All New Stuff is HORRIBLE
31 Dec
Was at a holiday brunch at a friend’s house the other day. In addition to the grownups, there were two high school students and another kid who’s in sixth grade. We were all talking about music, when the eldest high schooler let loose this gem:
“All new stuff is HORRIBLE.”
He then went on a rant about bands that started out obscure and good and pure, and then betrayed him by going commercial and finding success. He then cataloged a half dozen bands (none of which I had heard of, all of which sounded like zones in World of Warcraft) and how their first two albums were great, but then all the kids at school liked the third album so now they are horrible . . . HORRIBLE.
“Do you think it’s possible,” I said, “that the band’s popularity affects how you hear their music?”
“Yeah,” he said. “So?”
It’s not like I was expecting him to roll over, but still . . . when you’re on the artist side of the relationship this kind of talk is heartbreaking. Maybe that third album was terrible. Or maybe after years of building an audience, Eversong Woods is rightfully enjoying some success. And yet they are losing a fan.
If popularity can lose you fans, it can also be a barrier to new ones. Later, the sixth grader said she wouldn’t read Diary of a Wimpy Kid (which, by the way, is f*cking delightful) because “everybody says you have to read it and that it’s so great and I bet that it’s good but I doubt it’s that great and I’m not going to read it and everybody says you have to read it.” This time I didn’t argue.
One lesson you could learn from this story is to be true to yourself. You might as well make exactly the kind of art you want to make, because you have no control over the irrational beliefs of strangers. (The obscurity/popularity continuum is one of many.) You could learn that lesson, but I would prefer that you not.
Instead, please consider this:
Part of your success may hinge on changing people’s beliefs. Sometimes the work does the changing for you (cartoons are for kids until The Simpsons comes along) but in other instances you may have to campaign. You may have to fight for your form, your genre, your aesthetic. Depending on the scope of your project (and the size of your ambition) this may mean something as simple as publishing a few articles that help pave the way for your point of view, or as grand as building an army of followers willing to level cultural villages on your behalf.
Happy New Year!
Dave Eggers wrote a totally awesome thing about the concept of selling out (scroll down a bit to the “addendum” for that, although this entire interview is great.)
Isn’t it funny how artists are supposed to toil in obscurity for no pay and love it? Why is that? I suppose there’s a misguided notion that the arts isn’t work.
A favorite 20-something nephew (they’re all favorites, this is just one of them) blogs on this topic every now and then. He calls it his “Older is always better” theory. Like you, I don’t recognize all his musical touchstones. But sometimes I get them.
And I confess I’m intrigued, but maybe only because I myself am getting older and want to believe he’s subconsciously talking about ME.
I think a lot of that attitude is just about trying to find an identity when you are young. If you are doing what everyone else is doing, then there is nothing unique about you. So buck the trends (so the theory goes), and voila, you’re an individual!
I would take this phenomenon to be more about adolescence, and not really a judgment about your artistry.
@Lindsay: One of the things I’m fascinated with is where our attitudes about art and artists come from. You can trace religious belief and beliefs about political structures and economic theory, but where do our beliefs about art come from?
I think a little bit of it has to do with mass consumption and mass production.
Enjoying any kind of art means you have to meet the artist partway. You have to pick up the book and read it, rent the DVD, show up at the theatre, pause on the street, go to the club.
Those who are early adopters and like their art up-close and small-venue tend to like the first two albums (at most!), the fringe production, the arthouse cinematic debut. As soon as they can enjoy the artist or obtain their work from a place that meets fire code and has more than one location, they’re not interested. The hunt is as much of a thrill as the prey.
Then, of course, there are those who like their culture handed to them on a silver platter, like a certain relative of mine who was shocked that a book I wanted for the holiday had to be ordered directly from the (small) publisher because their only distribution method was their web site.
Naturally, it’s interesting times right now because of those web sites — it means that musicians can be popular in parts of the globe they can’t afford to travel to for a performance, and that people need to get multi-zone DVD players because they live in North America but watch videos from Korea and Sweden.
Traditionally, mass production and mass consumption have been turn-offs with the thrill-of-the-find crowd, because there’s no hunting involved.
People are starting to learn, though, that it can be just as many clicks to discover a small-time artist as a big-time one.
So I have to say, as the parent of the younger child, I was feeling a bit eye-rolly about her response regarding the “Wimp” book. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was mimicking the behavior modeled by the adolescents. Such is the way that this approach is passed on and perceived as cool, persisting into adulthood as wry cynicism. The interesting thing is that when someone has established a certain level of cool, their willingness to show interest in the popular suddenly elevates what was once dismissed to another level of acceptability. Others now model this behavior, and another level of detached irony is added.
As a sidebar, I must say that I hope this was the only behavior of his she models (D. – I think you know what I mean…)