The Night the FBI Asked a Rock Band to Decide

About twenty days into a seventy-day tour, an FBI agent looked at us and said something I’ll never forget:

“The bomb threat is real. We’re not sure it’s credible. We can’t find any evidence of a bomb. Ultimately, this is up to you guys. Do you want to play the show?”

We were in Boston.
Sixteen thousand tickets sold.
Doors in two and a half hours.
Fans already gathering outside.

And suddenly a group of twenty- and early thirty-somethings—most of them newly famous, all of us still learning the job in real time—were being asked whether the show should go on.

The agents were calm and professional. It appeared to be some unhinged fan who phoned a threat into a radio station. But once the FBI shows up, the laughter stops. Rock and roll gets very small when someone says the word “bomb.”

That night was the first time I really understood what chaos does to people.

It feels existential. Like everything is about to collapse.

But in reality, chaos usually presents as something simpler:
a decision.

Some people wanted to cancel. A few venue staff members decided it wasn’t worth the risk and left. I didn’t blame them.

Inside our camp, though, something crystallized: folding felt worse than playing.

We could have justified canceling completely. No one would have questioned it. But letting some anonymous voice with a telephone dictate the outcome didn’t sit right.

So the show went on.

I was 27. It was the most stressful job I’d ever had.

What that night taught me wasn’t about security protocols or crisis communication. It was about people.

There’s a saying: sports don’t build character—they reveal it.

Chaos in business works the same way.

When pressure rises, the confident persona, the polished executive, the political operator—all of it fades. What remains is how someone actually responds.

Some people go quiet and thoughtful.
Some panic.
Some disappear.
Some step forward.

If you’re paying attention, chaos gives you an enormous amount of information about the people around you.

Later in my career I worked inside a company with thousands of employees. Reorganizations were constant. Budgets would be robust for years and then suddenly frozen.

No sirens. No FBI agents. Just calendar invites.

But the emotional temperature wasn’t that different from the dressing room in Boston.

People reacted.

Some stayed calm. Others spiraled. Some clung to routine as if routine itself were the job. (A lot of people just want their Starbucks with two pumps each day—probably because they’re not getting any pumps at home. 🙂)

When routine breaks, you see who someone really is.

And quietly, power shifts.

In startups, chaos isn’t occasional—it’s the operating system.

Runway. Fundraising. Revenue targets. Payroll in six months.

That environment isn’t for everyone. But if you can detach your identity from your role—if you can say this job does not define me—chaos becomes manageable.

Over the years I supervised a lot of people.

The ones who stepped forward in unclear moments—the ones who replied to the Friday email instead of waiting until Monday to see who else volunteered—were always more valuable than technically superior performers who faded under pressure.

When someone raises their hand and says, “Let’s win here,” that matters.

Over time I’ve come to see two kinds of people in chaotic moments.

The first group uses chaos.
They stay calm. Observant. Measured. They understand their reaction is a choice.

The second group gets used by chaos.
They react emotionally. Gossip. Think short-term. Get swept into the drama.

Chaos doesn’t create those tendencies.

It reveals them.

I don’t seek chaos. I certainly wouldn’t volunteer for bomb threats.

But I don’t fear it either.

That night in Boston taught me something I’ve relied on ever since:

You don’t control the storm.
You control your posture in the storm.

If you remain calm—truly calm—while others lose equilibrium, openings appear. Leadership reveals itself.

Chaos doesn’t define you.

It reveals you.

And if you’re paying attention, it usually reveals your next move too.