Yes, the asshole tax exists.
A lot of industries have a nicer phrase for it. They call it adjusted pricing. They call it inconvenience pricing. They call it a difficult customer fee. They call it a special handling charge. They call it whatever sounds professional enough to put on paper without saying what everybody already knows.
Some people cost more to deal with.
That is not always because the work itself is harder. Sometimes the work is simple. Sometimes the setup is simple. Sometimes the job would be fine if the person involved did not make every step more difficult than it needs to be.
That is where the asshole tax comes in.
If working with you means extra stress, extra babysitting, extra confusion, extra arguments, extra changes, extra hand-holding, extra damage control, and extra nonsense that was never part of the original agreement, then the price changes.
Or the answer becomes no.
That is something I have learned from doing sound work, helping bands, filming performances, transporting equipment, and working around events. When you are younger, you tend to say yes to everything. You want the experience. You want the contacts. You want the money. You want to prove that you can handle the job.
And there is nothing wrong with that.
Everybody starts somewhere.
I got into sound and working with bands around 2015. At first, it was simple stuff. Helping carry gear. Helping set up. Being the extra set of hands. The roadie crap, as people like to call it.
But anyone who has actually worked around live music knows that the simple stuff is not really nothing. An extra hand matters. It saves time. It saves energy. It keeps people from burning themselves out before they even get on stage.
A band’s energy should be focused on the performance. The people in the crowd are there for the show. They are there for the experience. They are there to hear the band perform, not to watch everybody waste all their energy dragging equipment around, fighting cables, setting up stands, and troubleshooting everything five minutes before they are supposed to play.
Over time, I worked my way up. I started bringing cameras. I recorded bands at different venues. I helped create promotional material. I did sound when venues did not have a sound engineer available. I transported equipment. I helped make the job function.
At some point, that is no longer “just helping.”
That becomes part of the operation.
People like to think the members of a band are only the people on stage. But once you have a reliable sound person, camera person, tech, or extra set of hands who understands the setup and knows how the band functions, that person becomes part of the working machine.
You may not always be able to pay them what they are worth. That is reality, especially in local music. But you respect them. You take care of them somehow. You make sure they are not treated like an afterthought. Maybe that means money. Maybe it means gas. Maybe it means food. Maybe it means buying them a beer after the job.
But somewhere, somehow, you show that the work was not invisible.
Because people remember who respected the work.
And they also remember who treated extra help like something they were owed.
That is where lines have to be drawn.
There are people I give a lot of leeway to. There are older gentlemen I have worked with who are professional, respectful, and understand the business we are in when we do these events. They know how to communicate. They know how to treat people. They know that everybody is there to make the show work, not to create a power struggle.
Those people get leeway from me because I like working with them. They are good people. They respect the work, they respect the gear, and they respect the people doing the job.
Then there are other people.
There are people who jump out of their lane and start acting like anything you are capable of doing is something they are automatically entitled to receive. They see you doing sound, filming, helping move equipment, handling logistics, and still getting the job done, and somehow decide that means they can ask for even more.
That is where I say no.
I filmed your band.
I did sound for your band.
I transported your band’s equipment.
Those are not small extras. Those are not invisible favors. Those are not things that magically happen because I happened to be standing there with the ability to do them.
And if you want that same work for your other band, that is a separate arrangement.
Your other band is your other band.
That is not the band I agreed to help. That is not the project I was working with. That is not the arrangement I made. If you want footage, recordings, sound work, or promotional material for a separate project, then you need a separate agreement.
That is not jealousy.
That is not dragging anybody down.
That is not me being difficult for the sake of being difficult.
That is basic professional boundaries.
Usually, when people do not like boundaries, they try to make it personal. They try to turn it into, “He is just jealous,” or “He is holding us back,” or “We do not need him anyway.”
But let’s be honest.
How am I dragging you down when I am helping make sure your equipment gets where it needs to be?
How am I dragging you down when I am helping set up the gear so the band can focus on performing?
How am I dragging you down when I am providing footage, recordings, and promotional material?
How am I dragging you down by doing work that directly supports the show?
The real issue is not that I am holding anybody back.
The real issue is that I am saying no when somebody tries to treat one agreement like it automatically applies to something else.
There is also another thing that needs to be said clearly: I do not confuse talent with personality.
When I say somebody is difficult to work with, that does not mean I am saying they have no talent. When I say somebody acts like an asshole, that does not mean I am saying they are a bad drummer, a bad guitarist, a bad singer, or a bad artist.
Those are two different conversations.
You can be a great guitarist and still be a shitty person to work with.
You can be a great drummer and still make everybody else’s job harder.
You can be a great artist and still be the reason people stop answering your calls.
Talent does not automatically make someone professional. Talent does not automatically make someone respectful. Talent does not automatically make someone worth the trouble.
Sometimes the smartest thing you can do is leave that person exactly where they are.
Because if they are not helping the job, the event, the show, or the people around them, then they are probably hindering it. And once people see what kind of behavior you are willing to tolerate, they start judging your standards by it.
That matters.
It matters when you recommend people, too.
When I suggest somebody for a job, I want that suggestion to mean something. I want people to understand that if I recommend someone, it is because I believe they can do the work and be worked with.
That does not mean they are perfect. Nobody is. But it does mean they are not going to turn the job into a babysitting assignment.
A good recommendation is not just about skill.
It is about whether the person shows up, communicates, respects the situation, respects the gear, respects the people, and understands that everybody is trying to get through the job without unnecessary drama.
Bands are not that different from any other working organization.
They may be looser. They may be built around music, friendship, history, personality, and shared experience. But they still have structure. They have roles. They have expectations. They have habits. They have people who know how the room works, how the setup works, and how the performance comes together.
When that structure is healthy, the band starts functioning as one unit.
That is why losing a member is not a small thing, especially when that loss comes through something like cancer, illness, death, or a major life event. You are not just replacing someone who played an instrument. You are losing a person who had history, chemistry, trust, and a place in the working structure of the band.
That leaves a hole.
Sometimes the new person fits. Sometimes they respect what already exists. Sometimes they understand that they are stepping into something that was built before they got there.
But sometimes they do not.
Sometimes they come in acting like they are not joining a structure, but taking an opportunity. They are not there to support what exists. They are there to see what they can get out of it, what they can control, what they can redirect, and how much influence they can take for themselves.
That is where problems start.
Because replacing a band member is not just about finding someone who can play the parts. It is about finding someone who understands the role. It is about finding someone who respects the people, the history, the agreements, and the way the band already functions.
If they cannot do that, then the issue is not whether they are talented.
The issue is whether they belong in that organization.
And like any other working organization, one bad fit can disrupt the whole structure.
That is why, at this point in my life, I can afford to choose who I work with, why I work with them, and whether the money is worth the responsibility that comes with the person.
If the money does not fit the amount of stress, risk, and nonsense attached to the job, I am not bothering.
Let it be somebody else’s problem.
Because sometimes the smartest business decision is not taking the job.
Sometimes the professional answer is no.
And sometimes, if the person insists that you deal with all of their ego, confusion, entitlement, and unreasonable expectations, the price goes up.
That is not personal.
That is not a rant.
That is not jealousy.
That is the asshole tax.
And yes, it does exist.