You're in a car with your buddies one day, when a song comes on that everyone loves. It's got a great beat, catchy lyrics, and—best of all—a wicked guitar solo.

"That's me," you tell them, as you play air guitar. They laugh, thinking you're joking. You jokety jokester, you.

"Yeah, right. If that's you, what are you doing hanging out here with us? Why aren't you off touring or at some rad party somewhere?" they say.

But that's how it goes—the lonely, humble life of a studio musician. All guts, no glory.

You might have recorded on some of the most famous records or sat in on sessions that won the artist a Grammy, but nobody will have heard your name.

It's like the anti-Cheers. 

You are like a White Walker, stalking in the shadows of recording studios, ready to make your mark without anyone ever knowing you were even there—well, anyone on the outside of the biz, that is.

Nothing like a sousaphone to kick the party up a notch. (Source)

Producers and artists will know who you are. They'll come to rely on you and keep you steadily employed. If you're good at your job and you're easy to work with—a.k.a. you're not a complete pain in the patootie—you should be able to do well for yourself.

You're a studio musician—a gun for hire who plays on records, jingles, film, and TV soundtracks. You're there whenever a solid horn, woodwind, or sousaphone is needed, and you'll be paid around $60,000 a year for your troubles (source). 

You produce the sounds that no synthesizer can; you bring your heart and soul to every song, but you always check your ego at the door.

You're flexible and reliable (on time, every time—be late once and you won't be asked for again), and you know your instrument like the back of your hand and the front of somebody else's. You play what you're told, the way you're told to play it, and you don't do anything rude like offer unsolicited opinions on how to improve anything.

There are a lot of perks to being a studio musician. The biggest one is that you'll be a paid musician, which is more than most people who have dreams of making music for money ever get.

You get to join the local musician's union and federation with its health and dental benefits and pension promises. Session fees are regulated by the local musician's union, but if you're good and you play well with others, you could be looking at a six-figure salary (source). Even if you decide to go the non-union route, you can still make $40-$60 an hour or $75-$100 a song (source), depending on how you're paid.

If you're lucky, you'll even get to play with some of your heroes. You could be privy to the next super-star's big hit and you can be part of making it happen. And if they like working with you, they'll come back for more. Who wouldn't want to work with Beyoncé?

The irritation increases exponentially if you play an accordion. Beware. (Source)

Of course, nobody's going to know that you're chilling with Queen Bey, unless you tell them yourself. And even then, people might not believe you. It's not like this job will ever make you famous enough to be on her level in the American people's eyes. You might get publicly credited for your work, but then again, you might not. Anonymity will never be a problem for you.

Being a studio musician can also be stressful, demanding, and downright irritating.

Most studio musicians are classically-trained instrumentalists with years of experience behind them. This is a job with a steep learning curve and you'll be expected to sound and act professionally from day one. Practice your sight-reading—you'll need to be really good at it.

You'll also need to have a flexible schedule. You might be asked to drop everything and fly out for a recording session on the other side of the country at a moment's notice. If you have any pets or part-time jobs, they'll have to be ones that you can leave for a few days without anything horrible happening.

You won't get to be picky about which gigs you pick up, either. Sometimes you'll have to slog through gigs that are boring or even bad. As a gun (or bassoonist) for hire, you don't get a say in what you play or how you play it. You might be asked to play the most depressing, boring, and just plain bad music you've ever seen in your life—and you'll have to do it with a big smile. If you complain about it, you'll trash your reputation...and without a reputation, you won't have a career.

On the other hand, if the music is bad and the album is a flop, it won't be your fault. You were just doing your job, and your salary—unlike a singer's—will never be dependent on whether or not a song gets to #1 on the charts.

If you love playing music above all else, and you still want to be able to pay the rent, then this could be a pretty sweet gig.

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