Meet Jason Myers: a marketing whiz, professional bass player, and a man riding the heavy metal rollercoaster known as Icarus Witch. Based in Pittsburgh, he used to dream of rock stardom until the harsh, cold fingers of reality nudged him into a cubicle.
Jason’s journey began in junior high, where the gleaming light of heavy metal beckoned. He thought burning out the strings of his bass was his ticket to fame. But after graduating in 1993, he quickly needed a backup plan—because let’s face it, the chances of becoming a rock icon are slightly less than winning the lottery. What did he do? Started moonlighting as a PR guru for concert promoters. Rock & roll dreams—check; sensible adulthood—double check!
With his new gig, Jason found himself stuck in the eternal battle of juggling his band and a day job. Imagine this: booking studio time while most people are gearing up for sleep. He was basically living the life of a vampire, except instead of sucking blood, he was slashing prices on energy drinks. Just glorious.
By 2003, Icarus Witch struck gold and landed a record deal. They released their first album in 2005, paving the way for radio play and the inevitable “Hey, you’re famous!” moments. Unfortunately, fame didn’t pay the bills, and Jason realized touring was essentially a glorified installment plan against future riches. Because who doesn’t love borrowing money to fund their “rockstar lifestyle”?
Days in a band hold few perks. Picture this: if you’re lucky, the band gets an hour on stage, and the rest of the time? A delightful mix of travel, waiting, and sleeping. You could practically hear the crickets in the downtime. This sparked a lightbulb moment for Jason—the emergence of WiFi! The band had to fill that tedious void. Heaven forbid they just sit there scrolling through their phones and contemplating life choices.
Fast forward to Jason’s existential crisis in 2010, as he realized the music industry was shrinking faster than his will to play “Free Bird” at every gig. Downloads replaced CDs, jobs vanished like socks in a dryer, leaving him feeling rather heroic for being a slightly successful bass player. It was time to reckon with his financial future and maybe add “adulting” to his résumé.
In a twist of fate, he joined a marketing startup, moving from hotel rooms to working on a bus while touring with the band Y&T. Talk about multitasking! Working from a hotel room after gigs was his new normal—while other bandmates revelled in the local bar scene. Who needs sleep when you can get your pitch perfect at karaoke? Surely, life as a rock star wasn’t supposed to be this productive!
These days, the band is selective about its gigs, mainly because touring without a financial anchor feels more like a bad vacation than a rock tour. Ticket prices have soared to the heights of ridiculousness, yet people are still raving about seeing a band perform like it’s a religious experience. Meanwhile, Jason climbed the ranks at The Content Factory from humble account rep to senior vice president. He loves playing music but as an adult, he’s more consumed with the company’s profit margins than a good bass riff.
Ah, the irony: while a rising band can feel invincible, protective measures are unbelievably necessary. Once upon a time, Jason thought planning for a “Plan B” was a harbinger of doom. Now he chuckles at his youthful naiveté, realizing it is perfectly rational to pursue dreams while also having a safety net. Because in the world of rock, it’s best to not just live fast and die young—but also invest in something that won’t crash down like the hopes and dreams of a vanilla boy band gone wrong.
