Why We Need to Be Talking About New Zealand Musicians’ Mental Health

Their music is part of your hazy Friday nights; your early morning, traffic-heavy weekday crawls into work; part of your wedding; your break up recovery; part of almost every aspect of your day.

Yet while New Zealand's musicians have helped decorate the auditory aspect of your life, they've also (usually) toiled at an extra part-time or full-time job on top of music; have had to deal with the stresses and temptations inherent in their industry: alcohol, drugs, the need to create a popular product, sleep deprivation and poverty; and face some serious mental health issues.

A recent survey by the New Zealand Music Foundation has put a spotlight on a side to the industry which doesn't get much exposure under the stage lights at shows or the flash bulbs at awards ceremonies: the industry's mental health and wellbeing. The survey forms the basis of the foundation's new Wellbeing Project, which offers support and counselling to members of the local music industry in times of illness, distress and hardship.

One of the biggest findings was that over half of both men (66 percent) and women (51 percent) who took part in the survey showed a positive indication of problem drinking—which is, by the way, significantly higher than the national figures where 25 percent of men and 11 percent of women positively indicate for problem drinking.

Shihad's Phil Knight has his own YouTube channel "What's Phil Worried About Today".

Shihad guitarist Phil Knight fell into drinking around the age of 13 or 14 and didn't put down the bottle until his bandmates threatened to kick him out of the band if he didn't stop. "The threat of being booted out of Shihad is what finally stopped me drinking. So many other bands would've either kicked me out of the band or just let me drink and kill myself," Phil told VICE. "There were some very physically dangerous times, being that wasted. It doesn't take much at all to kill an alcoholic. A friend of the band stopped me from being hit by a car after a festival in Brisbane back when I was drinking once."

Drinking to him began as a way to overcome his anxiety. "I was a very shy kid, but I loved music—it was everything to me. I'd wag school so I could just stay at home and practice guitar. I'd play in the school band, but I'd play with my back to the audience—I had a very shy persona on stage." It ended up as a crutch. "I just fell into that trap where every time where I wanted to do something—to come out of my shell on stage and be a rockstar or whatever, and actually face the audience, and get some confidence, I'd find it in a bottle. It was the same with going out on dates with girls and stuff."

Ladi 6 figures it is a pretty common way for shy musicians to help drag themselves on stage. "A lot of people who got into music not necessarily to perform can find themselves drinking quite a lot because it's provided for free on your rider. It's also that courage that you might need to do the damn thing."

Part of the problem is the fact that it's just too damn easy to get access. "When you start out you often get paid in beer. And it's there and it's free. It's always around you. Then it comes to the point where the drugs are around too. People are around bands with drugs and you don't have to pay for them either, you know", says Phil.

Having to barter shows for beers or exposure is another massive cause of stress for musicians. "In New Zealand, music and arts aren't that valued," says Trip Pony. "A lot of us are expected to play for free for exposure, or some shit."

Not getting paid in cold, hard Lord Rutherfords for gigs means that many musicians have pretty empty pockets. "I worry about money, how I'm going to live. You don't really know when that next pay check is coming," says Trip Pony. The survey found that half of all respondents earned less than $25,000 from their work in music annually.

The Leers wrote a song called "I Can't Cope".

The Leers frontman Matt Bidois found there were few ways to actually have a self-sustaining career in music. "The ability to make money, especially in the New Zealand music industry, is pretty low. The only option that you have if you're after making money is to follow the electronic production or pop structure. You don't really have that many choices. Every other path is marred with sacrificing lifestyle to be able to do what you want to do."

Part of the cause of the poverty is potentially in the way the New Zealand industry's structured and its size. "I've watched a lot of young artists come in and think, That's it, I'm going to quit my job. I've had a gig at Homegrown and I've won a NZ Music Award. But that's just not the truth. It's not easy in New Zealand, it's extra hard. Harder than say in Australia, which has a bigger market," says Ladi 6. "The only people who are really making money are those who actually have jobs in the industry, which is not usually the artists themselves. It's usually the record labels, maybe NZ on Air, the Music Commission."

Most disturbingly though is the fact that 39 percent of those surveyed in the industry have had suicidal thoughts in the past—18 percent have had them in the past 12 months. (The general population rates are 15.7 percent and 3.2 percent for those same stats.) Those in the music industry attempt to commit suicide at twice the rate of the general population. Over a third of those in the industry—again, twice that of the general population—have been diagnosed with a mental health disorder, usually depression (in 85 percent of cases) or anxiety (in 57 percent of cases).

Ladi6 says the high rate of suicidal thoughts in musicians doesn't really surprise her. "Weirdly enough, I think if you work in the music industry as long as me, you see quite clearly that there actually is a lot of mental illness in the industry and it's created by the nature of what we do for a living."

SoccerPractise's producer Thom Burton, who has suffered from depression in his life, didn't think music was the problem. "It's hard to correlate it directly to just being a musician. I've known people who've gone through with [committing suicide]—some musicians, some not." To him, making music has always been "cathartic".

Trip Pony felt the same. "For my mental health, I would not be able to have a regular job and not have time for my music because that sort of helps me deal with my crazy thoughts and stink feelings that I have."

Yet the pressures of the music industry have tangibly gotten to others who have dedicated themselves to making a full-time career out of music. "The pressure to make money and be a viable product in the market—to have currency in the market, I really feel like that's a huge thing. When you're not making music that people like, you know, or is not relevant right now—that can make you feel depressed," says Ladi6.

The industry does also have its fair share of sensitive types or those creatives who have mental illnesses, Phil found. "A lot of overly sensitive people are drawn to it; a lot of bi-polar creative are drawn to it. I know half a dozen bi-polar people in the New Zealand music industry who've had problems. Also bi-polar artists. I had a friend who moved to LA and did really well there but because of his depression he ended up taking his own life."

The survey results have started to open up an important comms line for the music industry to begin figuring out how to better protect the mental health and wellbeing of those in the industry and to change the stigma around talking about the industry's flaws. Ladi6 says there's a perception in the industry that you should love being a musician so shut up about the drawbacks. "Some days it's true, I love being that girl on stage and doing my thing, and some days I don't, I hate it—and it can ruin me mentally and get me really down and I think, Why'd I choose this life?"

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