After enough rejection, I changed the question

I wanna tell you about a pretty big lesson I learned today. Still kinda processing it, actually. 

I’ve sent a LOT of emails to booking agents over the past year. 

Most went something like: 

"Hey, here’s who I am. Here’s what I’ve done. Here’s my live show. Here’s where I think it can go. Would love to explore working together… blah blah blah."

Some responded. Lol, most didn’t. 

And whether explicit or implied, the answer was usually the same: 

Not yet. 

Which... is frustrating, because as an independent artist, you tend to think representation is part of what’s going to GET YOU to the next level. 

But from the agent’s perspective, they’re often waiting for evidence that you’re already getting there. Classic chicken and egg shit. 

Anyway, this week I tried something different. After enough rejection, I decided to stop pretending I didn’t already know what the answer was probably going to be. 

I emailed a rather established electronic music agent and essentially said: 

“Look... I KNOW I’m probably early for you. I’m not asking you to represent me. But you’ve watched artists make the jump I’m trying to make. What would you need to see from me for this conversation to make sense someday?” 

That was my zag. 

And something interesting happened. 

He answered... and not with a polite “keep going.” 

He listened to my set. He gave me thoughtful feedback. We went back and forth a few times. 

And eventually, he sent me this: 

 250 emails... a day bro.

He told me he generally doesn’t respond because, understandably, his attention needs to go elsewhere. 

But he listened to my set, thought the project looked promising, and decided it was worth taking the time. 

Now, I want to be clear about something: I don’t think I discovered some magical email hack. The work still had to be good. 

If he listened and thought the project sucked, changing the wording of my email wasn’t going to save me.  

But I do think I finally gave him a reason to have a different kind of conversation with me. I wasn’t asking him to bet on my future. I’d already acknowledged that I was early. 

Instead, I was asking: 

"What do I still need to prove?" 

And once he decided the work itself was promising, that question opened up an actual conversation. 

He identified the musical ecosystem he thought I belonged in. He pointed me toward artists I should be building relationships with. 

And he explained that one of the biggest things I’m missing right now isn’t necessarily better music or a better show. 

It’s... association. 

Who am I around? Whose records am I remixing? Who am I opening for? Which labels, promoters, festivals and communities repeatedly see my name? Do the people in the world I want to belong to even know I exist? 

He also pointed out something obvious that I’d underestimated: I’m building an electronic project from Los Angeles while much of the ecosystem I naturally fit into is concentrated in Europe. So if I can’t physically be there all the time, I need to deliberately shrink that distance. 

Digitally. Creatively. Socially. 

And eventually, physically. 

This conversation gave me more actionable insight than almost any interaction I’ve had with an agent. 

And it happened because I stopped asking him to give me the thing I wanted… and started asking him to help me understand what I was missing. 

Okay. Enough about me. Onto YOU. 

Here are the lessons I’m taking from this: 

1. “No” contains information… if you ask for it. 

I spent wayyyy too much time treating rejection as the end of the conversation. Sometimes the person saying no is actually the person most qualified to tell you what would eventually turn it into a yes. Ask. Not everyone will answer. But you only need a few smart people to. 

2. Stop asking people to believe in the future. 

Give them evidence in the present. An agent shouldn’t have to imagine your entire trajectory for you. Every great release makes the decision easier. Every great show. Every support slot. Every collaboration. Every remix. Every relationship. Your job is to keep stacking evidence until believing in where you’re going requires less and less imagination. Keep removing reasons to say no. 

3. Proximity matters. 

Talent isn’t experienced in a vacuum. Scenes form because people repeatedly encounter each other. They remix each other. Play together. Comment on each other’s work. Share bills. Meet at conferences. Get introduced by mutual friends. And eventually, somebody stops being: “an artist trying to break into that scene.” They’re just… part of the scene. That distinction matters. 

4. Don’t wait for permission to enter the conversation. 

This one really landed for me, man. There are artists whose musical worlds I genuinely believe mine belongs adjacent to. So why am I waiting for one of them to email me asking for a remix? Make the reinterpretation. Perform it live. Talk about the records I love. Support the artists. Build genuine relationships with the people around them. Go where they go. Not because I’m trying to manufacture some bullshit appearance of friendship or clout… but because if that’s the community I believe my work belongs in, I should actually participate in it. 

5. Sometimes admitting you’re early is more powerful than pretending you’re ready. 

This might be the biggest one. Saying: “I know I’m early” felt counterintuitive. I thought I was weakening my pitch. Lol, instead… I removed the pitch entirely! There was nothing for him to reject anymore. And that created room for an actual conversation. Ironically, the interaction ended up giving me far more confidence about the project than another representation rejection ever could. Because I wasn’t asking: “Am I good enough?” I was asking: “What’s missing?” Those are VERY different questions. 

So here’s my zag: 

If you keep knocking on the same door and getting the same answer… stop knocking harder. 

Change the question. 

Instead of: Will you sign me? Try: What would make you want to? 

Instead of: Can I open for your artist? Maybe: What would I need to demonstrate for that slot to make sense? 

Instead of: Will you put out my record? Maybe: What feels like it’s missing from this project for it to fit what you’re building? 

You might still get ignored. You might still get a no. 

And NONE of this replaces doing great fucking work. 

But every once in a while… somebody on the other side of that door might actually tell you where the fucking handle is, man. 

-Hisham