The word tour used to mystify me. The tattooed kids from New Jersey who I knew had done it, they all worked in coffee shops and shared a van. They would play house shows and sleep on friends’ floors. They didn’t have many bills to pay—rent was partially subsidized by parents or grandparents, phones were on family plans and there were no student loans. (I know all of this because I asked.) While their financial lives were enviable, it wasn’t the only thing they had that I wanted. I wanted to be on stage in a different city every night with my songs. I wanted someone besides me to know the lyrics. And I wanted to know: how did they do it? How did they take all that time off of work? How did they sleep on floors and know how many pairs of underwear to bring? How did they know what songs to play, where to get merch, how to perform fearlessly night after night?

In 2015 in my mid-twenties, I’d already lived what seemed, to me, like a lifetime of experiences as a musician. I’d written more songs than I could count, played all the open mics I’d ever heard of, and played every venue in New York City that would have me. I worked hard at it. I left my day job as a studio manager for a web design company for a less demanding positions of a child caregiver. After work every day I would work another “shift” in music. I spent hundreds of hours writing, singing, playing, recording, editing, producing and performing. The hope was that a show, email, blog post, or commercial sync would show up and I’d finally start to make some money. But I didn’t. For years and years.

I could either quit altogether or keep doing what I was doing. My songwriting, production, and show kept improving, and one night my friend brought a friend of hers—a successful touring musician—to a show of mine. A few weeks later, that person asked me to open for their band on an upcoming tour. The months leading up to it were grueling. I was pretty much sure I couldn’t do it. I’m not one of those people who tours. I’m not like them. But I have to do this. But I can’t possibly do this.

I was surprised to learn that I already possessed a throng of skills that were great for touring: I didn’t mind the drives, the downtime, the chaos backstage, the tech difficulties or the creature discomforts. It was all stuff I’d done before as a server, retailer, manager, babysitter, restaurant host. Just like every other job I’d ever had, it wasn’t glamorous, or easy.

I’m so grateful that my music career has grown in the directions it has, at the pace that it has. All the therapists/self-help authors/business people say the same thing: everything happens for a reason.

Now with a bunch of tours under my belt, I’m familiar with how they usually go down. First, they always cost money. You might make that money back, but you might not. It’s important to know where your money is going, and equally important to do the research on where else you can save, and what you’d like to put it toward when you start making more. Most of the books and articles on the topic say that a tour manager and a front of house engineer are the most important things to get once you can afford them. But the reality is that you need to make that decision for yourself, because it’s your money and business, and at the end of the day YOU have to live with it.

Here are a few things I’ve spent money on as part of my past tours: car rentals, gas, hotel rooms, drum rugs, guitar strings, guitar stands, keyboard stands, cables, food, beer, water, windshield wiper fluid, shoes, photography, digital marketing, bass player, drummers, laptop computers, underwear, coin showers, graphic design, poster printing, CD manufacturing, apparel, paper towels, sharpies, blankets, hangers, bins, stickers, beads, zip ties, drum heads, MIDI controllers, socks. Here are a few of the things I might spend money on in the coming year: an in ear monitor system, a van, custom cases for gear and instruments, vinyl, a stage sign, tour manager, front of house engineer, bass player.

Second, you’re never alone. Some people really embrace the group mentality on tour and enjoy the endless company. But instead of pumping me up, the endless company drains me of any sense of energy or inspiration. I’ve learned to be patient with my self and my tour mates, and to take any bit of space I am able to. Usually this is just five or ten minutes with my headphones in on a dirty couch backstage while I ignore text messages and emails.

Third, you are providing an experience for other people, and that experience should be of high quality. Whatever that means to you, your business, and your fanbase, it’s important to take regular stock and put your best foot forward to provide to your “customers”. For example: as much as I want to have a full live band for every tour, I simply am not able to afford it at this point. Instead of more musicians, that money goes toward new merchandise. If I had a five-piece band and no merch, an important part of the experience—meeting and chatting with me, taking home a t-shirt designed by me, buying a poster, etc.—would be missing. A lot of people are sad I don’t have more stuff for them to buy as it is! The silver lining is that, with only myself and one other musician on stage, I’m able to prioritize songs and showmanship over arrangements and personnel. With fewer people there are fewer instruments and suitcases, and so we are able to save money by renting a smaller vehicle (which also uses less gas). I’m able to take care of tour management myself, since there are fewer people to manage (sleeping arrangements, questions, learning parts, etc.) which is another bonus.

My goal is to eventually be able to have more than one other musician on stage with me, to have a tour manager and front of house engineer, and to invest in the equipment and stage production that I can tour with for years to come. If I’m being really honest, I would love to own my own zero-emissions tour bus one day! But of course someone needs to make one first. So for now I am here, and I’m happy with where I am. I make more spreadsheets than I ever thought possible, and I’m weirdly into it. I’ve overcome challenges I thought to be insurmountable, and still every tour brings new challenges. Every time I come home a different person, like a snake molting, getting an entirely fresh set of scales. I never know what to expect out of myself. I still sometimes think I’m not one of those people who [anything I’ve never done before]. I can’t do this. But then, years later, I’ve done it. More than once. More than twice. Each time I do it, I’m better at it. Now I can’t imagine my life without it.

Now if you excuse me, I have some spreadsheets to work on.

Party Nails is producer/artist Elana Belle Carroll.

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Touring - an open letter by Party Nails