Having lived and worked in Nashville for the past eight years, I’ve seen countless artists and aspiring industry types come to town in the hopes of breaking into the “industry machine.” They leave their hometowns, their lives, and their families behind in search of something greater.

For some, it’s a welcome life change that allows them to burn the past, start somewhere fresh, and turn the pain of their old lives into song. Others have it good back home, but feel inclined to go where the industry is, so they can be in the right rooms and meet the right people.

I was the same way — and truthfully, my story fell somewhere in the middle of both camps. I had dealt with quite a bit of loss in the years leading up to my eventual move to Nashville, and I was ready for a change of scenery. At the same time, I had started lean into my premonition that this Lehigh Valley Underground thing had potential to become greater. What better place to do that than the industry town of industry towns (even if it meant we had to rebrand)?

Certainly, the past eight years have taught me an immeasurable amount about the music industry, business in general, and life itself. Basing our operations in Nashville has opened up access to the greater industry — and the rest of the world.

I’ve had a chance to explore much of that world over the past couple years — from global cities to unassuming rural villages, and from festival stages to the backyard. For all the pomp and circumstance around music industry epicenters like Nashville and LA, my travels have taught me that meaningful opportunities and valuable connections are not exclusive to “industry hubs.”

They can happen here, there, and everywhere. All it takes are the right people, the right vision, and enough talent in the surrounding area to add some life to the party.

Of course, I don’t have to look far for an example of this. Let’s start with our hometown.

What if I told you that the largest free, non-gated music festival in the country started in 1984 with a polka tent, a beer truck, and a group of community volunteers — none of whom were “music industry gurus?”

That’s the (highly abbreviated) story of Musikfest, which just celebrated its 43rd year by welcoming 1.26 million people to Bethlehem, PA this summer. People from most U.S. states and a good handful of countries head to the Lehigh Valley every year to take in the ‘Fest-ivities. This massive operation takes over the city, and every year, you’ll find the same core group of people — still including a handful of those volunteers from the first ‘Fest in 1984 — building upon the previous year’s festival, and dialing things in to make them just a little bit better each time out.

Not only does this ensure a first-class experience for musicians, vendors, volunteers, staff, and patrons alike; it also reinforces the culture of Musikfest itself. No matter how big the festival becomes, Musikfest remains a celebration created for the community, by the community.

Speaking of community-led festivals that continue re-inventing themselves, year over year…

A couple years ago, I found a message in UMC’s Instagram message requests from Gussapolooza Music Festival. In a day and age where I don’t typically read message requests — no, your friend doesn’t think we’re cute. We’re an independent music outlet, and you’re a bot — I read this one.

I loved the sound of what they were doing by creating an all-independent music festival on the outskirts of Greater Toronto. Plus, I already had a soft spot for Canadian music — my favorite band, Our Lady Peace, is one of the heavyweights of Canadian rock. I realized that the 2024 edition of the festival was coming up, and this message had been quietly camped out there for about a month a half. I didn’t want to miss the boat any further, so I reached back.

The next thing I knew, Gussapolooza co-founder Russ Robson and I were on a call. We discussed a shared vision for empowering independent artists not only through performance opportunities, but organic networking and education. Russ invited me to come see the festival for myself. I offered to deliver my ‘Building Your Authentic Artist Brand’ seminar and take some photos and video throughout the weekend.

I went up to the festival that September, having met exactly zero of these people in person. It didn’t take long for me to see shades of Musikfest; an effort that is entirely community driven, provides meaningful professional at-bats for its artists, and gives the surrounding community a reason to come together. I’ve been back every year since, and we’ve stayed in touch and worked together with folks in the Gussapolooza family year-round.

I was inspired to see another example of community during my visits to Cellovision last month here in Nashville. Sarah Clanton and Andy Beckey — who, in their own right, are tremendous musicians and citizens of the ecosystem — have created a three-day festival with two stages, “branching” off from the year-round house concerts they host under the Cellotree Arts Presents banner. Dozens of artists came by to perform, hang out, and jam — some from Nashville, and others from places like Denver, Atlanta, Austin, and more.

For some, Cellovision has become an important date on the calendar every year. The connections fostered at Cellovision branch far from the Cellotree, resulting in collaborations that power independent artists’ careers. (In fact, our friends Cast Iron Shoes released and premiered a song written at last year’s Cellovision during their set at this year’s Cellovision!)

As for right now? It’s conference season, and two of our favorite boutique conferences take place every October. Confluence Carolinas just wrapped up for another successful year in Charlotte, NC, proving once again that the Queen City is much more than a financial center — it is a hub for art, creativity, and business, capable of attracting and supporting talent from around the world.

In a few weeks, we’ll make our way back down to NOLA MusiCon in New Orleans — a city so rich in art, culture, creativity, and soul that it’s impossible to argue otherwise.

Both of those cities may not be the first to come to mind when you hear the words “music industry,” but don’t be fooled. There is creativity blossoming in each one on a daily basis — and, in certain respects, “non-industry” towns give creativity far more room to breathe and take organic shape.

Imagine getting to create somewhere and not having to think, “did I make enough references to trucks ‘n beer for the powers that be to give this song a chance?”

Is there still value in having a stake in an “industry town” like Nashville? Absolutely. That’s where you’ll learn how things operate at large scale, make tons of connections, and learn which parts of the industry are (and are not) helpful to your creative vision. You’ll also find tons of creative people, just like you, who are hungry for more opportunities.

However, music and creativity exist everywhere. For all of technology’s recent pitfalls, we have more tools at our disposal than any time in human history to discover pockets of like-minded, heart-centered creatives (and the professionals who serve them).

Any single environment can start to feel like a merry-go-round after a while. It is in those moments that you must venture beyond the palace walls. Once you do, you’ll find that some of the most exciting stuff — the art that changes culture, and the ideas that shape a better music ecosystem beyond the traditional industry — is happening in places you’d least expect.

It might be an old steel town. It might be a field in the middle of Ontario. It might be a major city. It could even be someone’s backyard. Truthfully, it’s all of the above.

By taking time to build those connections, you will better understand the unique challenges and opportunities of each region, and find common ground on the issues facing artists and creatives industry wide.

Not to mention, you’ll have more friends in more places, and more places to visit, perform, and explore.

Over time, the creative journey becomes about something much greater than finding our way into the industry machine.

The journey becomes about working together to build a better one — no matter where we lay our heads.