Vol. 25: So You Don't Want to Be a Rock Star Anymore?

Seven famous musicians who traded the music business for something completely different.

Just because an artist loves making music doesn't mean they love the music business — and everything that comes with it.

Or maybe they did love it once. And then they grew out of it.

We sometimes forget just how young most artists are when they enter the industry. They're making decisions at 18, 20 or 25 that could potentially define the rest of their lives.

But think about your own life.

Are you into the same things now that you were when you were half your age?

Maybe some things. Music, for me, certainly. But for the most part, I'd like to think we evolve as we get older. I'm not the same person I was at 20. I don't want all the same things. I don't have all the same priorities.

The point is, as human beings, we grow out of things and we change our minds. Some people go to school to become an accountant and end up working in sales. Others may study science and choose a career in Human Resources.

So is it really surprising that some people who become famous for being musicians, somewhere along the way, realize, "I don't actually want to do this anymore"?

As music fans, it's hard for us to fathom that one of our favourite artists would just one day decide to become a schoolteacher and leave the music industry behind. And when that does happen, we tend to assume it's because they stopped being successful and were forced to find something else to do.

In some cases, that may be true.

But sometimes, very successful musicians simply decided that they wanted to do something else.

And as it turns out, they went on to do some pretty cool shit.

In this week's Dad's Music Muse, we'll look at seven famous musicians who left it all behind for a completely different career path.

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GLENN MEDEIROS

From pop star to school president.

If you were around in the late '80s, you probably don't need more than five words:

"Nothing's Gonna Change My Love..."

Sorry if it's now stuck in your head.

Glenn Medeiros was still a teenager when "Nothing's Gonna Change My Love for You" turned him into an international pop star. A few years later, his collaboration with Bobby Brown, "She Ain't Worth It," reached number one on the Billboard Hot 100.

Medeiros sold millions of records.

And then he decided he'd rather go to school.

Eventually, he'd spend a lot more time there than most of us would have predicted.

Medeiros transitioned into education in his twenties. He taught at several schools in Hawaii and later became an administrator. At the same time, he continued his own education, ultimately earning a doctorate in educational leadership from the University of Southern California.

Today, Dr. Glenn Medeiros is the president of Saint Louis School in Honolulu.

Think about that trajectory.

Teenage pop star.

Seven million records sold.

A Billboard number-one single.

And eventually, a career devoted to education.

Maybe "Nothing's Gonna Change My Love for You" wasn't entirely accurate.

A lot changed.

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ALANNAH CURRIE — THOMPSON TWINS

The artist who simply changed her canvas.

If you were watching MTV or MuchMusic in the 1980s, there's a pretty good chance you remember Alannah Currie.

During the Thompson Twins' biggest years, the group's most recognizable lineup consisted of Currie, Tom Bailey and Joe Leeway. Currie wasn't simply standing behind Bailey in the videos, either. She co-wrote the songs, performed, recorded and played an important role in the band's visual identity.

The Thompson Twins became one of the defining pop acts of the decade, with songs including "Hold Me Now," "Doctor! Doctor!" and "King for a Day." They even performed at Live Aid in 1985.

But eventually, Currie had enough of the music business.

After the Thompson Twins ended and a subsequent musical project called Babble ran its course, Currie ended her music career in 1996 and returned to her native New Zealand with her children.

That's when something interesting happened.

She didn't stop creating.

She started casting glass. Welding metal. Making furniture. She became involved in environmental activism and founded a movement opposing genetic engineering in food in New Zealand.

Eventually she returned to London and began creating provocative visual art under the name Miss Pokeno.

In other words, Alannah Currie didn't really stop being an artist.

She just stopped making records.

Maybe leaving the music business doesn't always mean abandoning the person you were.

Sometimes it just means finding a different way to express that person.

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PETE NICE — 3RD BASS

From hip hop to baseball history.

This might be my favourite left turn of the seven.

In 1989, Prime Minister Pete Nice was one-third of 3rd Bass alongside MC Serch and DJ Richie Rich.

Their debut, The Cactus Album, went gold. "The Gas Face" became a hip-hop classic, and 1991's "Pop Goes the Weasel" took direct aim at Vanilla Ice and the commercialization of hip hop while becoming 3rd Bass's biggest crossover hit.

And then, within a few years, Pete Nice was largely gone from the music business.

Peter Nash, as he's known when he isn't wearing the Prime Minister moniker, turned his attention toward something he'd apparently loved all along:

Baseball.

Not playing it.

Studying it.

Nash immersed himself in baseball history, becoming an author and researcher with a particular interest in the game's early years. He wrote books on baseball history and contributed research to the Society for American Baseball Research.

His fascination with baseball also led him into other ventures, including partnering with Dropkick Murphys bassist Ken Casey to revive McGreevy's 3rd Base Saloon in Boston, a modern tribute to the legendary baseball bar that originally operated in the early 1900s.

Pete has occasionally returned to music, so this isn't a case of someone who vowed never to touch a microphone again.

But for years, music ceased being the thing that defined his working life.

And I love the randomness of where he ended up.

Because if you'd asked someone watching "Pop Goes the Weasel" on MTV in 1991 what Prime Minister Pete Nice would eventually become, I'm guessing:

"Baseball historian"

wouldn't have made the top 100 answers.

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JEFF "SKUNK" BAXTER — STEELY DAN / THE DOOBIE BROTHERS

Okay, this one is ridiculous.

Imagine you're watching The Doobie Brothers in the 1970s.

There's Jeff "Skunk" Baxter playing guitar.

Before that, he'd been an early member of Steely Dan, appearing on their first three albums. He'd played with some of the most respected musicians in rock.

Now imagine someone leaning over to you and saying:

"That guy is going to become a missile-defence expert."

You'd probably move to another seat.

And yet, that's essentially what happened.

Baxter's interest in recording technology eventually led him toward military technology. He began reading technical material, studying weapons systems and thinking about how existing technologies could be adapted for completely different purposes.

With no conventional military or engineering career behind him, Baxter eventually became a respected defence consultant, advising members of Congress and others in the U.S. national-security world on missile defence.

This wasn't simply a celebrity showing up at a couple of meetings and being handed an impressive title.

It became a legitimate second career.

To be clear, Baxter never completely walked away from music. He's continued to play, record and perform.

But that's almost what makes his story more interesting.

Apparently, there was room in the same brain for guitar parts on classic Steely Dan records and ballistic-missile defence strategy.

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TERRY CHIMES — THE CLASH

Should I stay or should I... become a chiropractor?

Sorry. Had to.

Terry Chimes was the original drummer for The Clash and played on the band's self-titled debut album.

His relationship with The Clash was complicated — he left and returned more than once — but his career didn't end there. Chimes also played with Generation X, Hanoi Rocks and even Black Sabbath.

For roughly 15 years, rock and roll was his life.

Then he'd had enough.

Chimes had always been interested in health and medicine. He'd considered becoming a veterinarian or doctor before music took over.

Then, while playing with Black Sabbath, a shoulder problem introduced him to chiropractic treatment.

Something clicked.

Chimes eventually enrolled in chiropractic college, reportedly studying without his classmates initially realizing that the guy sitting beside them had been the drummer in The Clash.

In 1994, he opened his own chiropractic clinic.

Think about the change in environment.

The Clash.

Black Sabbath.

Tour buses.

Backstage chaos.

And then:

"So, tell me where it hurts."

Chimes hasn't completely abandoned the drums over the years, but chiropractic became a genuine second career.

He's described realizing that the rock-and-roll lifestyle simply wasn't aligned with the person he had become.

At some point, you get to decide whether the life you're living still fits.

Even if everyone else thinks you're crazy for leaving it.

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BILL WITHERS

The exception to the rule.

Technically, Bill Withers doesn't quite belong on this list.

When he walked away from the recording industry in the mid-1980s, he didn't become a teacher. He didn't open a business. He didn't pursue some strange second career nobody could have predicted.

He just walked away.

And maybe that's what makes his story worth including.

Because Withers didn't leave behind a catalogue of forgotten songs.

By the time he was finished, he'd already given us "Ain't No Sunshine," "Lean on Me," "Use Me," "Lovely Day" and "Just the Two of Us."

That's not the résumé of someone desperately looking for Plan B.

Withers' relationship with the music business had become increasingly frustrating after his original label, Sussex Records, folded and he signed with Columbia. He'd previously enjoyed considerable creative freedom. At Columbia, he increasingly found himself battling executives over his music and which songs he could release.

Withers was a songwriter.

He didn't need somebody telling him what Bill Withers should sound like.

Eventually, he stopped playing the game.

After 1985's Watching You Watching Me, there would be no more Bill Withers studio albums. He largely removed himself from the industry, raised his family and managed his publishing interests.

And maybe the most interesting part is that he didn't appear to spend the next 30 years trying to get back in.

He had written some of the most enduring songs of his generation.

Apparently, that was enough.

Bill Withers died in 2020 at the age of 81, leaving behind a catalogue that somehow seems to become more important with each passing year.

So no, he didn't go on to some bizarre second career.

But there's something pretty cool about being successful enough to decide:

I've done what I came here to do.

And then actually walking away.

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CAT STEVENS / YUSUF

When success stops being the most important thing.

Cat Stevens is different from everyone else on this list too.

He didn't become a chiropractor.

He didn't become a school president.

And he certainly didn't start advising anyone about missiles.

Instead, one of the biggest singer-songwriters of the 1970s fundamentally reconsidered what he wanted his life to be about.

By his mid-20s, Stevens had already written songs including "Wild World," "Father and Son," "Peace Train" and "Moonshadow." Albums such as Tea for the Tillerman and Teaser and the Firecat had made him an international star.

Then came a spiritual transformation.

Stevens converted to Islam in 1977 and adopted the name Yusuf Islam. He continued making music briefly, but by the end of the decade he'd stepped away from the commercial music business.

For years afterward, Yusuf devoted much of his energy to education, charitable work and humanitarian causes.

Eventually, music returned to his life.

But when it did, it was on different terms.

And that's what makes his story belong here.

Cat Stevens had achieved the thing countless young musicians spend their lives chasing.

Fame.

Hit records.

Money.

An audience.

And then he discovered that those things weren't necessarily what he wanted anymore.

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SO, WHAT HAPPENS WHEN THE DREAM CHANGES?

There's another artist who doesn't quite belong on this list, but I've been thinking about him while writing it.

Billy Joel.

Billy Joel never left music.

Far from it.

For decades, he continued performing the songs that made him famous to enormous audiences.

But after 1993's River of Dreams, something unusual happened.

Billy Joel essentially stopped writing pop music.

More recently, he's spoken openly about why.

Joel has described the enormous standards he placed on himself as a songwriter. He didn't want to continue releasing records simply because people expected Billy Joel to make another album. He worried about eventually diluting the catalogue he'd already created.

There was something else, too.

Writing had become an isolating process. Joel had a family and a young daughter, and he no longer wanted to lock himself away for long stretches trying to write the next great Billy Joel song.

So he stopped.

There have been exceptions — including the classical album Fantasies & Delusions and 2024's "Turn the Lights Back On" — but there hasn't been another Billy Joel pop album since River of Dreams.

He didn't decide to become a teacher, a chiropractor or a missile-defence consultant.

He simply decided there was one part of being Billy Joel that he didn't want to do anymore.

And I think that's worth mentioning because it illustrates just how complicated our relationship with work can become as we get older — even when that work happens to be making music.

Because from the outside, it's easy to look at any of these people and wonder:

How could you walk away from that?

How could Bill Withers stop recording?

How could Alannah Currie leave the Thompson Twins?

How could Glenn Medeiros trade pop stardom for a school?

But we're asking those questions as fans.

We're looking at their lives through the part we valued.

Maybe they valued something else.

A quieter life.

A family.

A new challenge.

A completely different interest they hadn't discovered yet.

Or maybe they simply woke up one day and realized that the thing they'd worked their entire young lives to achieve wasn't the thing they wanted anymore.

Most of us will never have to decide whether to walk away from a number-one record or a world tour.

But most of us probably know what it's like to look back at the person we were 20 or 30 years ago and barely recognize some of the things that person thought were important.

That's life.

We grow in and out of things.

We change our minds.

And apparently, every once in a while, a member of The Doobie Brothers becomes a missile-defence expert.

Pretty cool shit.

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