While playing in a rock band can be a total rush, like any field of endeavor, there can be times when you get burned out. It can happen for any number of reasons.
When you’re driving to a gig and not only are not psyched to play but wish you were somewhere else, you might be approaching burnout. If you actually are at a gig but your mind is somewhere else (there’s been more than one time when I’ve been distracted by the Mets game on the bar TV and forgot what I was playing) you might simply be bored or distracted by a life event that’s stressing you out that day, but you might also be getting close to a crash. If it becomes harder and harder to get motivated to practice, get along with the other band members, learn new songs, or even pack up your gear before the show, you could be approaching burnout.
The Merriam-Webster Dictionary states that one of the definitions of burnout is “exhaustion of physical or emotional strength or motivation usually as a result of prolonged stress or frustration.” The term has roots in aeronautics: “the cessation of operation usually of a jet or rocket engine.” In today’s world, all of us can relate – there are times when we get pushed to the limit and just can’t give any more. This can be especially tough for touring musicians. (Look for a future installment on the demands of touring; I am currently interviewing a number of musicians.)
According to an article on the American Institute of Stress website (who knew there was one? Shoulda known…), the World Health Organization officially recognizes burnout as a legitimate psychological condition.
Let me relate a couple of personal experiences.
I’ve been playing in bands for 57 years, so I’ve experienced burnout on more than one occasion. The first major cratering happened when I turned 27. I had been playing in our band the Lines for a few years and we’d achieved some regional success. We even made it onto the WBAB Homegrown Album, a 1981 WBAB-FM anthology of local Long Island artists that includes Twisted Sister, Zebra and the Good Rats. They made it big. We didn’t.
Which began to wear on me. I was the proverbial young and stupid and thought that if we didn’t make it big by age 30, we were done for. Our band had transitioned from being a New Wave band to trying to become a mainstream pop/rock band because our manager had thought this would be the only way to become really successful as opposed to being part of a soon-to-die fad (he was right), but I thought that we’d be throwing away our band identity and everything we had worked for (I was kind of right also). I wasn’t enthusiastic about our new musical direction. I found myself wanting to be in the band less and less. Since the band members were high school friends, this was a source of considerable anxiety.
Plus, I was starting to get burned out on the club scene and on life general. I was working long hours at a job I hated. I had taken up smoking cigarettes as a stress reliever even though I knew it was a terrible idea. I was drinking and smoking way more than I should have.
I was unsuccessful in my love life. OK, you want a couple of tidbits? I had been enamored of a woman who had very clearly told me that she wasn’t interested in being anything other than friends, but that didn’t stop me from trying to win her over. The fact that she was beautiful and liked the same music as me only fanned my foolishness. When she decided to get married to another guy, well, that was the end of that. (We remain friends.) I’d met another woman who could have been my dream girl. (I was no James Dean, so I don’t know how I got the attention of these women. It certainly wasn’t my magnetic personality.) She was blonde, beautiful and was a great guitarist who played a black Les Paul Custom! Our first date was to see Mission of Burma. You can’t get more badass than that! I couldn’t believe my luck! But after that first date she told me she didn’t want to see me again. I can’t say I handled it well.
So, being O.D.’d on life itself, I was totally burned out in the early 1980s. I decided to quit the band after playing a gig on a bill with the Romantics (how ironic) in Providence, Rhode Island that I should have been thrilled about, but I was dreading telling the band of my decision. I stopped hanging out with pretty much all the women I knew, and a lot of the guys. I threw in the towel about finding true love. After trying for six times and finally succeeding after catching the flu and being too weak to leave my house for three days, I quit smoking. I stopped going to clubs and got sick of hanging out. I gave up my childhood dream of rock stardom.
I didn’t play in a band again for 10 years.
******
My life slowly turned around. I got the job as Technical Editor for The Absolute Sound in 1987, quit the corporate job I hated, and have been in the audio industry ever since. In 1991 met the woman who I’ve been married to for 34 years. (You want romance? As soon as she walked through the door I knew. We got engaged four months later.) Eventually I started playing here and there in a band with some friends. After that band dissolved (some of the band members moved away), I took it easy for a while, until in around 2010 I got offered a spot with the band that I’m in now.
My second burnout period came right before COVID. It wasn’t nearly as severe as the one in the 1980s, but it was significant. We were playing a fair amount of late-night gigs and I was getting tired of getting home at 1:30 in the morning. I was probably in the worst physical shape of my life, as a cardiac stress test later confirmed. I was getting older with aches and pains creeping in. I began to carry Tylenol in my gig bag. I was working insanely long hours and feeling extremely pressured, which gave me the rationalization to lie to myself about not having enough time to get into shape or enough energy to want to go out much.
One night in 2019 I was driving to yet another late-night gig at the Country Corner in East Setauket, New York, and realized I really didn’t want to be doing it. It was the first time in a long time I wasn’t psyched to be heading to a gig. I asked myself, “How much longer do I really want to keep doing this?”
Then in 2020 COVID came along, and if there’s one good thing that happened in the midst of the misery, it was that it shook me out of my malaise. Being locked down and unable to play with other musicians made me miss playing more than I could have imagined. When the gigs started coming back, I was thankful, and I think I can speak for my fellow musicians to say that in 2025 we appreciate playing more than ever. (Too bad the live gigging scene around me took a hit from which it still hasn't recovered.)
OK. So what are some good strategies to combat burnout, or revive yourself after a bout of it? Some of these suggestions could apply to anyone, not just musicians.
The easiest thing is to take a break from gigging. Walk away from it for a while.
Courtesy of Pexels.com/Tara Winstead.
If you’re a professional working musician, you may not have that luxury. Still, there are common-sense ways to minimize crashing and burning. Try to get a good amount of sleep – admittedly, not always possible on the road, but you can keep the late-night partying down. Try to eat right – again, not easy, but it is possible to make the effort and avoid crappy food wherever possible.
Find other things to do; whatever works for you. Read, play online games, watch TV, visit the city you’re in, talk to family and friends, look for guitars in local music stores and pawn shops, or just relax and do nothing. Sometimes downtime is the best time of all.
Look towards friends, family and your other band members for support. Unless you can’t stand your band members, in which case it might be time to start thinking about another band. (If you’re a working pro, again, this might not be an option.)
Consider seeking professional counseling. Doing so doesn’t mean it’s a shameful thing or that you’re weak. Quite the contrary: as my colleague B. Jan Montana noted in Issue 124, this is an act of courage.
Try listening to or playing different kinds of music. It can be creatively challenging and get you out of a rut.
Be determined to make a change. Needless to say, this can be the hardest part.
If you’re like me, what can be extremely helpful is to remind yourself of why you got into playing music in the first place. It’s because you love it. It’s because it’s a part of you. This is not some vacuous platitude – it’s the truth. Playing music is a big part of who we are.
We change, we evolve, we grow. Sure, sometimes it’s tough. And maybe, if you take a hard and long look, the right thing to do is to acknowledge that you in fact that playing in a band is ultimately not the right thing for you. Anthony Phillips, the original guitarist for Genesis, left the band in 1970 because of health and stage fright issues, yet he continues to make music to this day and has released dozens of wonderful albums.
For the rest of us who want to keep on gigging, remember what Albert Ayler once said: music is the healing force of the universe. Embrace it, even if that sometimes means walking away from it for a while. You will know when it’s time to come back.
Header image courtesy of Pexels.com/Anton Trava.
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