"That was the big lesson for all of us. Everything was going great on paper, but we all became miserable because we were so caught up in the machinery of how you make that happen, it took away the sheer joy"
About this Quote
It is the kind of post-mortem you only hear once the glitter has worn off: success can be perfectly engineered and still feel like a slow-motion emotional collapse. Susanna Hoffs frames the “big lesson” as collective, not confessional, which matters. She is not selling a lone-genius narrative; she is describing a band-or-industry ecosystem where everyone can be “right” in meetings and still end up unhappy in real life.
The line “going great on paper” is a quiet takedown of the metrics mindset: charts, press plans, tour routing, brand decisions, budgets. Paper is where a career looks inevitable. It’s also where you can start mistaking the map for the territory. When Hoffs names “the machinery,” she’s pointing at the professionalization that creeps in after the break-through moment, when making music becomes less about play and more about maintaining a complex operation. The word choice is telling: machinery implies friction, repetition, and humans reduced to parts.
The subtext is not anti-ambition; it’s anti-automation of the self. Hoffs isn’t romanticizing chaos or amateurism. She’s describing how creative work gets hijacked by process: the constant optimizing, the pressure to reproduce a hit, the negotiation between art and logistics until the song is basically a deliverable. “Sheer joy” lands as a rebuke to that transactionality. It’s a reminder that pop, at its best, is a feeling first and a product second - and that losing the feeling is the one failure spreadsheets can’t forecast.
The line “going great on paper” is a quiet takedown of the metrics mindset: charts, press plans, tour routing, brand decisions, budgets. Paper is where a career looks inevitable. It’s also where you can start mistaking the map for the territory. When Hoffs names “the machinery,” she’s pointing at the professionalization that creeps in after the break-through moment, when making music becomes less about play and more about maintaining a complex operation. The word choice is telling: machinery implies friction, repetition, and humans reduced to parts.
The subtext is not anti-ambition; it’s anti-automation of the self. Hoffs isn’t romanticizing chaos or amateurism. She’s describing how creative work gets hijacked by process: the constant optimizing, the pressure to reproduce a hit, the negotiation between art and logistics until the song is basically a deliverable. “Sheer joy” lands as a rebuke to that transactionality. It’s a reminder that pop, at its best, is a feeling first and a product second - and that losing the feeling is the one failure spreadsheets can’t forecast.
Quote Details
| Topic | Work-Life Balance |
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