I had to call someone out and I didn't enjoy it.

We ain't making enough money to f*** people over like this...

Hey there,

Hope you are well. Thank you for subscribing. I will post soon my latest Jazz Adjacent mixes that you can find here.

I have been performing a lot. And living this dream of music. But I have to tell you a story about something that happened to me in the beginning of the year. This post has sat in my drafts for months.

I dealt with a bad situation at work. And not being able to talk about it publicly is absolutely what is wrong with the small tier level of entertainment that I am at.

As the saying goes “F U P M”.

I remember the moment with crystal clarity. I was sitting on the comfortable couch of an Airbnb in London, still glowing from an extraordinary night at the South Bank Centre. In the Royal Festival Hall, alongside the New Civilization Orchestra conducted by Peter Edwards and my sisters and brother in song—Corinne Bailey Rae, Laura Mvula, Ni Maxine, and Tony Njoku —we had paid tribute to the one and only Dr. Nina Simone.

L-R: China Moses, Corinne Bailey-Rae, Laura Mvula and Ni Mxine - Photo by Graeme Miall/Tomorrow's Warriors at RFH

Read the jazz Wise article about the one night event in collaboration with the Montreux Jazz Festival

I was still filled with stories of her life, her struggles, the way she was misunderstood, the way she had to deal with people mistreating her, disrespecting her. How she carried that weight with such fierce dignity.

Then I read the email.

My now ex-booking agent informed me that I would owe him future commissions from concerts I hadn't done, and that he would deduct those future commissions from the over €18,000 he owed me for concerts I had already performed more than six months ago.

I was livid. I was quiet. I turned to my partner and asked him: "Why do we, as small artists, have to suffer in silence? Why do I have to put on a good face when this person is disrespecting me?"

My partner, who is the definition of quiet confidence replied without hesitation:

"Burn it all down."

At that moment, I took to my phone and did something I never thought I would ever do. I'd never thought I would become one of those people who put somebody on blast on social media. But here I was, trying to figure out the best way to explain a situation where I was being wronged, ignored, and disrespected by this person who had just started a new job as director of programming at one of the biggest Jazz institutions in the United States.

This person who was supposed to protect and defend artists was not paying his.

And there I did it. I posted.

I posted the whole story. I posted how much I was owed, who the person's name was. I tagged the institution they worked for. And I closed the app.

The messages started coming in immediately. The support, the anger, the confusion. Some people were even madder than I was—because while I was ready to never see that money again, what I wasn't ready for was to start my year out being disrespected as the small, working artist that I am.

What happened after was days, even weeks of phone calls and messages of support.

What happened after was something I did not really count on and did not expect:

COMMUNITY!

My goodness. What an incredible community!

People were offering help, advice, counsel. People were mad for me.

I was numb.

The weight of carrying that exploitation alone for so long, then suddenly having a whole community rally around you—it's overwhelming, even when it's exactly what you need. Your vulnerability creates space for others to recognize themselves in your story.

All those artists and supporters who understood exactly what I was going through because they'd lived it too - and my mom, whew! She had some words to say about this person. That's the power of breaking the silence that this industry expects us to maintain.

Dr. Simone knew about fighting systems that expect you to smile and stay quiet while being exploited.

Sometimes you have to burn it all down to build something better.

Sometimes the most radical act is simply telling the truth.

Too often, we artists tell ourselves that we need somebody else to take care of the scary business stuff. That we will loose work if we complain. as a woman we are quick to be labeled as difficult. A label that I am no longer afraid of. I mean who is saying this most of the time? Ok, I know, a whole other topic.

I have artist friends constantly asking me if I know managers, agents — basically anyone who can shield them from having to send awkward "where's my money?" emails. I get it. I am the same way. But sometimes the truth is we really do have to help ourselves, even when we're spectacularly bad at it.

I often say that I'm not special, and I'm truly not. There are a million people with more talent than me, better connections, shinier social media feeds. There are people with bigger careers, smaller careers, and careers that actually make sense from a business perspective. The one thing that separates those who “make it” from those who don't?

Not giving up and keep on learning—even when the learning curve involves public humiliation.

The harsh reality? This is a business. And I, apparently, had been treating it like a very expensive hobby.

If you want to just make your music and not confront the ugliness of humans, the weirdness of what even a little money can bring out in people—well, that’s cool. That’s you. Just be. Just create. Honestly, I thought I didn’t make enough money for people to be fighting over it, but apparently €18,000 is enough to bring out someone's inner villain. I shouldn't disrespect that amount. It is a almost a year of rent in my case and it’s probably more than I've ever had in my checking account at one time.

I've never been a big fan of money, and at the same time I am scared of not having enough. It might explain why I'm so terrible at chasing it down when people owe it to me. My mom always made sure I didn't miss anything growing up. I'm nowhere near rich, but I can pay my bills with my art—which feels like success to me but that's a whole other therapy session, I mean, post.

The point is, we have to learn to take care of our business. And I'm slowly, painfully learning to take care of mine. To mind my business, set boundaries, send those uncomfortable emails, and also to drink more water because apparently stress dehydration is a thing. Oh, and I really do need to get back to the gym—turns out righteous anger doesn't actually count as cardio.

Anyway, if you want to read the original post, it's still up on my socials, a permanent monument to my public meltdown and subsequent education in the fine art of not being a doormat. I kept it there to remind myself of the lesson I learned, because not only did it numb me, not only did it send me into a mild depression that I had to seek help for (therapy: highly recommend), it also taught me about all the mistakes I'd been making.

I didn't delete it because even though I'm barely crawling out of the depression this whole episode sent me into, I'm a much better businesswoman because of it. That being said, I am late on my invoicing…

I may not have enjoyed this life episode of “How to be an independent artist producer”.

But I learned that you can always count on community.

Thank you for being part of mine.

Hope your family & loved ones are doing well…

-cm

#singerontheroad

Concert dates

Instagram / Facebook