘quit’ singing, or to keep singing, or even involves singing whatsoever. Maybe the answer is to stop guilting ourselves into continuing behaviors that no longer fulfill us, to stop acting out of fear of supposedly-missed opportunities. Maybe the real answer is to just be gentler with ourselves, to be more understanding of our limitations and circumstances. After all, we’re singers—we’re only human.