Why musicians cost money

It took a while in my freelancing career to get a handle on how to respond when people ask what I charge for my services as a performer.

I live in a remote, rural area (where my university day job is located) and there isn’t a musicians’ union presence, so I’m on my own in these negotiations. When a gig call comes in, I have to make the decision whether the offered compensation is enough, or be able to name a fair price on the spot. I’ve developed sort of a mental formula for this calculation, which I have converted into an online spreadsheet with sample numbers so you can see my process:

Gig fee calculator

If you have a Google account the link should prompt you to create a copy of the spreadsheet that you can play around with. Try changing some of the numbers and see how it works.

Basically, I’m thinking in terms of:

• A base rate, which is the minimum I charge for even the smallest gig.
• Additional fees if I’m expected to double on multiple instruments. (I’ve written previously about my rationale for that.)
• Additional fees to cover my travel time and expenses.

This gives me a way to think through what I am charging in a consistent way, and a nice clear breakdown if someone asks why I’m charging what I’m charging, or wants some kind of itemized invoice. If I feel put on the spot, or I just want a little more time to think it through, I have had good success getting the details, then telling the caller I’ll get back to them within a certain time frame. (Maybe five minutes, or an hour, or the next day.)

Depending on the type of gig, what works for you, and what’s common in your area, you might need to adapt my system to include things like preparation/practice time, bringing and setting up PA or other equipment, downtime between sound check and downbeat, and expenses for things like special wardrobe. And of course you should adjust the base rate and other options to suit your financial needs, your clout in the local gig scene, and what’s common/appropriate in your location.

You should also think through what to do when the gig offer doesn’t meet your pay requirements. Turning down low-paying gigs contributes to an attitude that musicians should be treated as professionals and compensated fairly. But often weekend warriors or younger musicians trying to break into the local gig scene are willing to be a little more flexible. (The rights and wrongs of that are a larger topic than I will address here. Do what is best for you and your career.)

Think carefully about what your time and skills are worth, and expect to be paid in a way that is fair to both you and your employers.

In 2009, I finished a doctoral degree in music performance, and landed a job at a small university in a rural area. Like many young academics, I assumed it would be a stepping stone.

In those early years, I interviewed for a number of other positions, and generally found that they would be lateral moves. Most of the schools interested in hiring me didn’t pay any better, weren’t any better-located, and didn’t offer a better match for my skills and interests. I stayed long enough to earn tenure, receive a couple of promotions, and carve out a role that suited me well. I also married someone with ties to the region. We bought a house and made plans to stay.

In 2024, the university announced some serious cuts to academic programs as a cost-saving measure. Each degree program was reduced to a series of metrics in a spreadsheet, and sorted by a calculated financial “value.” Music departments don’t fare well under spreadsheet scrutiny, since we do much of our teaching one-on-one or in small groups, and always need more money for scholarships, grand pianos, and travel. My department was cut, and most of the music faculty, including me, were given one terminal year before being laid off.

I didn’t expect to be back on the job market mid-career, but things worked out surprisingly well. During that terminal year, my workload—and frankly, my motivation—lightened enough that I had time to also teach part-time at a not-too-far-away, much larger, and more reputable university, due to the sudden retirement of one of their faculty. That put me in good position to interview for the full-time job when it was listed. I was offered the job, accepted the offer, and started in fall of 2025.

I really couldn’t have been more fortunate about how things worked out, but while things were still up in the air I did find myself facing down some scary realities. While I definitely don’t have all the answers, I’m sharing my experience here in hopes it might be helpful to someone else.

What seems to have helped me was a combination of luck and an understanding of how music professors get hired. The job market is shrinking and shifting; many variables are beyond anyone’s control. But some are not. You can’t control where positions open. You can try to apply where the fit is genuine and make a case for why that fit matters.

My first concern was whether I would find jobs to apply to at all. The academic music job market is bleak—too many qualified folks, not enough positions, and job descriptions that are frustratingly specific. Even for woodwind openings (my area), some required background I don’t have, like in wind conducting, marching band, or music theory.

Then there was the question of where. Preference usually isn’t much of a factor in academic job searches; you go where the job offer is. One possibility I did an early-stage interview for was in an extremely expensive city that would have meant downsizing. Another was in a more affordable area, but with weather that would have meant retooling our entire lifestyle. Finding a good fit less than three hours away—and actually landing it—was far more than I could have hoped for.

There was also the matter of age and rank. While schools aren’t supposed to consider age, it can be an unspoken factor. I have many good teaching years ahead—but not as many as the freshly minted doctorates also applying. (A mentor even suggested shaving my greying beard to look younger.) My rank as a full professor may also have caused concern that I would expect title, salary, or autonomy that some institutions could not accommodate. One job that seemed like a no-brainer fit never progressed to an in-person interview, and the job went to a much younger (excellent and deserving) candidate. I can’t know why, of course, but I have to wonder.

On the other hand, I had the much-in-demand “college teaching experience” required in so many job listings. Having served on and chaired hiring committees, I’ve seen applicants without relevant teaching experience get dumped straight into the “no” pile. (For that reason, I strongly suggest that graduate students seek out teaching assistantships or part-time adjunct positions, even if unglamorous or inconvenient.)

Maybe more importantly, I knew how to frame my candidacy better than when I was a new DMA. In those days I leaned heavily into my nerdy academic interests and my high-minded teaching philosophies. This time, I focused on recruitment strategy, experience working with diverse (and sometimes underprepared) student populations, and a track record of collegiality and flexibility. I tried to present myself as a candidate who could help solve practical problems for my future colleagues and department. Artistic excellence matters, but it’s not enough.

The opportunity to teach part-time at the institution before the full-time search was likely helpful. I built relationships with faculty, and did a lot of driving back and forth to support recruitment events and student performances. I learned the department’s priorities and pressures, and spent those hours on the road thinking about them. Recruitment and growth were central concerns, and I could show that I already had a local recruiting network that aligned with those goals, including former students now teaching in area schools.

My younger self thought artistic excellence would determine my career trajectory, and that tenure would secure it. Mid-career me sees things differently. Tenure is not immunity from institutional change.

I can’t claim to know exactly why I was hired at the new job. Hiring can be kind of a black box. But I do know that I approached the process with a clearer sense of institutional realities, and that I tried to make a case for how I could be useful within them. In a hiring landscape that can feel opaque, that was something I could control.