For most indie-folk artists, the road to success is paved with late-night dive bars, cramped van rides, and the persistent, nagging uncertainty of the music industry. But for Philadelphia-born singer-songwriter Noah Richardson, the path to a growing national following looks remarkably like a workout log. When he isn’t composing introspective lyrics or captivating audiences across the country, Richardson is likely found in a familiar setting: a Planet Fitness.
While the "Judgment Free Zone" may seem an unlikely headquarters for an artist on the rise, Richardson is not interested in the vanity of high-end, luxury gyms. He is chasing the one currency that matters in both professional athletics and the music business: consistency. As his career trajectory steepens, Richardson has realized that the grind of the studio and the discipline of the weight room are two sides of the same coin.
The Foundation: A Life Shaped by Steel and Solidarity
Richardson’s affinity for fitness is not a recent hobby; it is a legacy. Growing up in the Philadelphia area, he was surrounded by the raw, gritty culture of 1980s bodybuilding, championed by his father and uncle. While other children were playing with toys, Richardson was being introduced to the titans of the iron game.
“I was really big into Dorian Yates,” Richardson explains in an interview with Muscle & Fitness. “My uncle and my dad were huge into bodybuilding in the ‘80s. My uncle was telling me about Dorian Yates and his workout plan, and I wanted to try something different.”
That curiosity led him directly to Yates’ infamous "Blood and Guts" training philosophy. The method is renowned for its brutal efficiency, focusing on high-intensity training where sets are pushed to absolute muscular failure. For a musician with a packed schedule of soundchecks, songwriting, and travel, this approach was transformative.
“I really liked the training-to-failure aspect of it,” Richardson notes. “I thought it was cool to push myself, and I wasn’t in the gym for hours on end. I love being in the gym, but I also have stuff to do. It was nice to work really hard and then get out.”
Chronology of a Work Ethic: From the Ice to the Stage
Long before he ever stepped onto a concert stage, Richardson’s competitive drive was forged on the ice. A product of the Philadelphia hockey scene, he spent his youth developing the grit necessary to survive in a high-contact sport. His involvement with the hockey foundation established by the late, legendary Philadelphia Flyers owner Ed Snider instilled in him a foundational belief: results are never immediate.
“I think sports and weightlifting both taught me that things aren’t going to happen overnight,” says Richardson. “With hard work, you’ll get somewhere.”
This transition from athlete to artist is seamless in Richardson’s mind. The repetitive, often tedious process of skating drills or perfecting a muscle group has been re-applied to the studio. He treats the songwriting process with the same methodical intensity as a heavy set of squats. He is learning to track, to engineer, and to refine, understanding that "practicing and getting in your arena every day" is the only way to achieve mastery.
The Unsung Hero of Tour Life: Planet Fitness
The reality of independent touring is far from the glitz often portrayed on social media. Without a retinue of private chefs or recovery specialists, artists like Richardson must be their own managers, mechanics, and wellness coaches.
In this landscape, the purple-and-yellow branding of Planet Fitness has become a beacon of hope. For Richardson, these gyms are more than just exercise facilities; they are sanctuaries of stability.
“Planet Fitness is old reliable,” Richardson says. “Everything’s there. I can get the job done and do everything I need to do.”
Beyond the weights, the gym provides a critical component of tour life: hygiene and routine. Between sleeping on couches, driving hundreds of miles in a van, and the inevitable mess of life on the road, the ability to shower and reset the nervous system in a climate-controlled environment is invaluable. It is a grounding practice that helps him reset his mind before the chaos of another night of performance.
A Perspective Forged in the Funeral Home
Perhaps the most unique aspect of Richardson’s background is his upbringing in the family funeral business in Philadelphia. While peers were attending birthday parties, Richardson was navigating the intimate, often bizarre, and always poignant realities of the end of life.
This environment gave him a "front-row seat" to the complexities of human nature. He witnessed the full spectrum of the human experience—from intense, tearful grief to the celebration of life, often manifested in ways that only a Philadelphian could dream up. He recalls services where the deceased were buried with six-packs of Miller Lite or cartons of cigarettes, and instances where mourners in Eagles jerseys turned funerals into full-throated stadium chants.
These experiences fundamentally altered his songwriting. He learned that everyone has a story and that, beneath the surface, people crave to be remembered for their quirks, flaws, and passions. This realization has bled into his music, lending it an emotional honesty that resonates deeply with his audience. He doesn’t chase trends because he knows what truly matters at the end of the road.
Mental Health: The New Frontier of Songwriting
As his career has matured, so has Richardson’s approach to his own mental health. For years, songwriting served as his primary, and sometimes only, emotional outlet. However, incorporating professional therapy into his life changed the dynamic of his creative process.
“I found myself thinking, ‘Man, going to therapy didn’t make me a worse songwriter, but I wasn’t completely pouring everything into songs anymore,’” he reflects. “I was learning healthier ways to deal with some of the things I was dealing with.”
Today, the two practices coexist in a productive synergy. He views his writing sessions as a form of communal therapy, where the exchange of personal experiences and vulnerabilities informs the music. He credits his bandmates with providing a crucial support system, ensuring that the "life stuff"—family issues, relationship stress, and tour burnout—doesn’t become an insurmountable weight.
The Pillars of Recovery: Sleep and Nutrition
Now 27, Richardson has reached the age where the body demands respect. The most significant shift in his routine has been the prioritization of sleep. Gone are the days of staying up until 3:00 a.m. and waking up refreshed; he now views rest as a non-negotiable performance-enhancer.
He applies this same logic to his voice, which he treats with the same care as a muscle group. Proper technique, adequate recovery time, and vocal rest are essential components of his career longevity. After shows, he is known to limit conversation to ensure his voice is ready for the next day’s demands.
When it comes to nutrition, Richardson embraces a "pragmatic excellence" strategy. Recognizing that post-show hunger often leads to impulsive, less-than-ideal fast-food choices, he has engineered a high-protein, gas-station-friendly diet.
“A 42-gram Core Power, a Barebells protein bar, and one of those lunch meat packs from the gas station,” he says. “That’s like 75 grams of protein right there.”
While it might not earn him a spot in a bodybuilding magazine’s culinary column, it is a testament to his commitment to fueling his body under the most difficult conditions. It is an acknowledgment that perfection is impossible, but consistency is a choice.
Implications for the Modern Independent Artist
Noah Richardson’s story serves as a blueprint for the modern, independent creator. In an industry defined by volatility, he has anchored himself in the timeless principles of the iron game: show up, work hard, love your people, and do not take yourself too seriously.
By bridging the gap between the high-intensity discipline of bodybuilding and the vulnerability of indie-folk music, Richardson has created a sustainable model for success. He understands that, much like the process of building a physique, a musical career is a marathon, not a sprint.
As he continues to tour and grow his audience, the lessons learned from his father’s gym sessions, the hockey rink, and the family funeral home continue to guide him. He isn’t worried about the next viral trend or the pressures of the industry’s timeline. He knows that if he maintains his consistency, works on his craft with the intensity of a Dorian Yates set, and stays true to the stories he’s witnessed, the rest will inevitably sort itself out.
In the end, Noah Richardson proves that the most important performance isn’t just the one on stage—it’s the one he puts in every single day, one rep, one song, and one mile at a time.
Asep Darmawan
Lina Hope
Raul Delapena Setiawan
