Like many others, I’ve been fascinated with Malcolm Gladwell‘s 10,000 Hour Rule since first learning of it late last year during his interview on NPR’s Fresh Air. Lately, I’ve been reading his works and thinking a lot of this rule, and how credible it really is.

However, I do have one possible challenge. Most musicians who achieve their 10,000 hours and become accomplished do so in a single, though often broad, style. However, what about those musicians who want to focus on differing styles? It’s true that many concepts can be translated from one style to another, yet there are many idiosyncratic facets to each. Does that mean that a musician who wants to become successful in more than one style needs to up the ante, more so than his/her peers? As a working saxophonist, this seems the case. Is 15,000 the new 10,000?

Definitely something to chew on. Oh, and if you haven’t read any of Gladwell’s works, I highly suggest you seek them out.

One major complaint among “trained” musicians is that of pay. Many assume that after many years of lessons, schooling, and study that the paychecks will just start rolling in. Should it? Perhaps not.

As I’ve mentioned before (and will return to again and again), musicians must learn not only the art of music, but the business of music. One may musically pay his or her dues in the woodshed for many years, but that is different than paying one’s dues on stage or in the business realm. While I’ve been performing via school-related activities for about thirteen years, I’ve only been gigging for about six. And even after those six, I’m still constantly learning the process of rolling up my sleeves and getting my name out there. Since I’m still very much a student of being a “working musician,” perhaps I should instead be thankful for the regular work I am fortunate enough to get.

Piggybacking on the previous post’s topic (finding your own voice and making your own market), it’s critical that anyone with a specialized craft (be it music, art, writing, comedy, technology, etc.) evaluate not only their hopes, goals, and progress, but also what they are already capable of. I am a faithful, daily listener of the Adam Carolla Podcast. Comedy aside, I really enjoy his regular discussions of the craft of standup comedy and acting with the various comics, actors, and directors he interviews. In an episode I listen to time and time again, he interviews actor David Koechner and makes the following insight: “Don’t think of what you can do, think of what you do do.”

Say what you will about comedians (I consider great comics to be true artists), but the above statement is quite profound. As musicians, we’re always chasing some elusive goal. First, there are the purely technical aspects, or what can be written on the page: I need to play faster, cleaner, louder, softer. Then, there are the musical considerations, which cannot be notated: I want to develop an original interpretation, create an original phrase, apply subtle nuance. I may not have all of my 10,000 hours logged yet, but I’m far enough along to start applying my own personality, philosophy, and approach to the music I’m attempting to create.

I recently listened to some recordings I made earlier this year, and was reminded of the importance of finding, cultivating, and establishing one’s own voice. This is something I’ve worked towards for years, but feel like I’ve only recently made progress (despite the compliments of others). I, somewhat passively, listened to these recordings after having shelved them for a couple months following the initial, critical listen. I quickly realized that once I (mostly) turned off my analytical ears and simply used my aesthetic ones, I enjoyed what I heard. I had stopped trying to compare myself to my saxophonic idols and simply asked the question: do I enjoy this? The answer: actually, I do!

Without getting too descriptive or jargon-intensive, not only did I like what I heard, but I felt like I was finally starting to really play the ideas I’ve been hearing in my mind all these years, and in turn starting to sound like Mike Teager. Though committed musicians and athletes have much in common, music is not quite the sport we (myself included) often make it out to be. Instead of simply striving to be the best ______ (bebop, avant garde, hard bop, classical, etc.) saxophonist in existence, my primary focus should be cultivating Mike Teager’s approach to the instrument (which includes learning absorbing all of those relating styles, without being limited to them). As my mentor and former professor John Nichol says: “Make your own market.”

I’ve been struggling with some colleagues for a good little while, and only recently did I realize the possible source of my frustration. Talking with a good friend of mine, it dawned on me that while music may be a passion for me, it’s only a hobby for some others. This begs the question: can passion and hobby be reconciled?

Music is something I can’t shut off. Even if I’m not completely immersed in a particular project, my mind is still wrapped around music (in general) 24/7. I’m constantly thinking of something, be it phrasing, concepts, methods, approaches, musical ideas, etc. Generally, this doesn’t – and shouldn’t – make any difference to someone who considers music a hobby, only approaching their instrument or musically creative mind a few times each week. (There is of course nothing wrong with either; one of no better or worse than the other.) However, when individuals from each of these camps collaborate, is it as productive?