It’s been years since I graduated from the jazz faculty of music, the place I called home for the past four years. That chapter was filled with playful joy: performing music in front of audiences and faculty had never been more thrilling. Forming bands, discussing the multiplicity of improvisational approaches, and deep diving into jazz theory — these were years of solid professional formation.
However, burdened by a strong sense of self-doubt, I often asked those common questions: Will I be able to find a job after graduation? How exactly will I manage to make a living from music? Every time I crossed paths with older, more experienced musicians, they would reassure me: if you work hard enough, the right opportunities will come your way. As a vibraphone player, I was often seen as a rare gem, destined for a place in the sun. And I believed it. Yet there were moments when my sixth sense would whisper that life as a professional musician, outside the safety of school, might be difficult — even unfair.
DIY — How Real Is It?
Jazz musicians make money through live performances. That means the formula is simple: no calls for gigs, no money earned. One might say, “If you want something done, do it yourself.” But let’s face it — not all musicians are natural-born gig-getters. Some of us are shy introverts who need a lot of courage to dial the art manager’s number in the hope of landing a show.
The competitive climate in improvised music is nothing short of a rat race. Long hours of practice and bold attempts to find your voice are already victories in themselves. But who celebrates that when the local jazz scene is often filled with vacuity and pap? Cover bands pop up like mushrooms after rain, while fresh graduates cling to the ABBA repertoire instead of grabbing a Real Book. Despite all this, music keeps us grounded. It’s the be-all and end-all, and even when times get rough, nothing can stop a creative mind driven to express its artistry.
When They Don’t Call You for a Gig
I’ve been there. And most likely, I’ll be there again. I know how it feels to see bass players and drummers constantly in demand while I’m stuck in my practice room, counting the few gigs I’ve managed to land. It’s no wonder that feeling useless led me to believe I wasn’t enough — that I’d made the worst decision of my life, choosing this strange, stubborn instrument. Years of practicing arpeggios and scales, only to wake up and face the obscurity of my own situation. So, what helped me escape that agony of self-destructive beliefs?
Whining about life’s unfairness, writing angry comments about fellow musicians, sinking into jealousy — I went through all of it. These weren’t detours. They were necessary steps on the path from outrage to calm. Eventually, the madness gave way to peace. I emptied my artistic vessel, purging everything toxic to create space for what truly matters: a clear mind, finally ready to speak in its genuine musical dialect.
Creativity loves stillness. It grows out of it. Another week without a gig call? No stress — this is the perfect time for a new sketch. Just as writing is a meditative act, composing is as well. It heals, uplifts, and nourishes from within.
Somehow, I knew I would find them
Improvised music has a unique charm when performed by a group. When musicians support and challenge each other’s ideas, they reveal the ingenuity of the human mind and create a deep sense of oneness. Whether guided by providence or pulled in by the law of attraction, these people arrived when I needed them most.