I’ve spent more than twenty years in academia. That might sound like a long time, but it didn’t feel like a career path. It felt like something I did alongside my real work—music. Even though I don’t wear the facade of an academic—and no one who really knows me would call me one—the path I’ve walked through teaching, publishing, and shaping ideas carries that imprint.
In fact, I’ve been more productive—more visible—than many artists who live completely outside academia. That isn’t bragging. That’s reality. And part of the reason I’ve been able to do that is because the university gave me something the music industry wouldn’t: a long runway. Time.
They didn’t hire me because I was charting. They didn’t bring me in to generate buzz or profit. They wanted someone who could teach, serve the department, and help shape the direction of the program. In return, I had the space to do my work. No one asked me to be marketable. No one tried to fit me into a formula. That kind of freedom is rare.
In music, it’s different. People don’t support your work simply because it’s honest or original. Granting organizations may be an exception, but more often than not, support comes only if they believe it can sell. And if it doesn’t, they walk away. Record labels, booking agents, presenters—they’re all operating under the same basic logic: Will this make money? If the answer is no, then the meeting is over. That’s not cynical. That’s how they survive.
Years ago, a label head told me he regretted not recording more of my group. He’d only done one album with us. At the time, he didn’t think the sound would catch on. He was probably right. It didn’t check the usual boxes. So there was that familiar push: straighten it out, smooth the edges, give the people something they can digest easily. I didn’t take the bait, and he didn’t press the issue. He made his calculation and moved on.
That’s how this business works. It’s short-term by design. If you want something preserved for the long term, you’ll have to do it yourself.
Artists talk a lot about support. They wait around for someone to come along and believe in them. But the truth is, no one’s coming. If you want your work to last, if you think it matters, then you have to record it, release it, fund it, and stand by it. That’s not idealism. That’s basic responsibility. In music, there’s no tenure. The only thing that keeps you alive is the work.
Some years, people notice you. Other years, they forget you exist. That doesn’t matter. The important thing is to keep showing up. Keep putting the work out. Keep building. Because once you stop doing that, you disappear. Not figuratively. Literally.
I’ve said this before: look at the critics’ polls. Wynton Marsalis. Kenny Garrett. Cassandra Wilson. When I first hit the scene, these were names you couldn’t leave off the top five. Now? Their rankings barely make a dent. Not because they’re no longer good. Not because they stopped mattering. But because public attention moves on. Critics move on. Audiences move on. What remains is the body of work.
The rankings don’t mean much. Legacy is built through consistency, not applause.
The music business is full of moments that don’t add up. You do everything right, and nothing happens. You make your best work, and nobody hears it. Meanwhile, something younger—and sometimes safer— wins awards. That’s how it goes. But if you understand that from the start, you won’t be shocked when it happens. And you won’t let it stop you.
The goal isn’t to be popular. The goal is to be present. To stay in motion. To keep making music, keep telling your story, and keep adding to your archive—even if no one’s asking for it. Especially if no one’s asking for it.
And if you do that—if you stay in it long enough and remain honest about what you’re doing—it ends up being worth it. Maybe not financially. Maybe not in terms of praise. But in terms of purpose. In terms of clarity. In terms of building a life you don’t have to apologize for or explain away. Most people don’t get that far. They flame out early or drift into bitterness. But if you hold on, keep doing the work, and accept the trade-offs, you’ll look back and see it for what it is:
A life well lived.
No comments:
Post a Comment