Musicians Who Work Totally Normal Jobs Today

Imagine attending a life science course in college, and your professor is the same guy whose band you saw play last summer in a club. Or you're taking a tour of a stunning new home and discover it was built by a Jonas brother, or renovated by the guy who did "Ice Ice Baby" back in the early '90s. Or you turn on CNN one day and see that the guy with the handlebar mustache who is speaking quite knowledgeably about anti-terrorism policy was the same guy on the cover of that Doobie Brothers record your parents had way back when, the one with "What a Fool Believes" on it. Or you're on vacation in London and throw your back out, and the chiropractor who takes your emergency office visit used to play drums for the Clash.

All of the above things could conceivably happen because plenty of musicians or former musicians have given up the limelight for those types of day jobs, or work on their music as a side interest around their more staid new careers. Here are musicians who work totally normal jobs today.

Neo-soul songstress Erykah Badu has been a practicing doula since 2001, helping dozens of mothers deliver their babies either at home or in birthing rooms. A doula, according to National Childbirth Trust, provides physical and emotional (though non-medical) support to mothers and their families during and after childbirth, letting them know what is happening throughout and assisting them in the decisions they make. Badu refers to her role as "the welcoming committee," helping usher new life into the world and being a calming presence for mothers. "I started studying on my own, different techniques, and the variables of what being a doula is about," she told Origin Magazine (via the Huffington Post.) "I learned to originally be like water, in the place that I was, so that I could be a container for whatever they need. I love being of service in that way."

Badu estimates she has helped bring more than 40 babies into the world and she keeps up with all of them; as she told radio personality Sway, the children refer to her as their "Badoula." Badu also spends time in hospice centers, to sit at the bedsides of and provide comfort to those who are close to death, because "the main thing I want is for people's spirits to be at peace, whatever happens next."

In the '70s and '80s, Jeff "Skunk" Baxter was one of the most sought-after guitarists around, playing on countless recording sessions and incorporating his six-string magic into two of the era's biggest bands, Steely Dan and the Doobie Brothers. In the mid-'80s, the musician became fascinated with how similar music recording technology was to the technology guiding the United States' defense systems. "Radar," he has said, "is just an electric guitar on steroids." According to the Pittsburgh Post-Gazette, Baxter's neighbor, a retired engineer, got him interested in military-related publications, which turned into Baxter writing a paper on converting an existing military ship-to-air missile system into one for military defense. He didn't know it at the time, but his second career — as a defense consultant — had just begun.

"Most people start out in the military and then have a [civilian] career," Baxter told D'Angelico Guitars. "I did it the other way around; I started out with a great music career and then started doing things for the U.S. government." Baxter has, over time, expanded his knowledge into areas of counterterrorism and is regularly called upon to play the role of an enemy force (or "red team") in defense strategy war games. In these scenarios, he is known for his creativity and tactics that very closely resemble those in which enemies would engage. "I'm told I make a very good bad guy," he says.

Growing up, Greg Graffin had what he once called "a congenital distaste for authority." He rebelled against almost all forms of oversight, particularly those authority figures who he felt subscribed to dogmatic attitudes, unwavering in their beliefs and insistent that others take them as their own. Graffin's most immediate, visceral response to such figures can be found in his music — the insistent wall of sound he has made with his band Bad Religion for nearly 40 years. Through his lyrics, Graffin has spoken directly to audiences, providing them with food for thought and ammunition to use in arguments against those people and institutions that would hold them down. Bad Religion's music gives listeners an outlet for their frustration, an abstract object they can punch without fear of hurting themselves or others. All they have to do is plug into it.

Graffin is also a son of academics and an academic himself, holding a PhD in zoology from Cornell and acting as a lecturer in life sciences, paleontology, and evolution. He does not subscribe to any religion, nor does he consider himself an atheist. He instead argues that he is a naturalist. "Things we consider mysterious need not be attributed to a deity," he told the Denver Post. In a way, such beliefs are a continuation of a lifelong rebellion against authority, a questioning of what many consider settled matters.

In the mid-'90s, if you were a fan of British rock, you had to make a choice — Oasis or Blur? The two bands seemed to vie for the top of the charts more or less constantly. Every time you turned around, one was replacing the other with their latest single. There was some great music being made between them, too, until Oasis broke up and the members of Blur spun off to do side projects, reuniting every few years to release new music. (Their last album dropped in 2015.) Members' side projects were varied. Singer Damon Albarn, for example, formed the band Gorillaz and had more hits. Drummer Dave Rowntree went a different route. According to the Independent, he became a computer animator and owner of his own animation company, flew planes, and went to law school and became a criminal lawyer.

That last occupational shift was particularly telling of his interests. While at one point serving as a temporary paralegal, he told the legal blog Above the Law he was fascinated by the trials he covered. "I've done some amazing things with Blur," he said, "but that, for me, was more interesting." He has served as a solicitor — one who, under British law, provides advice to clients, drafts documents, negotiates, and prepares cases for trial. In 2017, he was also elected to the county council in Norfolk, U.K., taking 59 percent of the vote.

The '70s sitcom The Partridge Family was broadcast for four seasons in its initial run and has enjoyed a much longer life in syndication. In those shows, Danny Partridge is the perpetual redhead preteen bass player, always ready with a sardonic comment. For Danny Bonaduce, who played that role, life was never the same after the show went off the air. He worked infrequently at acting jobs, got into trouble on occasion, and slowly adjusted to life as a former child actor.

In the late '80s, Bonaduce began a career in radio, signing on at WEGX in Philadelphia. In subsequent years, he moved around the United States, taking on work at various stations while still maintaining his status as a celebrity — he even had his own reality show, Breaking Bonaduce, as well as appearances on other television programs and the occasional hosting gig. Today, he broadcasts in Seattle, doing a morning drive-time show on a classic rock station. He's been a staple on the station since 2011, and says its right where he wants to be. "Seattle is the most beautiful city I have ever seen," Bonaduce told the Seattle Post-Intelligencer. "The first time I visited, I thought someone put a major metropolitan city in the middle of Yosemite National Park. I can't believe I get to live and work here."