For the first three years of my production career, I charged £30 an hour. Then £50. Then £75. Each increase felt like progress, but I was still struggling to pay my bills consistently, still working ridiculous hours, and still having awkward conversations with artists about how long things were taking.
The problem wasn't my rate. The problem was the entire model.
Hourly billing creates a fundamental conflict between you and your client. They want you to work faster. You need to work longer to earn more. Nobody wins. The artist watches the clock anxiously while you're trying to get the snare sound right, and you feel guilty for taking the time to do things properly.
I abandoned hourly rates in 2021 and haven't looked back. Here's what I do now, and why it works better for everyone.
Project-Based Pricing Changes Everything
These days, I quote a flat fee for the entire project before we start. A single production might be £800. A three-track EP package might be £2,000. The price reflects the value of the final deliverable, not the hours I spend creating it.
This shifts the entire dynamic. The artist knows exactly what they're paying upfront — no surprises, no anxiety. I can take the time I need to get things right without feeling like I'm robbing anyone. If I finish faster because I've developed efficient workflows over the years, that's my reward for getting better at my craft.
The key is being extremely specific about what's included. My quotes break down exactly what the artist gets: how many revision rounds, what file formats, whether mixing is included, turnaround time. Scope creep kills project-based pricing, so you need clear boundaries from the start.
How I Actually Calculate My Quotes
I still think about time internally — I just don't share that calculation with clients. For each project, I estimate how many hours it will realistically take, including revisions and admin. I multiply that by my internal hourly rate (which is higher than anything I'd ever quote publicly). Then I adjust based on other factors.
Those factors matter. Is this a major label artist who'll generate sync opportunities and credits that open doors? I might quote lower. Is it a rush job that means reorganising my week? That's a premium. Is the artist someone whose vision genuinely excites me? That counts for something too.
The final number should feel slightly uncomfortable to say out loud. If you're always getting immediate yeses, you're charging too little.
Dealing With the "That's Too Expensive" Response
When someone tells me my price is too high, I don't negotiate. I offer alternatives.
Instead of lowering the rate, I reduce the scope. Can't afford full production? Let's talk about a beat lease instead. Three tracks out of budget? Let's do one properly first and see how we work together. This protects your value while still potentially landing the work.
Sometimes the answer is genuinely "this isn't the right fit." That's fine. Early in my career, I took every job regardless of budget because I was terrified of missing opportunities. Now I understand that underpriced work isn't just bad for my bank account — it crowds out time I could spend on better-paying projects and leaves me too exhausted to create anything for myself.
Building Income Streams Beyond Client Work
Client projects are volatile. One month you're turning down work, the next your diary is empty. The producers I know who've built sustainable careers all have multiple revenue streams running alongside client bookings.
For me, that's meant developing the Producer Playbook, which generates income whether I'm in the studio or not. It's also meant being strategic about beat licensing, building a catalogue that earns passively, and occasionally taking on artist development work that includes ongoing retainers rather than one-off payments.
The goal isn't necessarily to replace client work — I genuinely enjoy the collaborative process. But having income that doesn't require me to be physically present in a session changes how I approach everything else. I can be more selective about which projects I take. I can quote what I'm actually worth without desperation creeping into my voice.
The Real Gap Between Making Music and Making Money
Here's what nobody told me when I started: being brilliant in the studio is about 40% of building a successful production career. The rest is communication, business systems, networking, and understanding what people actually value enough to pay for.
I've seen incredibly talented producers struggle for years while more average ones build thriving businesses. The difference is rarely about the music. It's about treating this like a profession rather than just a passion.
That means sending invoices promptly, having proper contracts, following up with potential clients, maintaining relationships with people you've worked with, and being reliable enough that people recommend you without hesitation. None of this is glamorous. All of it is necessary.
The music still matters most to me — that's why I got into this. But understanding the business side is what lets me keep doing it.