Music Industry Gatekeeping: Why the Room You Want is the One You’re Avoiding.
Photo by Milada Vigerova on Unsplash
Recognizing Gatekeeping in the Music Industry: The Invisible Walls We Build Ourselves
We talk a lot in the music industry about the "Gatekeepers"—those mythical, often invisible figures who hold the keys to the stages, the playlists, and the rooms where it all happens. It’s a narrative of "us vs. them" that we’ve all leaned into at some point to soothe the sting of a missed opportunity. But recently, I was hit with a realization that was as uncomfortable as watching a music episode of a tv show (and they all have one): I had become so preoccupied with the doors being closed to me that I hadn’t noticed I was the one holding my own door shut. I was shrinking in the very rooms that were actually asking for my voice.
Overcoming the Fear of Visibility at Music Industry Events
The trigger was a familiar one—seeing a post for an industry event and feeling that immediate, hot flash of invisibility. “Why wasn’t I included? Why not me?” It’s a reaction that feels deeply personal, almost visceral. In those moments, it’s easy to blame the organizers or the "system."
But as I sat with that discomfort, a quote from Amy Lea stopped me in my tracks:
“You say you want recognition, but you are still shrinking in rooms that require your voice.”
It was a brutal mirror. I realized I had been showing up to tables for years without actually showing up. I was physically there, but mentally, I had already decided I was an outsider before the first person even spoke. Talk about a classic case of impostor syndrome…
Internal Gatekeeping: Too Much, Too Loud, and the Fear of Leading Others Into the Fire
This, I’ve realized, is how my "Witch Wound" manifests in a modern, professional setting. Because I’ve had to fight so hard to gain access to certain spaces in the past, I’ve developed a scarcity and even survival mindset—a fear that if I take up too much space, I’ll be pushed aside for being “that girl” - too loud, too opinionated, just too much (I can’t tell you how many times I was told this in my life - massive eyerolls).
But the "brutal honesty" goes deeper: this fear hasn't just kept me small; it has made me a gatekeeper to others. By guarding my seat at the table, I’ve been hesitant to pull up more chairs, afraid that more voices like mine—or voices belonging to those who have to fight even harder than I do—might somehow displace me (I do speak from experience, unfortunately).
Let’s be real: As a white woman, I carry a privilege that already grants me entry where others are barred, and with each new opportunity that comes my way, I have tried to take others with me. Yet, my internal scarcity was still telling me to "protect" my territory. By gatekeeping my own visibility to stay safe, I wasn't protecting my career; I was just ensuring that my dream stayed small enough to fit in my pocket. And I was actually stifling the very ecosystem I want to see thrive. I believe I could have been more generous with sharing my opportunities.
There has been another layer to my gatekeeping: what if those I bring with me end up in unsafe environments? Then that would be my fault for putting them in that situation in the first place. I couldn’t handle that responsibility. (time to put my big girl pants on!)
Active Stewardship: From Survival to Sitting Down
So, what now? If the "gatekeeper in the mirror" is the one holding the lock, then I am also the one with the key. The shift requires moving from a mindset of survival to a practice of active stewardship. Being a steward of my own visibility means recognizing that my “standards are the signal for what I am available for” (to quote Amy Lea again). It means showing up to the rooms I’m already in—the meetings, the organisations, the collaborations—and actually using my voice rather than shrinking into my chair.
Not that I have something to prove, but more so that I was invited to have a seat at the table for a reason - to speak up, not to stay quiet. My perspectives are already welcomed, or I wouldn’t be there. (That’s proper mantra material right there)
In a world of constant digital noise, I’m choosing a "frugal chic" approach to this visibility. Instead of chasing surface-level reach on every platform, I’m returning to the places where I can have a deeper, more direct impact: my blog and my newsletter (2 things I was actually considering to shut down completely last year). It’s time to revive the conversation, share the space, and stop waiting for an invitation to a room I’m already standing in. I have the chair, it’s time to sit the F down.
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