Sixteen years and more than a thousand gigs in, Tom Powell argues that being a good musician is the smallest part of making a living from music. The pricing, the reliability, the kit, the reviews and the referrals are what turn a run of gigs into a career.

Tom Powell is an award-winning UK vocalist, musician and live entertainer with more than 15 years’ experience and over 1,000 performances across the UK and internationally. A versatile tenor with a repertoire spanning pop, rock, swing, opera and musical theatre, Tom has performed everywhere from weddings and private celebrations to major stages and cruise ships, where he has worked as a guest entertainer and headliner. His career includes supporting Olly Murs, appearing on BBC One with Robson Green and performing at London’s Royal Albert Hall. Through Tom Powell Music, he delivers bespoke entertainment for weddings, parties and corporate events, from intimate acoustic performances and duos to full live bands, DJ, saxophone and roaming entertainment. You can follow him as @TomPowellMusic across all socials. His approach combines exceptional musicianship, professionalism and a focus on creating unforgettable experiences for every audience.

I played my first paid gig when I was 16.

I went into my local pub and told the manager that I sang with two guitarists and was looking for some gigs. I happened to have a CD we'd recorded in Newcastle when I was 15, so I gave her a copy. She listened to it and offered us a gig.

We were paid £120 between the three of us for a couple of hours. That was £40 each, which seemed like a fortune compared with what most of my school friends were earning. I eventually gave up my part-time job pot-washing at another venue.

Sixteen years later, music has taken me considerably further than that first pub gig. I've performed at weddings, private events and on cruise ships, supported established artists, worked across theatre and studio projects, taught singing and worked with other musicians. I now run my own music business, with other freelancers working alongside me, and there have been years when I've performed more than 150 gigs.

I didn't set out with a masterplan to build any of that. In fact, for a long time I didn't really consider myself a full-time musician at all.

One of the biggest things I've learned is that the gig is only part of the job.

Being a good musician isn't enough

When I was younger, I thought the route to success was fairly obvious: become a really good musician.

I wanted to be versatile, have a huge repertoire and be able to impress people with what I could do musically. Those things are still important, but I've learned that they aren't necessarily what makes someone a successful working musician.

The audience isn't there to judge your technique. They're there to have a good time.

That's something I now try to teach as much as I practise it myself: aim for entertainment, not perfection.

Musicians can come off stage obsessing over the wrong word, the cracked note or the riff they missed. Meanwhile, the audience hasn't noticed, because they're having a great night.

Perfection is unattainable. Entertainment is very much attainable.

The same principle applies to clients. Particularly with weddings, the musician is part of a much bigger day. Timings change, things run late and plans don't always work out exactly as expected. The client isn't usually an event-planning specialist, and they shouldn't have to be.

My approach is simple: how can we work together to still achieve what the client wants, or as close to it as possible given the new circumstances?

Being reliable, flexible, polite and easy to work with is just as important as being able to sing the songs.

A side hustle is still a business

For years, performing was something I did alongside everything else.

I completed a BA and then an MA, neither of them in music, while continuing to perform. Even when music became my biggest source of income and I was getting some great opportunities, I still thought of it as a side hustle.

It wasn't until I moved back to the North East after COVID that I realised it could actually be my career.

Fortunately, I wasn't starting from zero. I already had a website, social media, testimonials, online listings and a network of clients. What changed was how seriously I treated the business around the music.

Pricing was a big part of that.

I've probably spent most of my career undercharging rather than overcharging. As I gained experience, I started creating packages, separating weddings and private events from public venue work, analysing what other musicians were charging and becoming more confident about the value of what I offered.

I've lost bookings because somebody else was cheaper. That's inevitable.

But I've also gone from hearing "you're too cheap" to hearing "you exceeded our expectations". That feels like a much more useful measure of whether I've got my pricing somewhere sensible.

The gig doesn't start when you walk on stage

A two-hour performance might look like a two-hour job from the outside. It isn't.

There's the preparation, client communication, learning requests, checking equipment, travelling, setting up, sound checking, performing, packing down and following up afterwards.

Good equipment matters too. I've gradually invested in better PA systems, microphones, lighting, guitars and DJ equipment, and I carry backups wherever practical.

I've learned the hard way that if you buy cheap, you often buy twice.

Some investments are more obviously business decisions than others. My Ford Ranger, for example, isn't just a way of getting from A to B. It carries the equipment, can form part of an outdoor stage setup and has my branding on it. People see it when I'm driving around, and clients regularly comment on it.

Other purchases are less defensible. I own 13 guitars, including a banjo I bought with every intention of learning to play and then never did.

One of the best investments I've made isn't equipment at all. It's my personal assistant. Having someone manage client communication and administration means I can spend more time performing, creating content and actually enjoying my life outside work.

When you're doing more than 120 gigs a year, that matters.

Stop hunting for gigs and build something people want to book

Early in my career, getting work meant sending emails and Facebook messages to venues and hoping somebody replied. At one point, I'd estimate that roughly one in 100 approaches resulted in a response.

That is hunting for gigs.

Building a career is different.

The aim now is to build something that has value even when I'm not actively looking for the next booking: a recognisable brand, a good reputation, genuine reviews, an audience, a network of previous clients and a body of work people can see.

I've become much more deliberate about social media too. I used to treat Instagram largely as a portfolio: another photo from another gig.

Now I think much more about what the content is actually doing. I'm capturing more video, creating shorter clips, posting consistently and trying to sell the experience of booking me rather than simply demonstrating that I can sing.

Reviews are another part of that. I started actively asking clients for Google reviews a few years ago. They're not necessarily what makes someone discover me in the first place, but when somebody is considering booking a musician they've never met, genuine feedback from previous clients provides reassurance.

And referrals are hugely important. Some of my best work has come from people I've performed for before recommending me to somebody else.

Recently, I was nominated for The Wedding Industry Awards by a couple I'd worked with. I hadn't asked them to nominate me and didn't even know they were doing it.

That meant more to me than simply receiving an award ever could.

It was a reminder that the years of trying to make clients happy, communicate properly, put on a good show and give people something worth remembering can come back to you in ways you can't plan for.

Diversify, but don't lose your identity

I've never really had just one job within music.

I've taught singing, worked in theatre sound, worked in studios, sung on demos, programmed live music, worked for the Music Service and supported other musicians. I've performed in care homes, pubs, theatres, weddings, corporate events and on cruise ships.

Some of those things are more lucrative than others. Some are more enjoyable. Some lead to other opportunities.

I don't think diversification means trying to do everything. You still need people to understand what you actually do.

For me, weddings are the bread and butter. My solo vocal performance is still at the centre of everything, but I've built other services around it and collaborate with other musicians where it makes sense.

In a strange way, my versatility in the way I package it is my niche.

A client can come to me for one part of their event or, in some cases, for almost the entire day. They don't necessarily need to find five different suppliers.

Sixteen years on

If an 18-year-old musician asked me today how to make a living from music, I wouldn't tell them to wait for a record deal or hope somebody important discovers them.

I'd say: "Absolutely. Get two 45-minute sets of material together and let's get started finding you some gigs."

Then we'd work out a suitable PA system.

And I'd probably tell them not to buy the really cheap one that promises to do everything for £199.

The mechanics of being a working musician are actually quite simple: get the gig, prepare properly, turn up, perform well, look after the client, pack down and do it again.

Building a career from those gigs is the more complicated part.

The music gets you through the door. What happens around the music is what allows you to keep doing it.