In the now-legendary Saturday Night Live sketch, Christopher Walken plays a fictionalized version of music producer Bruce Dickinson, guiding Blue Öyster Cult through a recording of their 1976 hit “(Don’t Fear) The Reaper.” Will Ferrell, playing an enthusiastic but slightly offbeat cowbell player (Gene Frenkle), bangs away wildly in the background. As the band protests the excessive cowbell, Walken keeps inserting his now-famous line:

“I got a fever... and the only prescription is more cowbell.”

The sketch lives on as one of SNL’s most beloved bits—not just because it’s absurdly funny, but because it taps into something deeply human. We laugh because we recognize it. Who among us hasn’t gone overboard with something that started off great?

Cowbell, in this case, becomes a metaphor. It’s the thing we do that works, gets attention, adds value—but at some point, we lean too hard on it. We do it louder, longer, more intensely... until it stops being helpful and starts becoming a distraction.

We see this play out in life all the time.

In leadership, we often talk about “strengths overused.” Confidence becomes arrogance. Attention to detail becomes micromanagement. Passion becomes obsession. Even good ideas—when applied in every situation—can become rigid dogma. I’ve worked with people whose greatest strengths were also their biggest liabilities, simply because they didn’t know when to dial it back.

I’ve also seen it in organizations that became addicted to a single strategy. Maybe it’s a product that worked incredibly well at launch, so they keep pouring resources into it long after the market has shifted. I've even been guilty of this myself at times over the years.

Or maybe it's a growth tactic that delivered fast results but led to cultural burnout. It’s the business equivalent of yelling, “More cowbell!” while the band is trying to finish the song.  Consider maybe why Starbucks once became so busy in growing they ended up having to close 600 of their stores in a single year!

We even see it in our personal lives. Ever met someone who couldn’t stop talking about their favorite hobby? Or a person who turns every conversation into a health update, or a political commentary, or a recap of their child’s soccer league? There’s nothing wrong with passion—but unchecked, it can crowd out everything else.

Sometimes we need a friend, a colleague, or even a quiet moment of self-talk to remind ourselves “I think we’ve got enough cowbell for now.”

This isn’t about playing it safe or dimming your light. It’s about balance. About knowing when to lean in and when to ease off. About understanding that even great things—good ideas, strong opinions, compelling talents—need room to breathe if they’re going to be appreciated.

The best leaders, like the best musicians, know how to blend their parts. They add when it lifts the whole and pull back when it overwhelms the rest.

So, the next time you find yourself doubling down on what’s worked in the past, pause and ask: Is this adding harmony—or just more cowbell?