Robin Black: Why Being A Professional Fighter Is Easier Than Being A Rock Star

My name is Robin Black, and I am a professional Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) fighter. You know, like the UFC.

When I started this journey to become a pro cage fighter, it was universally said to me that pro MMA fighting was an impossible dream and would be the most difficult thing in the world to accomplish. The hardest profession out there.

Everyone who said that is wrong. Becoming a "successful" music performer is far, far harder.

I know. I've done both.

Let me tell you about myself. I'm a 5'6" regular guy from a small town in Manitoba, Canada. There was a nuclear power plant there, which was weird, but life there was beautiful and average like any small town.

I was a normal guy, but there was something different about me — something small, but something that would let me live a different kind of life. I truly and absolutely believed that anyone could do anything in their life that they wanted. Astronaut, actor, playboy — whatever you wanted to do.

I figured if you wanted to accomplish something, all you had to do was study the people who did it and honestly look at yourself and see what you have to work on. And dedicate yourself. And be in love with your profession. And work hard and try to do great things for their own sake. And constantly learn. And be unwavering in your drive. And always be improving. That sounded easy to me.

I wanted to be a ninja (I trained in martial arts when I was younger). Failing that, I wanted to be a rock star (I was obsessed with trying to create music and entertaining others). So I started a band.

I loved music, was a reasonably interesting character, was highly educated on pop culture and was a poet with a unique perspective. And I was driven. Very, very driven. I figured I had what it takes.

I played music for 13 years, and did every type of odd dues-paying there was to do. I worked 50 hours a week as a hairdresser to fund my band and rehearsed and wrote four nights a week and played every weekend in Winnipeg.

I took vocal lessons and studied writing. I surrounded myself with hard-working, talented musicians. I designed my own clothes and a fun visual and compelling persona (like my heroes Alice Cooper and KISS and stuff). I bought lights and stage effects. I learned the business. I toured across Canada out of my own pocket (I have since calculated that, if I didn't invest in my band, I would now own a $350,000 house outright).

My band became one of the biggest in Winnipeg and very popular in western Canada. And then, when the time came, I moved to Toronto.

In Toronto, I worked even harder, toiling at my new hairdressing job to fund the band while rehearsing or performing six nights a week. I started to work with co-writers and producers to truly learn the craft and built my following.

With no help from the industry (except my mentor Moe Berg and my man Ralph James, who always believed in me), I found enough rabid fans to sell out 300- to- 500-capacity clubs across Canada.

This was all while I was constantly learning and improving. And writing and writing and learning the craft.

Soon enough, we had tons of fans and were one of the only bands who had a committed online following (in, like, 2001). Our message board got crazy traffic from fans all over the world.

After we had real people fans, we started to get music biz fans — some of the smartest music people around.

Michael McCarty (then president of EMI Publishing), GGGarth Richardson (produced Rage Against The Machine and countless hits), and managers like Zack Werner and Jake Gold believed in us and started helping us. Producer Bob Ezrin fell in love with our band, and made our second album essentially for free. All the while we were constantly getting better at writing songs, and getting better at trying to be something special.

I'd assess myself to see where I could get better. I went to the gym to make my body look good like the people who were already stars. I co-wrote for experience. I spent time in studios learning and absorbing. We performed every show as if it was our last, and our fans knew that. We did everything we could.

The band made music videos that got played on MuchMusic (Canada's MTV). We released two records. We toured Canada 15 or 20 times and the U.K. five times. We treated our fans like gold. And man, we had real fans, real people, tens of thousands of them in Canada and England who loved us.

But the mainstream radio and media (except MuchMusic) just wouldn't allow us to break into the main psyche of the country. I couldn't figure it out: real people loved us, genuine music biz greats like Bob Ezrin and GGGarth and McCarty loved us and our songs... but fat failed musicians who ran radio stations wouldn't play us?

We tried to do everything we could conceivably do. We became known as the hardest workers in the Canadian music business. Trust me, you've never seen someone more committed.

BUT WE NEVER MADE ONE PENNY OF PROFIT.

In fact, I never had a year that I didn't invest over $10,000 in my band. And I worked full-time throughout to fund the band.

Eventually, this couldn't continue. The people who believed in us could no longer afford to stay on board. They started dropping out.

We took refuge in the fact that there were these real people, real fans, for whom we were their favourite band. Ours wasn't just one record of hundreds in their collection. Ours was their favourite record. We were their favourite band.

Eventually, the toiling, the being broke, the inability to do bigger things (we would tour to full houses but the money just wouldn't add up, the math didn't work) caused members to drop out of the band. My hairdressing job couldn't keep our band afloat.

And I realized that the music business was a sick animal, and I wanted out.

So, I did something easier: I became a professional athlete at 36 years old. A professional Mixed Martial Artist. A fucking cage fighter.

And, trust me, it was easier.

I just basically did all the same things I did in my attempt to be a "successful" musician. I immersed myself in learning. I trained my mind. I trained my body. I developed the skills. I out-worked everyone else.

Honestly, it was so much easier! The harder I worked and the more I improved, the better I did. Goals were quantifiable: improve my boxing, get in elite shape, improve my wrestling and learn the business of managing your body and your career. Learn to process pain. Learn to keep learning.

The cream rises to the top in athletics. There are no Britney Spearses, and no scams and frauds perpetrated on fight fans. You can either do it or you can't. No amount of Auto-Tune will save you when a professional athlete kicks you in the face.

I committed myself for three years, the same way I did for 13 years in music. I spent six hours a day of excruciating pain learning and preparing for my new career. I wouldn't take no for an answer.

Now I'm a pro fighter. I have a great life — a life of hard work and striving to leave your mark. It's a life where I am paid for my blood, sweat and tears, instead of paying for the privilege of spilling them.

I have a whole world of new fans, new people to entertain. I also work in fight broadcasting now instead of hairdressing. I have a beautiful girl, and I can take her on trips and afford nice things. I am at least a modest success.

Sure, I get punched in the face, but I really feel like I took far, far more abuse in music.

What's my point? I dunno. I guess it's just to illustrate that the music biz is sick and that, unless you're one of those lottery winners, you better be planning to pay for a music career instead of a house and car because for most of us, that's how the numbers work.

So is making a successful life as a "cage fighter" easier than making a successful life as a "rock star"?

Yes. Yes, it is.

Robin Black has a 3-3 record as a professional fighter.