End of the Broken Genius Era
We love to say that music “saves lives,” but we rarely talk about the cost it demands from the people who create it. In an industry that still romanticizes burnout, toxic touring cycles, and “suffering for the sake of art,” there’s barely any room left for a quieter, far more honest question: how do you protect your mind when everyone is waiting for your next “era”?
Today, artists’ mental health is easily turned into aesthetics. Anxiety becomes a brand, depression becomes a visual language, “chaos” turns into a required chapter in the biography.
But more and more young musicians aren’t buying into that script. Instead of the dramatic narrative — “I suffer, therefore I’m authentic” — they’re choosing something else: sustainability, boundaries, respect for their own limits.
It may not look as striking on a playlist cover, but it’s far more honest with themselves.
The problem is that the industry still rewards extremes. Algorithms favor peaks — emotional, visual, behavioral. A dramatic image shift, a public breakdown, a scandalous interview — all of it performs better than quiet stability. Platforms are built to amplify tension; attention grows through friction. Within that logic, artists are almost subtly handed a dangerous formula: the more you destabilize yourself, the greater your chances of growth. This is the mechanics of engagement, but the human nervous system is not obligated to align with performance metrics.
That’s why talking about sustainability today almost sounds countercultural. Not “burn out for the sake of a great album,” but build a rhythm where creativity doesn’t destroy its creator. Not break yourself to reinvent, but refine your identity without self-punishment. It may be less cinematic, but it’s strategically smarter. In the long run, it’s not the one who suffers the loudest who wins — it’s the one who can keep going without self-destruction, without buying into the myth that pain is a prerequisite for depth.
That’s why talking about sustainability today almost sounds countercultural. Not “burn out for the sake of a great album,” but build a rhythm where creativity doesn’t destroy its creator. Not break yourself to reinvent, but refine your identity without self-punishment. It may be less cinematic, but it’s strategically smarter. In the long run, it’s not the one who suffers the loudest who wins — it’s the one who can keep going without self-destruction, without buying into the myth that pain is a prerequisite for depth.
A 2019 study by the Music Industry Research Association (MIRA) found that levels of depressive symptoms among people working in the music industry were three times higher than in the general population
According to a 2020 report by Help Musicians UK, 71% of musicians reported symptoms of anxiety and panic, while 65% reported signs of depression. That’s nearly twice as high as the average rate in the UK general population.
In the United States, data from the National Institute of Mental Health (NIMH) show that about 8–9% of adults experience a major depressive episode each year. Among creative professions, however, this figure tends to be consistently higher — exact numbers vary, but the trend remains clear.
Touring is a separate risk factor. Surveys conducted among independent artists in Europe and the U.S. — including initiatives such as the 2022 Tour Support Survey — indicate that more than half of musicians say extended tours intensify anxiety symptoms, disrupt sleep, and lead to emotional exhaustion. Irregular schedules, financial instability, dependence on streaming metrics, and constant public exposure contribute to chronic stress. At the same time, according to MIDiA Research reports, only about 12–15% of independent artists earn income from streaming that is comparable to a living wage. In other words, the emotional burden is often not offset by financial stability.
This marks an important shift in the conversation. We can no longer attribute artists’ crises solely to being “emotionally fragile.” What we are looking at is a systemic risk factor: an unstable economic model, algorithm-driven competition, and a culture of constant availability. When roughly 70% of musicians report symptoms of anxiety or depression, that is no longer a matter of personal weakness.
There’s a growing sense that the new generation of artists is simply tired of performing that outdated drama. For decades, the image of the “brilliant but broken” musician was sold as part of the standard package: sleepless nights, ruined relationships, addiction, tours on the brink of collapse. From Kurt Cobain to Amy Winehouse, the industry repeatedly turned personal pain into part of the marketing strategy — tragedy became an aesthetic. If in the ’90s it felt like an honest reflection of the times, today it increasingly reads as a dangerous template.
Younger artists look at that script without romantic haze. They grew up in an era of open conversations about therapy, diagnoses, and boundaries. For them, admitting exhaustion doesn’t mean losing “authenticity.” Canceling a tour to protect their mental health doesn’t mean “betraying the fans.” On the contrary, it’s part of professional responsibility. We’re seeing more and more cases of artists taking breaks, speaking openly about burnout, and structuring their schedules in ways that don’t destroy their sleep or their bodies.
This marks an important shift in the conversation. We can no longer attribute artists’ crises solely to being “emotionally fragile.” What we are looking at is a systemic risk factor: an unstable economic model, algorithm-driven competition, and a culture of constant availability. When roughly 70% of musicians report symptoms of anxiety or depression, that is no longer a matter of personal weakness.
There’s a growing sense that the new generation of artists is simply tired of performing that outdated drama. For decades, the image of the “brilliant but broken” musician was sold as part of the standard package: sleepless nights, ruined relationships, addiction, tours on the brink of collapse. From Kurt Cobain to Amy Winehouse, the industry repeatedly turned personal pain into part of the marketing strategy — tragedy became an aesthetic. If in the ’90s it felt like an honest reflection of the times, today it increasingly reads as a dangerous template.
Younger artists look at that script without romantic haze. They grew up in an era of open conversations about therapy, diagnoses, and boundaries. For them, admitting exhaustion doesn’t mean losing “authenticity.” Canceling a tour to protect their mental health doesn’t mean “betraying the fans.” On the contrary, it’s part of professional responsibility. We’re seeing more and more cases of artists taking breaks, speaking openly about burnout, and structuring their schedules in ways that don’t destroy their sleep or their bodies.
The aesthetic itself is shifting. If chaos once felt like a required chapter in an artist’s biography, sustainability is becoming a new form of rebellion. Not scandal, but consistency. Not self-destruction, but strategy. More young musicians are saying that depth doesn’t have to come from catastrophe. You can write powerful lyrics without being in the middle of a breakdown. You can be disciplined and still radical in your creativity.
The industry hasn’t fully adapted yet — the attention economy still rewards volatility. The image of the unstable genius is gradually giving way to the image of a professional who understands that a career is a marathon. If suffering once served as proof of authenticity, today authenticity increasingly shows up in something else: the ability to say “enough,” to preserve yourself, and to keep creating music not in spite of life, but alongside it.
We consider this fundamentally important.
At THE OTO, we believe that the conversation around sustainability isn’t a side note — it’s central to the new reality of music. That’s exactly why we spoke with emerging artist VANÈS. She embodies what increasingly defines the new generation: not a cult of emotional collapse, but clarity of self; not performative suffering, but conscious self-awareness.
At THE OTO, we believe that the conversation around sustainability isn’t a side note — it’s central to the new reality of music. That’s exactly why we spoke with emerging artist VANÈS. She embodies what increasingly defines the new generation: not a cult of emotional collapse, but clarity of self; not performative suffering, but conscious self-awareness.
VANÈS represents an artist who doesn’t build her identity on chaos. There’s an inner steadiness in her approach — an understanding of her boundaries, respect for her own energy, and the ability to hold vulnerability and strength without self-destruction. If the industry is truly moving toward a more mature model, it will be artists like her who shape its future. Given her strategy and the way she approaches her craft, this doesn’t look like a short-term spike — it looks like longevity, and in music, longevity is the only metric that truly matters.
In our conversation with VANÈS, we were less interested in “how to become successful” and more in how not to lose yourself along the way.
– The music world often celebrates constant evolution. Have you ever felt like reinvention came at the cost of your sense of self as an artist? How did you reconnect with your core voice?
— The irony is that I feel the exact opposite - the music world has actually allowed me to identify and celebrate my different sides of being an artist as well as a normal person in my private life. I've always loved the mix of "girly" and "tomboy" things growing up and especially in the past months I've reconnected with my younger self on a whole different level and embraced the soft and edgy parts about myself while making new songs. It's been so healing to see how I can look and sing more feminine and yet feel so powerful and like a baddie at the same time and that on its own is my evolution for the next era. To me, the music world doesn't force evolution but rather rewards taking a closer look at who you really are.
– Many artists say they write their best material when they’re hurting; others create from stability and clarity. For you personally, what emotional state tends to open the creative floodgates?
— I definitely have the biggest urge to make music when something tragic or special happens in my life - it always comes from big emotions that I wouldn't be able to handle if I wouldn't write songs about it. This may not be the most sustainable way of making music but it's been the most meaningful and honest one for me.
– Touring can be euphoric and isolating at the same time. Was there ever a point where the emotional or physical toll felt too heavy — and what helped you recalibrate?
— I came back from my UK tour yesterday and I think it couldn't have been any better! It was just me and my best friend on the road and we were a dream team that was able to get everything done for each show while still being present, talking to fans, doing socials, eating healthy, getting enough sleep and having fun. I think that has a lot to do with my obsession with lists and planning things because I knew if I want to make the most out of touring while still being able to enjoy it, I'd need to prepare everything in advance - and it worked out perfectly!
– Do you have any grounding rituals— before a show, after a long tour, or when the noise gets too loud — that help you return to yourself?
— I love going on long walks in nature without any music, just trying to reduce any input of the outside world and sitting with my own thoughts. Doing exercise, especially dancing, has helped me incredibly much to reduce anxiety and feel my body again. Food is also such an important factor, I don't eat snacks and rarely drink caffeine and that really stabilizes my moods and energy levels throughout the day.
– What’s one myth about musicians’ mental health you wish people would stop believing?
— I wish people would stop believing that being an artist is a glamorous thing to aspire to. It takes so much patience, discipline, rejection, self-doubt and it's not made for everybody. I've seen friends break down (me included) and give up on their dream because the pressure and constant rejection is too heavy. We should all have more empathy towards musicians and artists, we all are trying our best even though we are struggling and that's something to be proud of every day!
– If you could speak to your younger self just starting out, what would you tell them about protecting their creativity — and their peace?
— VISION OVER OPINIONS. ALWAYS.
… and it sounds like a personal manifesto, but in reality, the phrase is far more than a motivational formula. It marks a shift — from external pressure to internal grounding, from trying to meet expectations to trying to understand who you truly are.
Right now, we are working on a documentary about music and mental health — The Healing Soundtrack: Unplugged Minds. It explores how music can be not only a way to express pain, but also a tool for preserving yourself. It’s about how artists learn to set boundaries without losing depth, and how it’s possible to grow without self-destruction.
VANÈS’s story is part of this new chapter. There’s no cult of suffering in it, but there is honesty and discipline. And perhaps that, today, is becoming a new form of radicalism. It’s crucial that young artists are recognizing this before the industry has the chance to grind them down completely. This conversation is not yet about a trend — but we hope it’s about the future of the profession.
If music truly “saves lives,” then maybe the next step is learning how to save the people who create it.
In our conversation with VANÈS, we were less interested in “how to become successful” and more in how not to lose yourself along the way.
– The music world often celebrates constant evolution. Have you ever felt like reinvention came at the cost of your sense of self as an artist? How did you reconnect with your core voice?
— The irony is that I feel the exact opposite - the music world has actually allowed me to identify and celebrate my different sides of being an artist as well as a normal person in my private life. I've always loved the mix of "girly" and "tomboy" things growing up and especially in the past months I've reconnected with my younger self on a whole different level and embraced the soft and edgy parts about myself while making new songs. It's been so healing to see how I can look and sing more feminine and yet feel so powerful and like a baddie at the same time and that on its own is my evolution for the next era. To me, the music world doesn't force evolution but rather rewards taking a closer look at who you really are.
– Many artists say they write their best material when they’re hurting; others create from stability and clarity. For you personally, what emotional state tends to open the creative floodgates?
— I definitely have the biggest urge to make music when something tragic or special happens in my life - it always comes from big emotions that I wouldn't be able to handle if I wouldn't write songs about it. This may not be the most sustainable way of making music but it's been the most meaningful and honest one for me.
– Touring can be euphoric and isolating at the same time. Was there ever a point where the emotional or physical toll felt too heavy — and what helped you recalibrate?
— I came back from my UK tour yesterday and I think it couldn't have been any better! It was just me and my best friend on the road and we were a dream team that was able to get everything done for each show while still being present, talking to fans, doing socials, eating healthy, getting enough sleep and having fun. I think that has a lot to do with my obsession with lists and planning things because I knew if I want to make the most out of touring while still being able to enjoy it, I'd need to prepare everything in advance - and it worked out perfectly!
– Do you have any grounding rituals— before a show, after a long tour, or when the noise gets too loud — that help you return to yourself?
— I love going on long walks in nature without any music, just trying to reduce any input of the outside world and sitting with my own thoughts. Doing exercise, especially dancing, has helped me incredibly much to reduce anxiety and feel my body again. Food is also such an important factor, I don't eat snacks and rarely drink caffeine and that really stabilizes my moods and energy levels throughout the day.
– What’s one myth about musicians’ mental health you wish people would stop believing?
— I wish people would stop believing that being an artist is a glamorous thing to aspire to. It takes so much patience, discipline, rejection, self-doubt and it's not made for everybody. I've seen friends break down (me included) and give up on their dream because the pressure and constant rejection is too heavy. We should all have more empathy towards musicians and artists, we all are trying our best even though we are struggling and that's something to be proud of every day!
– If you could speak to your younger self just starting out, what would you tell them about protecting their creativity — and their peace?
— VISION OVER OPINIONS. ALWAYS.
… and it sounds like a personal manifesto, but in reality, the phrase is far more than a motivational formula. It marks a shift — from external pressure to internal grounding, from trying to meet expectations to trying to understand who you truly are.
Right now, we are working on a documentary about music and mental health — The Healing Soundtrack: Unplugged Minds. It explores how music can be not only a way to express pain, but also a tool for preserving yourself. It’s about how artists learn to set boundaries without losing depth, and how it’s possible to grow without self-destruction.
VANÈS’s story is part of this new chapter. There’s no cult of suffering in it, but there is honesty and discipline. And perhaps that, today, is becoming a new form of radicalism. It’s crucial that young artists are recognizing this before the industry has the chance to grind them down completely. This conversation is not yet about a trend — but we hope it’s about the future of the profession.
If music truly “saves lives,” then maybe the next step is learning how to save the people who create it.
