Do Musicians Really Appreciate the Opportunities They Get?

Leo: She Asked. I Answered.

Who Is Leo?

Leo is my Belgian Malinois, but please don't tell her she's a dog. She has absolutely no intention of accepting that classification!

Brought up within our apartment, Leo has grown up surrounded by people and seems convinced she's just another human being in the family. The fact that she has four legs, a tail, and a rather impressive set of ears appears to be a minor technicality.

She's my companion, my guard, and my unofficial night-shift supervisor. When I'm working on Lazie Indie Magazine late into the night, she's right there beside me, keeping watch. And if I happen to work a little too long, she has absolutely no hesitation in reminding me that there are far more important things in life than another magazine edition.

Like her walk. Or playtime. Or simply getting my attention when she decides I've ignored her long enough.

In Leo's world, I'm not the founder and editor of Lazie Indie Magazine. I'm the human who seems to have forgotten his priorities.

But there's something else about Leo that makes her a special part of this story.

She was my very first companion when I started Lazie Indie Magazine on May 27, 2020. She was there from the beginning, through the late nights, the challenges, the learning, and the many editions that followed. And she continues to be my guard and companion to this day.

While I was figuring out how to build a magazine, she was right there beside me, keeping watch. She may not have designed the pages, interviewed musicians, or made editorial decisions, but she has been part of this journey in her own way from day one.

So, if anyone has earned the right to question me about my work, my choices, and the strange hours I keep, it's Leo.

This series, Leo: She Asked. I Answered., draws on my real experiences in music, the independent music community, and the journey of building Lazie Indie Magazine. Leo asks the questions, and I answer as honestly as I can.

Of course, she also has a habit of interrupting serious conversations when she decides it's time for a walk.

That's Leo. A Belgian Malinois by birth, a human by personal conviction, my companion from the very beginning, and a critic who has absolutely no intention of retiring!

Since When Did You Become the Grim Reaper?

Leo was looking at a photograph of me holding a scythe in one hand and a hammer in the other.

She stared at it for a moment.

Leo: Jay, since when did you become the Grim Reaper?

Jay: What? The Grim Reaper?

Leo: Look at you! A scythe in one hand and a hammer in the other. Should I be worried? Have you taken up a new profession without telling me? And, more importantly, who are you planning to collect?

Jay: Oh, stop it! Those were gifts from Martyr, the legendary Dutch metal band, when they came to Trivandrum for the International Independent Music Festival.

Leo: Ah, gifts! That's sweet. But between you and me, Jay, you don't need a scythe to bury yourself. You've been doing an excellent job of that with your work. You're up till two in the morning working on the magazine, and I'm still waiting for my walk!

Jay: You know how much goes into putting together the magazine and organising everything around it. Lazie Indie started during the COVID lockdown, when musicians were stuck at home and couldn't perform. I wanted to give them a platform to tell their stories and keep their music alive.

I'd never designed a magazine before. I had to learn through trial and error, solve problems as they came along, and figure out what worked. We started with very little and built it one edition at a time.

Leo: So, you started with no magazine, learnt how to make one, and now spend your nights making sure everyone else's stories get told?

Jay: When you put it like that, it does sound a little mad.

Leo: A little? Fine. Let's talk about these musicians you've spent years helping. Tell me honestly, Jay. Do they appreciate the opportunities they get?

The Question That Deserves an Honest Answer

Jay: That's a fair question, Leo. And the honest answer is that people see things differently. Some appreciate what we do, some may not fully understand it, and others make their judgements before they've taken the time to look at the bigger picture.

But let me make one thing clear. I'm not sitting here waiting for musicians to appreciate me. That's not why I started Lazie Indie Magazine, and it isn't why I continue to do it.

We started below zero. Not with awards, a major festival, a guitar contest, or an established international reputation. We started with an idea: give musicians a platform to tell their stories and let people discover their music.

There was no grand blueprint. I learnt magazine design through trial and error. Every edition brought new challenges, new lessons, and new problems to solve.

Over time, musicians, contributors, columnists, and supporters joined the journey. The magazine grew beyond what I could have imagined in those early days, and more than a thousand artists have since graced our pages. Today, Lazie Indie Magazine has built a reputation of its own. We've received industry recognition, earned award nominations, and featured artists from across the world. More importantly, we've built relationships with musicians who value what we do.

And through all that growth, one principle has remained unchanged: treat musicians alike, whether they're established names or emerging artists, whether they're from India or somewhere on the other side of the world.

Leo: Then why does it matter whether they appreciate it?

Jay: It doesn't matter in the way you might think. I'm not going to lose sleep because somebody doesn't recognise the effort that goes into the magazine.

What concerns me is something else.

Sometimes, what gets lost isn't my opportunity to help someone. It's their opportunity to benefit from something they dismissed too quickly.

That's the part worth discussing.

When Legends Came Calling

Let me tell you about something that happened in September 2021.

Lazie Indie Magazine was still a relatively young publication. We were building our identity, learning with every edition, and trying to do one thing consistently: give musicians a good, thoughtful platform to tell their stories.

Then Steve from Australia contacted me about featuring a legendary band.

They weren't just another name on a list for me. They were personal musical icons. Naturally, I was thrilled. I wanted them on the cover.

There was just one small complication: we already had artists scheduled for upcoming editions.

I explained the situation to Steve and offered a few options. We could look at a November cover, a confirmed December opportunity, or an inner feature in the October edition, which was due to be released on October 27.

Steve's response was refreshingly straightforward. On September 4, 2021, he wrote:

“Hey, they have been recording and touring steadily for over 46 years now... we can wait an extra month or two to get the cover! lol”

On September 15, I confirmed that we would look to feature them on the cover of our November 2021 edition, Edition 19.

The collaboration continued. On October 26, Steve emailed me to say that he had sent the ten interview-question audio clips, one at a time. He also asked what we'd like them to do for a one-minute video: perform something, write something in his home studio, or answer another question on camera. Steve explained that the band was heading back out on tour the following day and that time was limited. He also mentioned an upcoming photo shoot and promised fresh photographs of the legendary band.

That email added another dimension to the story.

The purpose of the feature was to introduce this legendary band to our readers, share their story, and help their music reach more people. Steve was coordinating the interview material, exploring the video, and arranging photographs so we could put together a meaningful feature, even as the band prepared to head back out on tour.

But the part that really stayed with me was not simply the coordination. It was the attitude behind it.

Here was a legendary band with more than four decades of recording and touring behind them, yet they still valued an opportunity to reach another audience. They were willing to work around the schedule of a young magazine rather than expect us to disregard commitments we'd already made to other artists.

Remember, this was in 2021. Lazie Indie Magazine hadn't yet accumulated the later recognition, awards and nominations, festival history, or other initiatives that would become part of its journey.

We were still finding our feet. and the band was the legendary AIR SUPPLY

Leo: So your musical heroes didn't expect you to throw everyone else out of the way just because they wanted a cover?

Jay: Exactly. We had already made commitments to other artists, and we needed to honour them. Steve was happy to work with our timeline, and the process moved forward.

It wasn't about Air Supply doing us a favour. It was about a legendary band recognising the value of an opportunity to reach more people through another platform.

And that is something I've noticed repeatedly throughout my years around music.

What I've Learned from Legends and Veterans

Over the years, I've encountered many legendary artists and veterans of the music industry. One quality I've observed in many of them is that they continue to value opportunities, even after achieving extraordinary success.

They may have decades of experience, awards, international recognition, and audiences across the world. Yet they remain willing to share their stories, connect with people, and introduce their music to listeners who may not have discovered them before.

I've come to believe that this attitude is part of what makes them who they are.

They don't necessarily measure every opportunity by the size of the platform or the number of people already watching. They understand that music is about reaching people, and that there will always be someone new who might connect with their work.

They remain open to possibilities rather than assuming their past achievements mean they've seen or done everything.

My experience with Air Supply was one such example. Despite their extraordinary history, they were willing to work around our publishing schedule and help us put together a feature that could introduce Graham Russell and the band to our readers.

And I've seen similar attitudes in other established artists and veterans I've encountered throughout my journey.

Perhaps one of the real differences between being famous and becoming a legend is that fame tells the world what you've achieved, while your attitude towards people and opportunities reveals the person behind those achievements.

The legends I've admired haven't stopped being curious about where their music might travel next or whom it might reach. They understand that no matter how far you've come, there are still people you haven't met, audiences you haven't reached, and stories worth sharing.

Leo: So, even the people who've already achieved so much are still willing to put in the effort to reach someone new?

Jay: Yes, girl. If artists who have spent decades building extraordinary careers can still value an opportunity, why should anyone assume an opportunity is beneath them simply because the platform isn't the biggest in the world?

You never know who might discover your music, who might connect with your story, or where a simple conversation might lead.

The artists I admire haven't lost the ability to recognise the value of an opportunity, even when it arrives from an unexpected direction. And that, to me, is one of the qualities that makes them legends.

A Follower Count Is Not a Measure of a Musician

Leo: But Jay, surely musicians have to think about visibility. Isn't that what social media is for?

Jay: Of course visibility matters. Social media can be a wonderful tool. It helps artists reach listeners, promote releases, build communities, and find opportunities.

The problem begins when visibility becomes the only measure of value.

I once had a conversation with a well-meaning friend who questioned why a female artist with a Grammy nomination had received that recognition when she had only around 30,000 Instagram followers.

The friend wasn't trying to be malicious. But the question revealed a misunderstanding.

I asked, “You don't know how the Grammys work. That's not the artist's problem. Do you even know who votes, how the process works, or who selects the winners?”

The point wasn't that social media numbers are meaningless. The point was that they don't automatically determine the credibility of an achievement. A Grammy nomination isn't awarded simply because someone has a certain number of Instagram followers.

And this way of thinking isn't limited to awards.

Sometimes, musicians assess a publication, a festival, a collaboration, or an invitation by looking at who else is involved, how many followers the organiser has, or whether the opportunity appears prestigious enough at first glance.

They may never stop to ask what the platform actually does, who its audience is, what connections it offers, or what they might learn from participating.

Leo: So people sometimes judge the opportunity before understanding it?

Jay: Precisely.

A follower count is a number. A career is much more than that. It involves the music, the work behind it, the relationships built along the way, the people who listen, and the opportunities that help an artist move forward.

A few clicks on Instagram don't make a musician.

And a smaller platform doesn't automatically mean a smaller opportunity.

The Strange Idea That You Must Be Exclusive to Be Important

Leo: I've noticed something else. At some of your festivals, there are musicians who seem to keep away from the other performers. Why is that?

Jay: That's something I've wondered about, too.

Of course, every artist is entitled to privacy. Some people are naturally quiet or prefer to keep to themselves. There's absolutely nothing wrong with that.

I'm talking about something different: the deliberate belief that interacting with other musicians somehow diminishes your status. The idea that you must remain distant, unavailable, or exclusive to appear important.

I've seen artists attend a festival and make very little effort to connect with the other performers. They may be perfectly entitled to spend their time as they wish, but it does make me wonder what they hoped to gain from being there in the first place.

A festival isn't only a stage and a performance slot. It's also a meeting place.

You can discover a band you'd never heard before. You can exchange ideas with a songwriter from another country. You might find a future collaborator, make a genuine friend, or learn something from a musician whose journey is entirely different from yours.

Those things don't always happen through formal introductions or scheduled meetings. Sometimes they happen because two people simply start talking.

Leo: But perhaps they think being hard to reach makes them more desirable?

Jay: Perhaps. But being exclusive doesn't automatically make you exclusive in other people's eyes. Sometimes it just makes you inaccessible.

There's a difference between being private and behaving as though everyone else is beneath you. There's also a difference between being approachable and being ordinary. One has nothing to do with the other.

Some of the most accomplished people I've encountered have been perfectly comfortable talking to other musicians, sharing a moment, or showing interest in somebody else's work.

And that's what I find interesting: sometimes the people who have the least to prove are the most comfortable connecting with others.

Leo: So you don't have to be the biggest name in the room to behave like you belong there?

Jay: Exactly. You belong there because you're a musician, because you have something to contribute, and because you have something to learn. You don't need to establish a hierarchy before you can have a conversation.

If you come to a festival and leave without making a single connection because you thought you were too important to meet the others, don't blame the industry for not opening doors for you. You might have closed a few yourself.

When Being Featured Becomes a Badge of Honour

Leo: Let's get back to the magazine. What do you wish musicians understood when they receive an invitation from you?

Jay: Leo, let me put this into perspective. Lazie Indie Magazine has grown considerably since we started in 2020. Today, we're increasingly seen as a benchmark in the independent music space. We've had top artists, including Grammy winners, tell us that being featured in LIM is a badge of honour.

That's something I'm genuinely proud of—not because we need validation from famous musicians, but because it tells me that the work we've put into building this platform has earned respect.

We started with a simple idea during the COVID lockdown. There were no awards to our name, no international festival, no guitar contest, and no established reputation to lean on. We had an idea, a commitment to musicians, and the determination to keep going.

Over the years, we've worked hard to establish a publication that artists can be proud to be associated with. We've tried to be consistent in our presentation, thoughtful in our curation, and fair in the way we approach musicians, regardless of where they come from or how established they are.

But I do believe musicians should look beyond appearances. A platform's value isn't always captured by a number on a screen. Its credibility, the quality of its work, the people it reaches, and the respect it earns within the music community matter too.

When Grammy-winning artists and established musicians tell us that being featured in LIM is a badge of honour, we take that recognition seriously. And when Lazie Indie Magazine receives nominations to the Josie Music Awards for four consecutive years, competing alongside outstanding talent from across the world, it reinforces how far we've come.

We started with very little and built this publication one edition at a time. Today, we've earned a place in the international independent music conversation, and that's something worth being proud of.

We've built something that has value. I don't need every artist to recognise that, and nobody is obliged to accept an invitation. But I believe opportunities deserve to be judged on their substance, not dismissed because of appearances or a superficial reading of numbers.

The work speaks for itself, and we'll continue doing what we set out to do: give musicians a platform, tell their stories, and help their music reach more people.

What Makes a Legend?

Leo: Let's go back to Air Supply. Why do you think that exchange has stayed with you all these years?

Jay: Because it brought together so many of the things I've come to value in this industry.

Here was a legendary act, with decades of recording and touring behind them, willing to work around the schedule of a young magazine. They understood the value of reaching another audience, and they were prepared to make the effort to help the feature happen.

Over the years, I've seen that attitude in many established artists and veterans. They don't assume that their achievements make every new opportunity irrelevant. They continue to value connections, audiences, and the chance to share their work.

That's not to say every opportunity is right for every artist. We all have to make choices about our time and priorities. But there's a difference between carefully choosing an opportunity and dismissing it because it doesn't appear impressive enough.

You don't have to make another person feel important by making yourself seem less important. You don't have to demand special treatment to prove that you deserve it. And you don't have to keep people at a distance to establish your stature.

You can be successful and still be considerate. You can be a legend and still recognise the value of reaching one more listener.

I'd like musicians to remember that the independent music community is not just a collection of individual careers competing for attention. It's also a network of people who can support one another, share experiences, and help good music reach more ears.

The magazine has grown because people have contributed, participated, and believed in what we were trying to do. No single person builds a global community alone.

Leo: So, after all these years, do musicians appreciate what you do?

Jay: Many do, and I'm grateful to them. Others may not see the value, and that's their choice. I'll keep doing what I started out to do: give musicians a platform and present their stories with care.

I don't need every person to recognise the work for the work to matter.

But I hope musicians remember this: don't measure every opportunity by its immediate visibility, and don't confuse distance with importance. Sometimes the most valuable outcome is the person you meet, the connection you make, or the door you didn't know existed until you walked through the first one.

One Last Question, Jay…

Leo: That's a lot of talking, Jay. Are you finished?

Jay: I think so. Why?

Leo: Because you've been talking about opportunities, connections, legends, and people recognising value. Meanwhile, you've overlooked one very important opportunity right in front of you.

Jay: Which one?

Leo: The opportunity to take your dog for a walk!

Jay: All right, all right. I'm coming!

Leo: Good. At least one of us knows how to recognise a valuable opportunity when it presents itself.

And just like that, the Grim Reaper puts down his scythe, leaves the magazine alone for a while, and takes his supervisor out for a walk.

Some opportunities, apparently, cannot be postponed.

— Jay Pillai, Founder & Editor, Lazie Indie Magazine

Leo: She Asked. I Answered. — Real conversations, real experiences, and a dog who has been part of the journey since day one. This series of blogs will talk about a few things that musicians ignore as it isn't convenient for them to answer but has to face it in real life