On a recent Adam Carolla Podcast, the Aceman rightly emphasized the need for one to do a lot of work for free in order to be successful. This is something I’ve touched on in this blog a time or two, and a fact that I embrace rather than fight. In this particular episode, Adam and comedian Jeff Garlin (a personal favorite) estimated that about 90% of their time spent working is unpaid, but that it creates the room for the 10% that does pay. (Conversely, the paid 10% allows them to do the unpaid 90%.)

Very true.

Between all of my gigging, practicing, teaching, driving (!), and administrative/business-related music work (including this blog and my website), I’d say that 10% is a liberal estimate. It’s probably closer to 5%. Given where I’m at in my career, though, that’s not bad. That 5% does me well, but it’s not like any other “job.” It doesn’t simply end when the horn goes back on the stand. It’s a constant process of bettering my craft, promoting my name, and establishing/maintaining a positive reputation. Even when I’m not “at work,” I’m still working.

It may seem daunting if you’ve not experienced it, but I assume that to be truly successful in any field the same rule applies across the board. It thousands of hours (i.e., years) to lay the groundwork and develop your own recognizable niche. However, in the end, someone will eventually (hopefully!) desire or require something from the niche you’ve cultivated, and when that time comes you’ll be thankful for all those free hours.

I recently got into quite a heated dialogue with a former colleague of mine about my “career path.” In brief, he didn’t approve of my decision to no longer pursue the “stay-in-school-until-I-get-my-doctorate-then-hope-to-land-a-job-at-a-top-tier-university” trek. What made this conversation unfortunate was that even though I already do have one advanced degree – and a job! – lined up for the Fall semester, it still appeared as if I were simply wasting my time with pointless distraction.

I tried explaining that I wanted to take a year to practice what I truly want to practice, research and write about what grabs me, and teach something I consider very important. I may not be saving lives or setting records, but I feel fortunate that at this point in my career (and this economy!) I’m able to find work in my chosen area, and able to cultivate my own niche. And that’s just as valuable of a learning experience as a year of school.

A former colleague of mine is researching local musicians of a particular genre for her thesis- we’ll say jazz, for the sake of anonymity. While this person is delving into the scholarship surrounding various local jazz cultures, etc., she, in general, doesn’t follow much jazz overall. That is to say, while the interest on a local level is there, the interest and appreciation for the canon as a whole is lacking. What does this suggest? A few possible reasons could be:

1. Academic scholarship often doesn’t suggest a strong level of personal interest in a given topic.
2. The desire to be involved in a “scene” or local celebrity.
3. Having a personal connection to the subjects outweighs the actual product (music, in this case).
4. The notion that by having a deep “micro” knowledge one needn’t be concerned with the macro.
5. By not doing (i.e., playing jazz herself), immersing and surrounding herself with doers makes her a de facto participant.

By no means is this an exhaustive list, but these are the first the come to mind. (Of course, I’m also speaking from personal experience and interaction with this individual.) I’m only using this person as a particular example, as this is something I see as a larger troubling trend. In graduate school, I noticed a number of colleagues choosing thesis and “doctoral document” (a peculiar item in music studies) topics almost by chance. It was “Hey, that’s neat” as opposed to “This is something I want to champion.” (It wasn’t unusual for the former reason to eventually transform into the latter, but not in all cases.)

My greatest concern regarding this issue is that “scholars” may sometimes be more observers than participants, or tryers rather than doers. If so, how can this be? If one is going to immerse oneself in jazz, wouldn’t that also suggest a participation in the performance of it? As a close friend and colleague of mine, Matt Borghi, often says, “It ain’t that deep.” Sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it is. At any rate, how would one know without doing (at least on some basic level)? In an earlier post, I mentioned an academic analysis of The Rolling Stones and their supposed capitalist undermining of their working-class message. Maybe it isn’t that deep. Maybe their working-class roots and interest in American blues gave them a solid grounding that transcends whatever commercial success they’ve since experienced.

Often when performing I’m more concerned with the music feeling and sounding good than I am with trying to convey some abstract message. Other times I’m not. The point is, I know that because I’m on stage doing it, and not in the audience (or even backstage) simply making an educated guess. I know from experience, which is really the best research one can do.