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A couple of things have happened recently that fit into my general musing about what it means to be a “pop” musician in the 2000’s, and more particularly for members of Rock Till You Drop, what it means to be a “mature” pop musician in the year 2009.
Pop Music: art or entertainment?
First, what is “pop music?” Originally regarded as a light, frothy and insubstantial form of entertainment for the masses, pop music has become the world’s common cultural denominator. The broad church of so-called “pop” music now encompasses the disposable trash peddled by Simon Cowell’s zombie hordes and the highbrow fine-art work of Roger Waters-period Pink Floyd and songwriters like Elvis Costello, as well as the abstractions of Jazz and soundscape artists like Phillip Glass. And who could deny the genius of Bob Dylan? My teenage daughters appreciate him as much as they do Elliot Smith or Jeff Buckley. Many people make their livings from the activities surrounding the pop industry and it is a significant contributor to the economies of England and America.
Its legitimacy as art is no longer questioned. As to the question “is it art or entertainment?” I recently heard a great definition of the two: entertainment is what you know you already know and know you want, whereas art gives you something you don’t already know or know you want. By this definition, pop music is definitely art.
The Age Contradiction
There is an inherent contradiction in pop music that is in the process of being exposed and resolved: the idea that pop music is youth culture. This preconception pervades its ethos and practise to the point where it has become the only industry in the world in which the more experienced you are as a practitioner, the less likely you are to get any work.
I’ve been a session musician for 30 years: nothing fazes me and I’m at home in all sorts of situations from stadium gigs to folk clubs, but I’m now considered too old to be booked to play with new acts, despite the fact that the presence of an “old hand” or two would benefit inexperienced performers immeasurably, (especially when they are faced with a hostile audience at the Glasgow Apollo on a dismal rainy February night .) The underlying assumption is that audiences want to see young people on stage and will find the presence of grey hairs offensive, but pop’s audience is now composed of all age groups, and artists like Bruce Springsteen and Neil Young are making music consistent with their ages.
It has become common for me to observe a phenomenon that never fails to make me smile: that of silver-haired old gentlemen in dinner-jackets playing air guitar when a covers band strikes up “Sultans of Swing” or “All Along the Watchtower” at the golf club dinner-dance. The front row of the recent Cream reunion gig at the Albert Hall was composed almost exclusively of balding but extremely well-heeled (check the ticket prices!!) ‘Captains of Industry.’ Not a teenager in sight! As one member of the “50-quid-man” demographic recently said in a survey; “My kids have allowances. I have a wallet stuffed with credit cards and cash!” And yet the music industry ignores this market, not daring to depart from the illusion that pop music is for “the kids.”
What use is Pop Music?
So having decided what pop music is, the next question I have been pondering is : what is pop music for? The answer came to me recently when I did my first ever Jewish gig at the age of 51; (yes, a little late in life to bite that particular bullet, but better late than never.) I sat there at a bat mitzvah in a Schule in Borehamwood, playing music that has been played at these events for thousands of years, and realised what I am for. If you leave aside the nonsense of being a “pop star,” what we as musicians actually do is provide part of the cultural context in which society exists and continues to exist. Look at paintings and read accounts of events from all through history; whether it’s the wedding of a King or a peasant, the death of a middle-class insurance salesman or a Sultan, there we are in the background; the minstrels in the gallery.
That is our function, and that is also our power. If I play the first few notes of the Funeral March during a wedding party I can totally change the mood in the room, and then I can change it back again simply by playing “I Will Survive” or “Dancing Queen.”
Pop music has entered our culture to the point where it is our culture. Even highbrows like Alan Yentob make documentaries about the history of the electric guitar. Commentators speak of the “triumph of vernacular culture”; the idea that the music of Elvis Presley is as valid artistically as that of Mozart. A recent complaint by a vicar that the music people choose to play at funerals is inappropriate completely misses the point: it is the old religious dirges that have become inappropriate. People relate more to “I Will Always Love You” than “Abide With Me.”
The Repertoire Theory
Pop music is now entering a new phase, similar in some respects to the world of so-called “classical” music. There is now a repertoire developing, and in the same way that an orchestra perform a programme of Tschaikovsky’s music or a concert pianist will go on tour playing the works of Rachmaninov, so a tribute band will present an evening of the music of Dire Straits or Abba, or any other band who are no longer touring themselves (or if they are, the tickets are prohibitively expensive and the concerts are in such large venues that there is no longer any sense of connection between audience and performer.)
This is what the phenomenon of tribute bands means; the emergence of an understanding on the audience’s part that the songs are more important than the performers who perform them, and the desire of that audience to hear those songs performed live. There are constant tours of so-called “revival” acts: Eighties pop stars now tour the world playing to audiences for whom that decade’s music was the soundtrack to their youth. In ten years’ time the Nineties revival tours wil be underway, Blur and Oasis sharing the same stage in an eerie echo of the Sixties package tours. Plus ca change.
The evidence for this is everywhere: EMI recently signed the Blockheads (the backing band of one of their dead artists), and there is a Dire Straits tribute band whose personel includes Chris White and John Illsley (both members of the original band.) I recently met a Pink Floyd tribute act who are playing the same 15,000-capacity venues I was playing with Roger Waters in the 1980’s. Where is the border between the original act and the tribute act?
Interestingly, many of the tribute bands are actually better musicians (technically speaking) than those whose repertoires they play: the original act just got there first and were the ones who made the music and style in the first place, but their interpreters are schooled at places like London’s Institute for Contemporary Music Performance, and possess sophisticated instruments and equipment that their heroes had to work for years to be able to afford.
End of the Blip
At the same time, the 50-year “blip” that was the explosion of recorded music is dying; ironically along with its inventor, Les Paul. The idea that it is possible to make millions of dollars by selling recordings of music (combined with the preposterous misconception that just because someone can sing a pop song and simultaneously have great hair should automatically be qualified to pronounce on the great political issues of the day) is falling into disrepair.
There is a generation that believes that recorded music is free, and that music is something you talk over. The music industry has to some extent only itself to blame for this: failure to invest in acts with long-term potential in favour of the “quick buck” boy- and girl-bands has devalued music in the eyes (ears?) of listeners. The ubiquity of music (in the mall, on the bus, in the airport, hairdressers, doctors’ waiting room and restaurant) has reduced the importance and value of music: it’s no longer special or unusual, just everywhere all the time.
Anyone who comes into the music business expecting to make millions is very quickly relieved of their illusions and goes off to make their fortune in organised crime, or The City. (No, not a lot of difference these days, I’ll grant you.) Those of us who are happy to make a living as musicians are having to adjust to a very different landscape.
The old music business paradigm of selling the fantasy of the Artist as someone whose lifestyle you should aspire to is dying. We have all seen far too many documentaries on “The Making of...” and “The Marketing of...” and “The Making of ‘The Marketing of’ “ to be taken in. It’s like being shown how a magician does his tricks; once you know how to saw a lady in half, the only interest that remains in the process is how well that particular magician performs that particular trick and whether they bring a new angle to it. The wonder is gone.
The attempt to sell us the fantasy that Bruce Springsteen rides his motorcycle through the streets of New York at 3 o’clock in the morning is increasingly ludicrous; we all know that he’s more likely to be tucked up on his orthopaedic mattress by half-past nine.
What Do I Have Left?
“You end up having to deal with whatever it is that you’ve got left.” Robert Wyatt ( a drummer who lost his legs.)
What is left is primarily live music, and this is where we find our metier, our place, and our living and being. Once again, the wheel has come full circle and musicians like me have returned to a very simple direct form of music-making: I put my guitar in the car, drive to a place where people go to hear musicians play their music, and play.
Selling CDs is a bonus: I no longer even expect it. I make money from recorded music by producing library tracks and producing unsigned/self-financed bands and singer/songwriters (which has the great benefit that I don’t have to kowtow to some scared kid from a record company who is so frightened of getting fired that the only thing he will accept is a carbon copy of whatever was a hit last week, regardless of its suitability for the artist.)
I teach, write magazine columns, play gigs in living-rooms pubs, theatres and all points inbetween, and am enjoying my profession more than I have done for decades. It feels more honest; less like whoring and more like the calling I felt it to be when I was 18.
I sit here in the gallery where no-one notices me and I observe the world at work and play. If I wasn’t there, you would miss me badly.
A wandering minstrel I —
A thing of shreds and patches,
Of ballads, songs and snatches,
And dreamy lullaby!
My catalogue is long,
Through every passion ranging,
And to your humours changing
I tune my supple song!
I tune my supple song!
Are you in sentimental mood?
I'll sigh with you,
Oh, sorrow, sorrow!
On maiden's coldness do you brood?
I'll do so, too —
Oh, sorrow, sorrow!
I'll charm your willing ears
With songs of lovers' fears,
While sympathetic tears
My cheeks bedew —
Oh, sorrow, sorrow!
Gilbert and Sullivan, The Mikado.
© Jay Stapley 2009-11-17
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