Mother Trucking Monday
A lot of musicians I respect are big fans of Frank Zappa.
I have to admit, though, I’ve never really gone deep on his music. I remember seeing him years ago on an old episode of Saturday Night Live from, I think, the late 1970s, and my main reaction at the time was basically: What exactly is going on with this guy?
Anyway, the almighty YouTube algorithm decided recently that I needed a Frank Zappa interview in my life. And now, of course, I can probably expect the next six months of my feed to become an endless parade of Zappa videos. Oh joy.
God, I hate algorithms sometimes.
But… I did watch the interview out of curiosity.
And interestingly, I was reminded why I never really gravitated toward his music in the first place. He came across as smug, hyper-opinionated, and self-righteous.
The annoying part?
I also found myself agreeing with about half of what he said.
And one point in particular really interested me, because it touched on something that has bothered me about the music business for a very long time.
I think the interview was from around 1989 or 1990. The interviewer was walking through Zappa’s early career—his influences, growing up, getting into music, all of that—and eventually got to the formation of The Mothers of Invention.
According to Zappa, one of his friends called him up because their guitar player couldn’t make a gig, so he filled in. He described the group as basically a bar band playing cover songs—popular songs people recognized so they would dance and drink beer.
Zappa said that after joining them, he suggested they stop playing covers and start performing original music instead.
The band agreed.
And then, according to him, they promptly lost all their gigs.
Why?
Because the venues weren’t paying them to express themselves artistically. They were paying them to create an atmosphere where people ordered more drinks.
That’s the business model.
Now eventually, obviously, The Mothers of Invention broke through in some fashion. They built a cult following. Their influence became enormous. Their name even gets referenced in Smoke on the Water by Deep Purple:
“Frank Zappa and the Mothers…”
Clearly, they made a real mark culturally.
Hearing that story got me thinking again about something I’ve wrestled with for years:
How exactly does a musician make money now?
I mean realistically. Sustainably. In actual lived experience.
As I mentioned in a recent post, our first album has generated roughly enough streaming revenue to buy a beer and leave a respectable tip.
We’re talking elite financial performance here.
So out of curiosity, I did a search on the primary ways musicians actually earn income in today’s world, and more importantly, which ones genuinely matter financially.
What came back was… illuminating.
The internet basically ranked them like this:
Live performance and touring — the primary breadwinner for most working musicians.
Merchandise — Sell people “stuff.” Great. But, evidently higher profit margins.
Sync licensing — music placed in films, TV, commercials, games, etc.
Fan subscriptions/support models — ah, the “hat in hand” strategy. Patreon-style support systems.
Teaching and session work — a major survival strategy for many professionals.
Physical media — Great, sell them more stuff. Mostly purchased by collectors and superfans now.
Publishing/performance royalties — rare, but ASCAP, BMI, radio play, public usage.
Brand sponsorships — even more rare, but lucrative if they happen. Work for the man. Love it.
Streaming royalties — ah yes… the famous fractions of pennies.
Social media monetization — theoretically possible, statistically brutal.
And honestly?
That ranking felt pretty accurate to me.
Streaming, for most artists, functions more like a marketing expense than an income stream.
And live performances?
Well, things haven’t changed much from the 1960s, I guess.
I remember the first time I visited Austin. I was excited because I had always been told it was a “top tier” music city, so I expected to hear original music everywhere.
Instead, almost every band I heard was playing covers.
Same thing people say about Broadway in Nashville.
All good. Great if you want to hear familiar songs and drink heavily.
And look, I’m not knocking cover musicians. Not at all.
Some are phenomenal.
There’s real skill in entertaining a room full of people and keeping energy alive for four straight hours.
But it does highlight a strange tension at the heart of being a musician.
Because often the thing people most want from you… is familiarity.
Not originality.
Not artistic truth.
They want songs they already know so they can sing along and get down. I can dig it, but… that’s a hard and low-paying job.
Which, again, is probably not that different from what Zappa was complaining about back in the late 1960s.
And don’t even get me started about being required to pay a cover charge to hear a DJ spin recordings…
Anyway, all of this also reminded me of a song by David Lowery from around 2020 or 2021. I think it was called Everybody Needs a Job… or maybe Everyone Needs a Day Job. Something along those lines.
Which may be the most practical music industry advice ever written.
Because beneath all the romantic mythology around “making it,” most working musicians eventually discover something important:
The goal worth pursuing probably isn’t just fame or money.
The goal is building a life where you can continue making music without destroying yourself financially, psychologically, or spiritually in the process.
And maybe that’s enough.
A little meaning.
A little freedom.
A few people who genuinely connect with what you make.
And enough money left over for a beer after the gig.