There was a winter where I almost let myself get pulled into a record label. Not a real label — not the kind with infrastructure and a spine — but a boutique operation with more ambition than architecture.
The person running it had the enthusiasm of a kid with a toy steering wheel and about the same amount of control. Titles were thrown around like confetti: “VP of Talent Relations” became “Artist Representative” in writing. Three months. A thousand bucks. “Get sales into the company.”
That was the first tell.
The second came fast. There was a young artist — talented, but green and insecure. Instead of structure, she got smoke. Promises of videos, press, radio — all of it “right around the corner.” No plan. No scaffolding. Just flattery and fantasy.
Her manager told her the truth. She fired him. The label filled the vacuum with charm, and she filled their inbox with panic. Every question she asked was a symptom of the same disease: no one was steering the ship.
I spoke to her once. Gave her the straight version. She didn’t like it. That was fine. I wasn’t there to be liked. I was there to see if the company had a pulse.
It didn’t.
Meanwhile, I had already done more in one email than the founder had done in a year. A full operational blueprint — artist relations, PR, marketing, studio monetization, content strategy, alliances, revenue streams. He skimmed it like a grocery list.
That was the moment I knew: if I took the job, I’d be running the company while someone else played CEO.
I’ve lived that story before. I wasn’t signing up for it again.
So I walked.
And I didn’t walk alone. A band I’d worked with came with me. They’d been burned by this label and others like it — bruised but not broken. They trusted me enough to hand me the wheel.
Their next album wouldn’t be on that label. Their tour — the one I routed and followed from a distance — proved everything I needed to know. They were a real band. They wanted to work. They wanted to move. They wanted to build.
The label wanted shortcuts. The band wanted a road.
I chose the road.
Not every year gives you a clean exit. This one did.
And sometimes the smartest thing you can do is recognize a sinking ship before you’re the one bailing water.