When I get sick, I tend to read music books. (I don’t really know why—maybe because all the plots are basically the same?) And during a recent illness, I broke out Michael Azerrad‘s telling of the indie foundational myth, Our Band Could Be Your Life, and it’s informed a lot of my thinking lately about the cyclical nature of the genre and our brave new world in which We Are All Indies. Whereas doing it yourself—DIY—was once one option among many and employed for specific aims, now it seems to have become more of a requirement for anyone wanting to put out an album. And that move, from a technique characterizing particular styles of music and levels of fandom to something that is supposed to envelop all of pop, represents a significant change in how we interact with music. As Digital Music News put it this morning, “is a DIY, niche-targeted, ‘middle-class musician’ goal not sexy enough for some artists—or their fans, for that matter?”
Azerrad’s book reminds us that, though the idea seems like a cliché now, at one time the idea of being a musician and making records was something only given to the elect. The do-it-yourself attitude, conceived out of a combination of ambition and necessity, was revelatory to a particular generation who may have grown up with punk but still saw the movement’s bands releasing albums on major labels; what started as adding a lower rung to the ladder became an end goal in itself, with labels like Dischord and K insisting that DIY techniques represented a way of making music that was anti-hierarchical, inclusive, and democratic. Artists who chose to subscribe to that particular philosophy became part of a system of mutual assistance which, at least theoretically, enabled them to make music without the need for a major label’s resources.
In the current age, DIY seems to have reverted to being a stepping stone to greater success, whatever that might mean. Except that, instead of being a lower rung on the ladder, the DIY rung is rapidly becoming the entire ladder, at least to hear a lot of folks tell it. And that means that the overtones of cooperation implied by the Dischord model are absent, resulting in the term being shorthand for “you’re on your own, kid” and coming with a much higher sweat equity. It’s worth pointing out that it results in a system that’s far from perfect, and the fact that nerds on the Internet might be happy with it doesn’t mean that everyone is—in particular, artists. It is true and fine that, as DMN says, the ultimate goal for a musician now is getting by, not luxury. But its practical ramifications would seem to conflict with the artistic expectations we have of musicians:
“I’m spending a lot of time connecting with fans… and I don’t feel as much of an artist as much as a promoter of Amanda Palmer,” Palmer relayed. “All of this instant connection has taken the place of making art. An idea that might have translated into a song before might now go into my blog instead.”
The article portrays this shift from luxury to sufficiency as “the traveling troubadour instead of the helicopter-riding hair band.” But, of course, that’s a misleading comparison; you also have the traveling troubadour—an artisan who must dedicate more time to promoting songs than writing them—instead of Brian Wilson, or Kevin Shields. As much as we came to ideologically detest that idea of the godlike musician, that aura of mystery has had a real appeal for fans as well, as evidenced by our continued tendency to embrace artists with compelling images. When an artist is chatting with you on Facebook or Twitter, that wall comes down and such mystery seems impossible. Of course, there’s always the option of dividing labor—have, say, the bassist do the blogging so the guitarist can get on with writing the songs and being the Mysterious Lone Genius. But that model isn’t being promoted so much.
Even if you like these sort of breakdowns, it’s important to ask if everyone else does, and if your status as a “free rider” on the imagistic system of pop has consequences for others. As the pie shrinks, the squabbling starts, and cooperation becomes impossible. Even the implicit cooperation of mutual ambivalence toward fans of other genres and other models breaks down in favor of grabbing whatever you can before it’s gone. Is this good? In a way, of course, it doesn’t matter. It is what it is.
D.I.Y. & the Death of the Rock Star… [Digital Music News]
Our Band Could Be Your Life [Powells]
[Image via Make]
This post feels like home,
-Bassist does the booking
-Drummer keeps up on ordering and re-ordering the merch
and buying Goodwill clothes that we can make into merch.
-I attempt to communicate with labels who can’t really help us book or keep up with merch or help us pay for recording but can get our songs on iTunes(!) which can be done for roughly $10 anywhere label or not.
-Writing tunes gets to be the last thing you have time for because you’re substitute teaching trying to save money for
the next tour of places that are venues that take you even if you don’t have a booking agent. Sellah.
Also. That book made me smile constantly.
I think your point that artists are forced to spend less time making art and more time blogging is a good one. But I don’t think the downfall of the “aura of mystery” is coming as a result. Iconic artists have always been part of their era’s promotional exposure machine. The Beatles sent Christmas singles to their fans. Nirvana played SNL. Lil Wayne goes on ESPN and 60 Minutes. Lennon and Cobain and Wayne are still larger than life figures. I don’t see Twitter changing that. In fact, I’m sure Twitter can be used subversively too.
Great post. In the 80′s and 90′s, DIY artists and labels often acted as if major label A&R scouts were constantly banging on their doors. It’s now gotten to the point where indie artists are banging on listeners’ doors since there’s an emormous amount of self-promotion on MySpace and other sites. Another change is the cheapness of burning CD-Rs and releasing MP3s as opposed to the more expensive practice of producing CDs, tapes and vinyl in the 80′s/90′s. On one hand, it’s wonderful but the catch is that easiness led to a glut of DIY releases that are a dime-a-dozen and attract a very small listenership.
@DrOrpheus: I don’t think you can compare Nirvana going on SNL to an artist twittering what they’re having for lunch.
Kudos on the post, Mike.
“…the fact that nerds on the Internet might be happy with it doesn’t mean that everyone is-in particular, artists.” Oh, so true.
The DIY route is now more fraught with the looming possibility of failure; I don’t see how Black Flag’s “get in the van!” ethos would work today. As for making a connection with fans, that is a noble and wonderful endeavor that should always be cultivated. But when “twittering” is more relevant and time consuming than, say, displaying the creative process–showing the artist at work in the studio, for instance–then we’ve all seemed to have lost the plot.
Bestowing God-like status to artists is lame, but on the other hand, I don’t know how rewarding it can be for you to find out the artist whose work has inspired you and your life is not only human, but (maybe) a dumb-ass schlub like you. There’s a reason people used to say it was best not to meet your heroes. Now we know how many sugars they take with their coffee.
This Twitter shit is stupid. Someone convince me otherwise.
This Twitter shit is stupid. Somebody convince me otherwise.
I’m stupid too, as I posted twice.
@juiceandgin: [twitter.com]
I think artists can be accessible via MySpace, Twitter etc and still preserve a degree of mystique. I see some who do and some who don’t. Drawing the right personal borders while reaching out is its own art, though I can see why you wouldn’t want to devote time and energy to mastering it when you already have one.
Or you can go Robyn Hitchcock, and just maintain a twitter of weird little vignettes that you almost never update.
That said, maybe realizing that artists are just schlubs like you is a good step, anyway. We’ve been living in a mass-media age for so long that it’s helpful to forge any sense of real empathy with the people who make art, of understanding that talent and drive and charisma are one thing but getting us to actually understand another fuck-up is the point of the activity.
I’m sorry Amanda Palmer doesn’t feel like an artist so much as a promoter of Amanda Palmer. I don’t feel like an artist so much as a part-time teacher. The current cultural system really has no obvious niche for artists, even ones who (like Palmer, unlike me) have actually produced substantial and popular work. Unless we return to patronage, or a world like the early 20th century where somehow novelists and playwrights were making money (was it simply because there were fewer popular artforms and fewer people making content…?), I don’t know how this is going to change.
@KikoJones: I think that ethos doesn’t take into account how many bands got in a van and went nowhere. Behind every great band, there is a great organizer. Whether that be the bass player or a sleazy sunglassed guy in an office.
The DIY strategy is so often used as a justification for the glorification of talented self-promoters over talented performers.
@trochee: novelists and playwrights were the popular entertainment of the time, just like pop music was in whatever glorious artistic heydey you prefer to endorse. The same thing is happening right now in TV. There were always lots of struggling artists, we just don’t hear about them in the cultural histories. And there’s still patronage, of course. We just call it “the art market” now.
@K-Rex: Agreed.
I just feel it’s a harder proposition these days. The likes of Black Flag, Minutemen, Husker Du, etc. were also connecting with bored kids, hungry for something to latch on to, whereas, now there’s obviously a ton of other options for their current counterparts.
@Mike Barthel: You’re right on every count; I’m conflating artforms with very different histories. I think that my final paragraph is just whining (also a very ancient artistic activity).