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Several years ago, I ran into a former composition teacher at a New York Philharmonic concert. As I told him about my full-time administrative job, he smiled sympathetically and commented, “Well, I don’t think you’ll have to be doing that for much longer,” as if my day job was an oppressive burden that I needed to escape so I could pursue my artistic endeavors more freely.
For a long time, I felt that having a job outside of music carried a stigma. Even during graduate school, when I worked a retail job to support my composition studies, I felt the need to conceal this part of my life from my classmates. Making money from non-musical ventures felt like a kind of betrayal, or a lack of commitment to my art. Every hour I spent at work, after all, was an hour I wasn’t in the practice room.
But the truth is, having a day job has freed me. It has provided stability, consistency, and artistic autonomy. I’ll admit that it isn’t the right pathway for everyone. But if it’s something you’ve considered, and you worry about its impacts on your artistry, allow me to remind you: Almost every composer has a day job.
Consider every composer you know. Think about your most successful peers, your famous professors, those composers whose music you admire most. Most of them have another source of income outside of composing — it might be teaching, performing, running an ensemble, arranging and engraving, or something else entirely, but let’s call these pursuits what they are: they’re day jobs.
Late in graduate school, I realized that I love composing, but I have little passion or patience for the many auxiliary jobs that often accompany a composing career. And while I love teaching, I don’t love it enough to allow a career in academia to steer my life, so I began considering other professional avenues. Knowing that I needed some kind of work experience to land a non-musical job after graduating, I sought to develop practical, transferable skills. Part-time campus jobs in fundraising and communications allowed me to build a resume that eventually led to my first full-time position, and I’ve held a nine-to-five job ever since.
Working a non-musical day job has allowed me to prioritize both my health and my artistry — both of which suffered when I attempted my version of the “musician hustle.” While earning my first master’s degree, I cobbled together an array of jobs that collectively produced something like making a living. I paid my rent and didn’t fall into debt, but I was also constantly stressed and increasingly unwell. My income from commissioned retail and private music lessons fluctuated throughout the year and was highly dependent on individuals’ whims, so I overworked myself to prevent any kind of shortfall. Even though I was staying afloat financially, my body was deteriorating; I’d lost an alarming amount of weight and had strained both of my Achilles tendons from being on my feet all the time.
Then, at the end of my first year of graduate school, I won a competition. It wasn’t a huge amount of money — not enough to quit my retail job — but enough that I could step back and work less during the summer before my second year. I took care of myself, saved some money, and assessed my financial needs for the next semester.
Finances have a profound impact on mental and physical health. A career in music is rarely linear, and this unpredictability can take a toll on the body and mind. The cushion of extra money from the competition win gave me the security and flexibility that had been missing from my life, allowing me to begin reclaiming my well-being.
Since leaving school, working a full-time job outside of music has provided consistent and reliable income, earnings that remain steady regardless of my musical successes. There’s a whole world of non-musical jobs out there — jobs that offer personal flexibility, intellectual stimulation, financial stability, and healthcare. If a musical day job doesn’t resonate with you, then you are not less of a musician for pursuing something else.
Income from my day job also provides something critical that I didn’t know I wanted: the luxury of selectiveness. Because I don’t rely on my compositional endeavors to fully cover my living costs, I don’t feel the pressure to accept every project that comes my way. I’m free to choose projects that align with my voice and artistic aspirations, a sense of professional flexibility that empowers me to shape my career in the way that I determine.
My life, in many ways, is also richer and more varied. Participating in life beyond the classical music industry bubble has introduced me to a greater variety of people — people for whom music isn’t the most precious and important thing, and folks who have developed areas of expertise that differ massively from my own and inform very different priorities and aspirations. This kind of social and professional diversity puts a lot in perspective, and it has certainly altered my thinking about my audience and who, exactly, I write for. I no longer write exclusively for the ears and approval of my music school peers and musician colleagues, and I think that’s a beautiful improvement.
However, this lifestyle isn’t without its disadvantages. For me, the most significant downside has been the lack of a consistent musical community. Admittedly, this is impacted by many other variables — I’ve moved around a lot over the past few years, for example — but earning money primarily from academia or performance has the advantage of placing you within a community of creators and performers. Composing is an inherently solitary activity, and pursuing a day job outside of music can heighten that sense of isolation. Remaining engaged in my local classical music community and building relationships with other musicians have become intentional choices that require time, attention, and care.
There’s also the reality of adhering to a rigid nine-to-five commitment. Maintaining this schedule is feasible for composers because we generally have greater control over our schedules than performers. But workplaces vary, and not every day job offers the flexibility required to pursue a parallel career. Vacation time, for instance, is a significant consideration. If you choose to devote all your vacation days to compositional activities, when will you have the chance to take an actual vacation? We all need a break, and so it’s imperative to find a day job that can accommodate both your music career and your mental health.
You also may not advance as quickly as you’d like in your daytime profession. This certainly varies by industry, working environment, and management, but setting aside the time needed to progress musically may negatively affect your workplace performance. If you find yourself in an environment that values overtime work and constant availability, you may be at a professional disadvantage. I realize this implies that you like your day job and take pride in your work — you’re allowed to feel that way while also nurturing and prioritizing a music career. I’m enormously proud of my successes in both areas of my life, and they sustain me in distinct and complementary ways.
Discipline and technique make this lifestyle possible. Balancing a nine-to-five job with a composing schedule isn’t feasible for everyone, and not every season of life can accommodate parallel careers. But, if it’s a pathway you’re considering, I recommend asking yourself the following questions:
- Do I have the requisite discipline? The time you set aside for composing must be nonnegotiable. Consider also that your time before and after your day job — “spare time” for most of your co-workers — is your composing time. Devoting these time windows to music requires energy, motivation, and a deep love for your craft.
- Have I developed the technical soundness that allows for decisiveness? When composing time is limited, you have less time to mull over options and make decisions. Strong technique and a refined artistic intuition can equip you with the confidence needed to make swift and resolute decisions.
Seven years ago, after receiving an offer for my first full-time job, I worried I wouldn’t find sufficient time to compose. I didn’t know any other composers who had followed this path and could provide examples of success. When pondering this decision, I remembered how busy graduate school had been, and that in between classes, lessons, rehearsals, two part-time jobs, and a teaching assistantship, I had still found the time to write music I was proud of. I realized I’d probably be just fine, and I was right.
The stability provided by my day jobs has allowed me to navigate commission gaps, an entire pandemic, a partner’s career change, and so much more. There may come a time when the regularity of my compositional work diminishes the need for a day job. I imagine I might welcome that professional shift, but I no longer aspire to it. Pursuing a musical career doesn’t have to be an all-or-nothing endeavor — we have the freedom to create our own pathways and shape careers that benefit both our artistry and our well-being.
I CARE IF YOU LISTEN is an editorially-independent program of the American Composers Forum, and is made possible thanks to generous donor and institutional support. Opinions expressed are solely those of the author and may not represent the views of ICIYL or ACF.
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