by harlowmedia | Jun 12, 2025 | Pro Tips
Recently, during a road trip, a friend shared the story of how his band fell apart. They’d just finished a gig when he asked everyone to help load the gear. The response? “Dude, you’re taking all the fun out of it.” That was the last time they played together.
As he told the story, I felt a familiar knot in my stomach—because I’d heard those exact words before. It happened after I’d pushed my own band, made up of some of my closest friends, to tackle songs that were clearly beyond their comfort zone. At the time, I thought I was helping everyone grow (the whole iron sharpens iron thing). Instead, I was making rehearsals miserable.
Looking back, I realize I’d confused my passion with theirs. I learned that wanting something badly for the group doesn’t mean everyone in the group wants it just as badly—and that’s perfectly okay. Point is, running a band is like herding psychotic cats. It’s a miracle any band survives the emotional minefield that comes with putting musicians in the same room. This article is about keeping the music fun while keeping the wheels from falling off.
How to Run a Tight Ship Without Sinking it
We’ve all heard it. Usually shouted across a garage by that one musician who just wants to jam while the band leader complains about tempo changes, wrong notes, and what everyone else should be doing. “Dude, you’re taking all the fun out of it!”
Ah yes, the frustrated cry of the creative spirit being crushed under the weight of the band leader’s perfection. But here’s the thing that might surprise you: they’re not entirely wrong. And they’re not entirely right either.
The Great Cover Band Paradox
Let’s get something straight—none of us are doing anything that exciting. We’re not splitting atoms or negotiating world peace. We’re playing “Cumbersome'” for the 847th time while Gary, that divorced guy, dances like he’s had a stroke and Pam looks like she is either on meth or getting attacked by bees.
And that’s exactly why it should be fun.
But here’s where it gets tricky. The bands that have the most fun on stage? They’re usually the ones that work the hardest off stage. The groups that make it look effortless have put in serious effort. The acts that seem like they’re just having a great time up there have earned that freedom through preparation and yes—structure.
Mind-blowing, right?
The Real Fun Killer: Misaligned Expectations
Want to know what really destroys bands? It’s not the person who insists everyone learn their parts. It’s not the pretentious bass player who wants to argue over what fret the song starts on.
The real fun killer is when half the band thinks you’re just jamming with friends while the other half is planning their assault on the local music scene. When one person sees this as a creative outlet and another sees it as their ticket to rock stardom. When someone’s treating it like a casual hobby while their bandmate is calculating what the tour is going to look like.
This is where bands implode spectacularly. Not over missed notes, but over fundamentally different visions of what you’re all doing together.
Structure That Actually Serves the Fun
The best cover bands use structure as a springboard for spontaneity, not a prison for creativity. When everyone knows their parts cold, you can actually have fun with them. When you’ve rehearsed the transitions until they’re muscle memory, you can make eye contact with your bandmates and share that moment when everything clicks.
Good structure looks like everyone agreeing on what kind of band you want to be, setting realistic expectations, and communicating about problems before they become band-ending dramas.
Bad structure looks like treating every song like it’s being auditioned for the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, scheduling band meetings about band meetings, and forgetting that the whole point is to enjoy making music. Taking it so serious where people just don’t want to be around you.
Remember What You Signed Up For
You joined a cover band. Your job is to play songs people know and love in a way that makes them happy. Embrace the joy of being musical comfort food. There’s honor in being the soundtrack to someone’s great night out.
Whether you’re playing the main stage at a festival or the corner of a dive bar where the sound system runs through a stereo, the mission is the same: create moments of connection and joy through music that already means something to people.
The Money Will Follow (Or It Won’t, And That’s Fine)
Yes, it’s great when the band makes money. But the moment money becomes the primary motivator, you’re setting yourself up for disappointment and conflict. The bands that last are the ones who would keep playing together even if they never made another dime. The money, when it comes, is a bonus—a dividend from doing something you’d want to do anyway.
Focus on What Actually Matters
Here’s a reality check: in ten years, nobody’s going to remember that one time the guitar solo was slightly off tempo. But they will remember the night you crowd surfed. They’ll remember the night your singers voice went out and the whole venue filled in to sing the songs. They’ll remember when the power went out mid-song and you kept playing acoustic anyway.
Your bandmates won’t reminisce about perfectly executed chord progressions—they’ll laugh about inside jokes from long van rides to gigs and that collective rush when you felt the room’s energy shift because you had them completely hooked.
The magic happens in those moments. Don’t let the pursuit of musical perfection eclipse the human connections that make this whole thing worthwhile and fun.
So yes, learn your parts. Show up on time. Take the music seriously enough to do it well. But remember why you picked up an instrument in the first place—because making music felt good. Don’t sacrifice that feeling on the altar of perfectionism. Don’t be a guy that expects everyone to have the same passion as you.
The crowd doesn’t care if you hit every note exactly like the record. They care if you’re having a blast up there, because energy is contagious. When you’re genuinely enjoying yourself, they will too. And isn’t that the whole point?
Life’s too short to spend your hobby stressed out about things that won’t matter in five years or five months. Make some noise, make some friends, make some memories. Most important, have fun. Rock on.
by harlowmedia | May 20, 2025 | Pro Tips
The Gap and how success doesn’t get easier.
Whether you are just starting or you’ve been performing for a while, you will inevitably face what I call “the Gap”.
Imagine this: The band Lazer Face was once the hottest band in the area. Larry, the lead singer, was on fire! Literally, he would light his pants on fire and run around while singing Blue Oyster Cult’s “Burnin’ For You.” On paper, these guys have it all—they play all the hits like “Cumbersome,” “Hard to Handle,” and they even have an original “i found love at loves”. To top it off, they have been around for over 10 years! With all that going for them, why did people quit caring 9 years ago and why is that crappy band Lizard Lover, who has only been together for 2 weeks, killing it? What gives?
There could be many reasons, but this article is about the unseen—the thing bands fail to think about: THE GAP.
What is the Gap?
Think of your relationship with your audience as a gap—a space between what they expect and what you deliver. When you’re starting out, that gap is easy to maintain. Play three chords correctly, remember your lyrics, don’t fall off stage—congratulations, you’ve exceeded expectations! Your first fans are thrilled by your raw potential and want to be a part of your future success. To them, it’s like seeing a small child riding a bike for the first time. To top it off, as a band member, you’ve just experienced something that has changed your life: a feeling nothing can describe as people clap at your somewhat poorly done rendition of “Wagon Wheel.” (Warning: this is the type of seed that makes you start believing your own BS – not good)
But here’s the rub: the better you get, the higher the bar rises and the more people expect.
That gap—your edge of excellence—naturally shrinks as your audience becomes acclimated to your brilliance. The guitar solo that dropped jaws last year? Now it’s “that thing you always do.” The high note that made people grab their phones to record? Now they’d notice if you didn’t hit it. Even Larry, the lead singer with his flaming crotch, gets laughed at now.
And that’s the problem. As your audience’s expectations increase, your performance and entertainment value must increase to stay relevant. It doesn’t matter how long you’ve been around or how good you are/were, if folks continue to consume the same thing. It would be like eating the same food every day.
Maintaining the Magic
So here’s the deal: The bands that endure aren’t necessarily the most talented—they’re the ones who understand this paradox and adapt accordingly. They know that yesterday’s innovation is tomorrow’s cliché.
The key is to continuously reinvent while maintaining your essence. Push your boundaries before your audience pushes you. Experiment with your sound, look, songs, and performance before familiarity breeds complacency. The most successful folks I’ve worked with treat every achievement as a new starting line, not a finish line.
The Healthy Hustle
This doesn’t mean you need to burn yourself out chasing an ever-rising bar. It means being strategic about how you evolve:
- Surprise your audience before they realize they’re bored
- Study outside your genre to bring fresh elements into your work
- Document your journey so fans grow with you, not just watch you
The Brutal Truth
I’ve watched countless bands implode right when they seemed to be “making it.” They couldn’t handle the psychological whiplash of having everything they dreamed of while simultaneously feeling like it’s never enough. I’ve watched people who dedicated their life to “making it” do the same things over and over and expect different results, all while the gap got smaller and folks quit caring. Going from “Big things coming” to “Nobody coming”.
It never gets easier—but you can get better at navigating the complexity.
Your first gig was terrifying in its simplicity. Your hundredth is complicated in its familiarity. Your thousandth requires reinvention to feel alive, or you look like you’re not having fun—and that tells your audience they’re not having fun (and the gap closes).
The goalposts aren’t just moving—they’re on wheels, constantly rolling away just as you approach them.
Everything Is Relative
I’ll leave you with this: The reason your band might feel like it’s not as good as it once was isn’t because you’re not. It’s likely because the gap has become harder to maintain, and you look back not realizing the expectation back then was virtually nothing. It’s all relative.
A friend once told me about this guy who works out twice daily, spends hours reading books for pleasure, and even has sex twice a day—every day! Sounds like the dream life, right? Except he hates it because he’s in prison. It’s all relative.
In a nutshell, the day it feels easy is the day before your audience moves on to something more exciting or to a band that has a bigger relative gap.
So keep widening that gap. Keep surprising yourself first, then your audience. And remember—success doesn’t eliminate the struggle; it just puts it on a bigger stage with better lighting. Rock on.
by harlowmedia | Mar 27, 2025 | Rant / Perspectives
WARNING: This article is a perspective piece and has the capability to trigger some folks. This article shares insights from a completely different hobby/profession for evaluation and is not intended to discourage anyone from pursuing their goals or dreams, but rather to remind us why we engage in these activities in the first place.
The dream
There’s something beautifully absurd about both golf and music—two pursuits where people willingly spend thousands of dollars and countless hours chasing dreams of being famous that statistically have about the same likelihood as being struck by lightning while holding the winning lottery ticket.
The Sweet Swing of Encouragement
Meet Dave. Dave just hit a beautiful drive down the fairway of the 7th hole at his local municipal course. The ball sailed through the air with unexpected grace, landing softly and rolling to a perfect position.
“Damn, Dave! That was professional quality right there,” his buddy Mike exclaimed.
Something changed in Dave at that moment. That single compliment—probably just Mike’s way of saying “nice shot” with extra enthusiasm—planted a seed.
This scene plays out similarly in homes across America. Jessica strums the final chord of “Wonderwall” on her starter guitar, and her roommate nods appreciatively, “You should totally play open mic night!”
Investment Season
The following week, Dave walks into Academy Sports with a glint in his eye. His ancient hand-me-down clubs suddenly seemed inadequate for a man of his newly discovered talent. Two hours and $1,200 later, Dave emerges with a shiny new driver that promises an extra 15 yards and “improved forgiveness.” He adds a $40 sleeve of premium balls—because professionals use the best.
Meanwhile, Jessica is scrolling through guitar center online. Her $200 starter guitar clearly cannot capture the nuances of her developing technique. A $1,500 Taylor guitar enters her life, along with a $300 amplifier, because you never know when you might need to plug in.
Practice Makes Perfect (or at least Better)
Dave now spends every Saturday morning at the driving range. His wife notices his absences but says nothing as he drops $25 per session to hit balls. He downloads swing analysis apps ($9.99/month) and subscribes to Golf Digest ($24.99/year). He watches YouTube videos of Tiger Woods and tries to emulate that perfect swing.
Jessica finds herself declining social invitations to practice her songs. She enrolls in guitar lessons ($100/month) and buys a Ed Sheeran loop pedal ($299) because she knows she will need it. She listens to John Mayer interviews about his creative process while commuting to work because she plans to write a banger over the weekend.
The Local Circuit
Six months later, Dave enters his first local tournament. The $75 entry fee seems reasonable for the opportunity to test his skills. He doesn’t place in the top ten, but he does receive compliments on a tricky par save on the 12th hole. The smattering of applause when he sinks a 15-footer is intoxicating.
Jessica performs at her first open mic night. She doesn’t get paid, but the bar owner mentions that if she develops a following, they might discuss a future gig. Three people approach her afterward to say they enjoyed her performance. One asks if she’s on Spotify. She is clearly headed for the big time.
Doubling Down
Dave is now spending $250 monthly on his golf habit between green fees, range sessions, and the occasional lesson. He joins a golf club with a $3,000 initiation fee and $200 monthly dues because “that’s where connections happen.” His handicap is dropping, and he’s consistently the best player in his friend group.
Jessica buys a $800 microphone, a $600 interface, and $200 recording software because she can record just as good as the studios and she plans to be an independent artist. She spends hours recording covers for YouTube and Instagram, gaining 230 followers. She ends up getting a couple gigs at restaurants and gets paid $100 to entertain folks while they consume the “all you can eat wings” special, receiving applause for her rendition of cumbersome.
The Dream
Dave watches the Masters and sees himself in those pristine green fairways. People in his club say he could “go pro if he started younger.” He’s now in his mid-thirties but starts researching senior tours. At night, he calculates how much he needs to practice to reach professional status, ignoring the fact that most PGA Tour players have been playing since they could walk. Dave is obsessed with proving something, it’s no longer about fun.
Jessica streams the Grammys, imagining herself on that stage. Her coworkers tell her she’s “wasting her talent” at her day job and she is looking to quit and do this full time. She starts looking into how to get her music on streaming platforms, dreams about being discovered, and spends nights considering whether she should move to Nashville or Los Angeles. Jessica is obsessed with proving something, it is no longer about fun.
The Reality Check
Let’s look at some numbers:
There are approximately 25 million golfers in the United States. Of those, only about 125 are full-time players on the PGA Tour in any given year. That’s a success rate of 0.0005%.
Similarly, there are millions of musicians in the U.S. Of those, perhaps a few hundred achieve the “household name” status that most aspiring musicians dream about—a similar microscopic percentage. There are over 100,000 songs put on Spotify in a single day from musicians.
The average amateur golfer spends between $2,000 and $10,000 per year on their hobby. Professional-track golfers often spend upwards of $100,000 annually on coaching, travel, and tournament fees before they earn a single dollar.
Musicians face similar economics: instruments, recording equipment, merchandise production, travel expenses, and marketing often cost tens of thousands before any meaningful revenue arrives.
Despite the odds, Dave and Jessica have something to prove and take offense to reality. Admittedly, I admire people with passion that go the extra distance, as long as they are competent in the odds.
So, Why Do We Do It?
So why do millions continue these seemingly irrational pursuits?
Because that pure moment—when the club face meets the ball perfectly and you watch it soar exactly where you intended, or when your fingers find those chords and your voice hits that note and the room falls silent in appreciation—is transcendent, addictive, and ultimately… it makes us feel important and is fun.
These pursuits offer something increasingly rare: the opportunity to be completely present. When you’re lining up a putt or performing a song, nothing else matters. There’s no email to check, no social media to scroll. Just you and the moment and it is intoxicating, especially when others can be a part of it.
They also provide community. The golf foursome that meets every Saturday morning isn’t just playing a game; they’re sharing life. The musicians who gather for jam sessions or contribute to a community aren’t just people, they’re family which share common bonds.
The Take Away
What starts as “play” often transforms into “work” which changes the dynamic greatly. The joy of hitting a good shot becomes overshadowed by frustration when you can’t replicate it consistently. The thrill of creating music gets buried under the pressure to “make it.”
Dave and Jessica both started because they found something that brought them joy. But somewhere along the way, the joy became secondary to validation or to prove something.
The irony is that most professional golfers and musicians will tell you the same thing: the process has to be the reward. Tiger Woods didn’t become Tiger Woods by obsessing over being Tiger Woods. He became Tiger Woods by loving golf more than anything and putting in the work every day, regardless of outcome.
So by all means, buy the new driver if it makes you happy. Invest in that guitar if it inspires you to play more. Enter tournaments. Play open mics and spend money doing it if it makes you happy. Chase improvement.
But don’t forget to smile and enjoy the journey. Keeping it fun and remembering why you did it in the first place will often breed more success.
I’m not suggesting to ever give up on dreams, rather embrace it for what it is and don’t forget why you started the journey.
Once you figure out you don’t need to prove anything and it’s ok to actually enjoy things without being famous, you may find the pressure goes away and the future just happens without the stress you put on yourself.
I hope our community produces a household name in music or golf, but I don’t want anyone to turn what was enjoyable into something so serious that it creates stress and negative feelings about what once brought joy.
That’s why they call it “playing golf” and “playing music”. Let’s get to playing folks but most importantly, having fun.
by harlowmedia | Mar 13, 2025 | Pro Tips
I wrote this article because I’ve been seeing a trend. One time is an anomaly, two times is a coincidence, three times is a trend. In the last 10 bands / shows I’ve seen, more than half were displaying the trend I speak of. Many of these bands seem completely unaware it’s happening, or perhaps worse, they’ve stopped caring altogether. What am I talking about? The drive or otherwise, the flame. That essential fire that makes each gig matter – the energy that acknowledges the significance of every venue and every audience you perform for.
I’ve worked with bands across genres for over three decades, I’ve witnessed countless groups rise with passion and purpose, only to eventually find themselves going through the motions.
That electric connection that once sparked between bandmates becomes routine. The stage that once felt like home becomes just another workplace. The music that once flowed from genuine creative passion becomes a product to deliver.
If this sounds like your band, you’re far from alone. That evolution from passion to profession is a path well-traveled by virtually every group that’s stayed together long enough. It’s human nature to settle into the comfortable rhythm of “good enough,” gradually forgetting the spark that once made your performances exceptional.
When I watch these bands that once commanded every stage in the region now sleepwalking through frankly forgettable performances, I find myself questioning what extinguished their fire? How did these formerly magnetic artists transform into folks merely fulfilling an obligation to get paid? At what point did they decide it was acceptable to phone in their sets or, even worse, attempt to wing songs they haven’t bothered to learn? The disconnect between what these musicians were capable of and what they now deliver isn’t just disappointing— it’s killing their opportunities and brand, if they ever had one.
The Inevitable Plateau
Most bands begin with a honeymoon phase. Everything feels new and exciting – the first rehearsals, the first gigs, the first recording sessions. You’re discovering your sound together, building something from nothing. The possibilities seem endless.
But inevitably, familiarity sets in. Songs that once brought goosebumps become muscle memory. Venues that once intimidated are now just another gig. The bandmate who once seemed like a musical genius now has predictable tendencies you could map out in your sleep. You don’t need to rehearse because you know all the songs…etc.
Although some of that sounds pretty good and feels comfortable, without conscious effort, it can morph into complacency. Signs include:
- Minimal rehearsal beyond running through the set
- Decreased experimentation with new material
- Conversations centered on logistics rather than creative vision
- Performance quality becoming “good enough” rather than exceptional
- Internal eye-rolls when someone suggests trying something new
- Members not replying to your group chat
The FOBO Trap:
One particularly damaging mindset that emerges during this plateau is what psychologists call FOBO – Fear of Better Options. Unlike its cousin FOMO (Fear of Missing Out), which drives impulsive decisions, FOBO paralyzes with indecision and divided attention.
In a band context, FOBO manifests when members mentally keep one foot out the door. They commit half-heartedly to the current project while constantly scanning the horizon for potentially “better” opportunities – more lucrative gigs, more prestigious bands, more compatible collaborators.
The signs of FOBO in your band might include:
- Members consistently unavailable for certain opportunities but mysteriously available for others
- Decreased investment in long-term planning or growth
- Side projects gradually receiving more attention than the main band
- Conversations about the future becoming vague and non-committal
- Calling themselves a “hired gun”
What makes FOBO particularly insidious is its self-fulfilling nature. When members withhold their full creative energy and commitment due to uncertainty about the band’s future, they inadvertently create exactly the stagnant environment they fear being trapped in. The band becomes less exciting, less fulfilling, which further justifies their wandering focus – a destructive cycle.
The Comparison Trap
Another mindset which can extinguish your band’s creative fire is through unhealthy comparison with other groups. Whether that is talent, song choices, or even money made, I’ve seen talented musicians spend more time watching what other bands do than focus on their own band. What could have started as inspiration quickly becomes toxic when it transforms into a measuring stick for your own worth. I’ve seen bands ruin themselves putting a value on themselves based on what others may be making.
The fundamental truth: every band you see on stage represents a unique combination of personalities, priorities, resources, time commitments, and artistic visions. What works for them simply cannot be directly transferred to your situation and even if it could, people may not respond the same. The band playing flawless three-part harmonies might have dedicated their lives to their craft and vocals, whereas the members of your band do it for beer. The group with the massive local following might have spent years building relationships before you ever saw them.
Healthy bands generally recognize that their only meaningful competition is with their previous selves. Did tonight’s show feel more connected than the last show? Is the new material working for the audience? It’s said “Competition happens and the bottom and collaboration at the top”, I believe it. The successful bands I know are all collaborators that set goals and carve their own paths.
Breaking Through the Plateau
Revitalizing a band is doable! But, it requires honest communication, transparency, and intentional action. Here are some ideas:
Have a cookout. Sometimes the best way to reconnect musically is to temporarily step away from the music and eat like kings. A weekend away from instruments, focused on rebuilding personal connections and clarifying shared goals, can reignite the human foundation that makes music meaningful.
- Revisit your past. Reminisce about what brought you together and what excited you initially. Often, the seeds of your initial connection contain the nutrients needed for renewed growth.
- Directly address FOBO. Have an honest conversation about everyone’s level of commitment and expectations. Maybe you are the control freak that has higher expectations than the rest of the band which is causing folks to look for better opportunity?
- Seek external perspective. Bring in a mentor or even fans to provide feedback. Outside perspectives can illuminate both strengths you’ve taken for granted and opportunities for growth you’ve overlooked.
- Listen to each other. Consider playing that pop song that the bass player wants to do. You might find that it’s the song that puts your band back on the map.
Remember that passion isn’t just something you feel – it’s something you practice. The most enduring musical partnerships aren’t those that never experience plateaus, but those who recognize the plateau as part of the journey and deliberately choose to climb the next peak together.
The stage doesn’t have to be “just another gig.” Your fans deserve more than a phoned-in performance, and venues are actively seeking artists who bring genuine enthusiasm and professionalism to their spaces.
The future of music burns brightest in bands that first ignite themselves. let’s do this!
by harlowmedia | Nov 12, 2024 | Pro Tips
Written by Wes Riley
When you’re in a band, the moments on stage are electrifying. But just as essential are “The Space Between”—the times before and after the show and those valuable minutes between sets. Here’s how to make the most of them and keep the crowd engaged all night.
Pre-Show: Setting Up with Purpose
Preparation is key. Arrive early, set up quickly, and have a routine in place to keep things efficient. Beyond the technical setup, think about curating a soundtrack for the pre-show and the breaks between sets. The right music sets the mood and builds the energy in the room, guiding the crowd into the show’s vibe even before you step on stage. If you can, choose an intro track to lead right into your first song, letting the atmosphere naturally flow as you take over the night.
Between Sets: Connecting with Your Fans
During breaks, it’s all about connection. This is the perfect time to move through the crowd, spread the love, and make fans feel appreciated. Keep interactions short and meaningful so you can reach more people, even if it’s a high five—everyone wants to feel part of the experience. Your fans are the heartbeat of your shows, so let them know they’re one of the reasons you do what you do. And keep the vibe alive by letting your curated music play during these pauses, keeping the energy up and the crowd engaged.
Post-Show: Celebrating and Wrapping Up
After the final note, take a moment to bask in the energy of the performance. Enjoy the applause, share a moment with the band, and let the night sink in. But after about 20-30 minutes, it’s time to wrap up. Pack up quickly, efficiently, and with the same purpose you brought to the setup. The crowd will sense your professionalism, and it’ll add polish to the whole experience.
In the end, “The Space Between” is all about setting a mood, connecting with fans, and keeping the momentum going. Each phase of the night adds depth to your performance, making the time on stage feel like just one part of an unforgettable experience. With a little intentionality and some well-chosen tunes, every moment becomes a part of the show, creating memories that last long after the last chord fades.
