You're Only As Good As Your Last Gig
A better way to view the artist's burden.
Not too long ago, a reader that works backstage in event production asked me a question: What’s the best way to pay a compliment to an artist that you admire, if and when you run into them?
I responded that I had once heard that upon meeting a famous or highly-respected artist, your go-to should always be to compliment them on their most recent work. In the event that you’re not fully caught up on their more recent work, a simple workaround would be to ask what they are currently working on. Under no circumstances, however, should you compliment them on their early, mainstream success from decades ago.
Even as an artist myself, it took me quite awhile to appreciate exactly why this was sound advice. I understood that, day in and day out, getting recognized for something you did years ago might be tiresome, but it still seemed to me to be the most First World of First World problems. However, I failed then to grasp the deeper truth upon which this advice is predicated: in show business, you’re only as good as your last gig.
This old adage — in which “gig” may be substituted for “performance,” or “deal,” or whatever — is a painful reminder of the burden that an artist accepts when they dedicate their life to the creative arts. On its surface, it is a demoralizing, dehumanizing statement. In fact, it would be too easy to claim its sole reason for existence was to dissuade others from pursuing such a life; who would agree to play this game, if the rules are that unforgiving? However, there is another meaning we may ascribe to this adage; one that is instead stoic and empowering. By choosing — and it is a choice — to view this time-worn statement in such a manner, an artist can learn to access the perfect state of mind to create works that may endure for generations to come.
Artists and entertainers that are fortunate enough to experience mainstream success sometimes choose to dedicate the rest of their lives to the Sisyphean task of trying to “top” the achievement that brought them such glory. Some do it in the hopes of reliving the exhilaration that they felt during their initial rise to the top, while others believe that the value of their work is based solely on its impact upon popular culture. Here’s a bit of bad news for those that are plotting a return to a previous peak: barring a change of medium — think of the musician that later became a television or film star — it is unlikely to ever happen. It’s a corollary of the rule that one either dies a hero, or lives long enough to become a villain; that is to say, things change.
I’ve had come to terms with this firsthand. No matter what I go on to create with Postmodern Jukebox, there will always be a significant amount of fans that will swear that my own best work was done early on. If by “best” they mean the most culturally relevant, they’re not wrong. It would be impossible for me to recapture and repackage the newness and exuberance that surrounded PMJ back when the online world first discovered us en masse and every video was a viral one. A new project doesn’t stay new forever, and no matter how such a project goes on to evolve over the years or even decades, the excitement around it inevitably fades as it reaches maturity. Similarly, despite many of my early collaborators going on to achieve incredible things and create sophisticated, breathtaking works of their own, there will always be some subset of folks that — often quite unfairly — believe that these artists’ “best” work were their own early features with Postmodern Jukebox. It is impossible to divorce our enjoyment of art from its place in the overall chronology of our lives; nostalgia colors everything it touches. It’s the reason my favorite movies, television shows, and pop music came from the ’90; those things are inextricably linked to the excitement of my formative years.
Of course, mainstream recognition only matters if one actively desires such an unusual and unnatural thing. It is not a necessary condition for artistic success, and the marginal utility of fame decreases pretty quickly once you get to the point of being able to pay your bills by doing what you love — which really ought to be the definition of “making it.” Sometimes, seeking mainstream success and approval can even end up taking an artist further from those very things, as they adapt their art to fit alongside current industry trends, instead of letting it blossom in its entirety. There’s a bit of a Catch-22 at play here: achieving continued commercial success requires placing necessary constraints on artistic expression, but such constraints also stifle the brilliant innovations that will surely characterize the next paradigm-changing smash hit. That is, of course, to say nothing of the psychological effects of living beneath a spotlight; for some artists, a taste of fame is a dangerous potion, indeed.
So, what’s an artist to do next, if we’re only as good as our last gig — and our last gig was as good as it gets?
Perhaps a simple reframe is all that is needed. “You’re only as good as your last gig” need not be taken as a Sisyphean challenge or a crushing exercise in nihilism. Instead, it might be taken as a prophylactic against conceit. It’s a reminder to remain humble when everything is coming up roses. It’s a reminder to start every new project with the same intensity and focus that you had before all of the success. It’s a reminder to “Stay Hungry,” as Steve Jobs was fond of saying.
After all, if your last gig was, indeed, a good one, the distractions you now face have likely become plentiful. There are countless examples of professional athletes whose breakaway success in sports have afforded them the opportunity to land major brand deals and movie contracts. These deals are often extremely lucrative, paying multiples of what their sports contracts have paid. From a financial perspective, it would be foolish for an athlete to turn these offers down; an athlete’s peak earning years last but a short while, so it is important to make them count. However, this must be balanced against the knowledge that, as they are attending fashion events and making movie appearances, another athlete is “staying hungry” by getting busy with two-a-day workouts and focused training sessions.
Two-a-day workouts are not the norm for those with aspirations in the creative arts, but consistent training certainly is. In addition to building technical skill, it is equally important for an artist to avoid stagnation by continuously leaving their their comfort zone and allowing their imagination to run wild in a brand new setting. This can be especially difficult to do at a time when large checks are coming in, often in exchange for merely “playing the hits.” Similar to the celebrity athlete experiencing a decline in performance, an artist with a big mainstream hit may be at risk of becoming a “tribute act” to their own past brilliance. In these cases, the shoe fits; an artist’s best work is guaranteed to come from their very early days, if that’s all that preoccupies them later on.
“You’re only as good as your last gig” is also a great equalizer. It reminds us that past success — or lack thereof — is highly irrelevant to creating great art. Great art doesn’t come from high follower counts, or having a lengthy bio on Wikipedia, or having a glossy magazine spread. Great art comes from having something original to say, and saying it well. There is no mandatory prerequisite for creating great art, and no externality that can guarantee success in such a venture. No matter who we are or what we’ve accomplished prior, we all begin at the same starting point each time we set out to create something new: at the blank canvas of our mind, imagining the not-yet-imagined.
It is possible that the not-yet-arrived might even have a hidden advantage over the established success story. What an aspiring artist lacks in notoriety they gain in freedom; specifically, the freedom to create what they want, when they want. They have no reputations to uphold or financial backers to appease, and no commitments like press appearances, marketing calls, and travel dates to drain them of their precious time and energy. The aspiring artist is free to follow their muse, wherever it leads them. This lightness of being allows an artist to keep their ear to the ground and adapt as needed, without being encumbered by bureaucracy or a responsibility to audience members and shareholders. Even in the best case scenario, all of that changes once an artist “makes it,” in the traditional sense. Success inevitably comes with a loss of freedom — even if the pros greatly outweigh the cons — and too much routine eventually results in the death of creativity.
Most importantly, great art is not necessarily defined by its cultural relevance in the moment. History tells of countless artists that never achieved fame and wealth in their own lifetime, only to be properly discovered and revered long after their death. Popular culture churns pretty fast, and the trends, fashions, and social mores of today will inevitably be discarded by future generations. While art that speaks only to the tastes of the present day may result in notoriety now, such work that draws its meaning from ephemeral trends is unlikely to stand the test of time later. The prospect of never being fully appreciated in one’s own lifetime might be yet another demoralizing thought, but understand that it is only our legacy — in the form of our contributions to humanity — that can truly be said to live on past our lifetimes. By ignoring the shifting trends and creating from a place of authenticity, we “future-proof” our creations. We may complain that our work falls on deaf ears today, but that may simply be a failure of perspective, not execution. If we had the godlike ability to zoom out and view the significance of our contributions against a longer timescale, we might just find that we were simply ahead of our time. Of course, we don’t have such an ability, and that’s precisely why the great art of antiquity moves us so: they are messages sent to us from the past, with no return address.
“You’re only as good as your last gig” might be taken as either a motivator that elevates us to greatness or a reminder that sends us crashing back down to Earth, but if we interpret it correctly, it will lead us right to the perfect vantage point to gaze upon our creations. It is only by learning to dissolve the ego that we can free ourselves from an artist’s true Sisyphean burden: the perfectionism, insecurity, and self-condemnation that is guaranteed to affect our output and hamper the ability of future generations to enjoy and reflect upon our work. “You’re only as good as your last gig” is a phrase that stings at times — a bit like pouring an antiseptic into an open wound — but it bears constant repeating nonetheless, if only because as artists, we are all works in progress, ourselves.
-SB