For some observers, British music, and indie music in particular, is in a rude state of health. Despite atrocious weather, hundreds of thousands have traipsed through muddy fields for the Festival Experience™. Guitar bands like the Arctics, The View and The Enemy storm the charts. Even manufactured pop acts, in these post-modern times of guiltless “guilty pleasures” (an appreciation of the arch campery of Scissor Sisters or the naff Chesney Hawkes hardly equating to say, bestiality or dogging in inducing a sense of guilt), are given the seal of approval by the most snobbish of fans.
Dig deeper, however, and you can’t help but sense a malaise in the current scene. Take, for example, a recent anniversary compilation by that arbiter of yoof culture, Radio 1. Looking at the names listed, you can’t help but bemoan the lack of real innovation and ideas in the mainstream at this moment, with manufactured pop, post-Libertines shamblers and revivalists of various sorts rubbing shoulders.
It’s clear that we are at the fag end of the current fad for guitar bands, the telltale sign being the number of artists happy to wear the hand-me-downs of their more illustrious peers, weaving tales of kitchen-sink drama and suburban boredom over meat’n’potatoes rock with none of the wit and charm of an Alex Turner, or churning out four-to-the-floor, choppy post-punk without the grace of an Interpol or the passion of a Bloc Party.
Of course, were the late, great Anthony Wilson Esq. still with us, he would be sure to highlight his grand theory of music travelling in cycles (and, with his usual modesty, his claim of a few years back that bands with guitars and samplers were the next big thing). So what is waiting in the wings to replace the industry’s current squeeze? That great advert for hair-styling products, the New Musical Express, would like us to believe that its brainchild nu-rave is the nu-black, ready to conquer the mainstream. But on closer inspection, this genre has little in the way of musical coherence, clumping together as it does indie bands with purported dance leanings and dance acts who happen to have indie credibility. Neither offers much respite from the fin de siécle feel. The former rely too heavily on the ‘80s touchstones of the current fashionable indie, while the more intriguing elements of the latter are unlikely to crash the charts.
Look elsewhere in the charts and the despair deepens. Endless singer-songwriters, either producing “witty”, “urban(e)” pop in the style of Lily Allen, or dressing up as troubadours with neither clue nor cause (KT Tunstall being the model as regards the females, Jamie T of the rhyming slang as her male counterparts). Mainstream dance (as opposed to the NME-sanctioned variety) continues to eat itself, not content now to stick 4/4 bass beats over classic tracks but even stooping to sample contemporary dance (the inevitably pornographic video being the only remarkable feature of the result.) British hip-hop still remains largely underground, with only the Boy in the Corner and a geezer from Birmingham breaking through. As for manufactured pop, it trundles on as always. Everywhere in the mainstream we see the stale, the artistically bankrupt, and we have to ask – why should this be the case?
Some would argue that it was always thus. A couple of years ago it would’ve been de rigeur to complain about the rash of glum stadium-baiters who had copied the wrong Radiohead album. Mainstream trends tend to start with a handful of bands harking back to the same influences, followed by the bandwagon jumpers whose musical knowledge barely goes beyond their immediate predecessors. However, in this case the assimilation of recent musical trends – and the rash of imitators it stimulates – seems to have been a far quicker process across the board. The culprit for this change: the internet. It has irrevocably changed the rules of engagement, providing people with an unprecedented level of independent access to music, legal or not.
The industry has increasingly less influence over what gets listened to. It has been rocked on to the back foot, and is now desperately seeking to counter-attack through the careful cultivation of “grass-root” online opinion. However, this can only do so much, and the profits of the major labels have been hit hard. They need what will sell, and sell fast, with little or no concern for artistic development. So, naturally, they look to replicate recent successes; the search commences for the “next Arctic Monkeys”, the “next Lily Allen” and the “next James Blunt”. The result: a music scene populated by legions of clones. I’m not pretending this is a new phenomenon; merely that an existing process has been accelerated at the cost of whatever modicum of innovation previously clung to the major labels.
The preceding argument would suggest that the state of music in Britain is rather like the State of the Union under its current incumbent. And a more apt metaphor would be hard to come by; in both cases those in charge are reaping the consequences of misguided policies. And in both cases, more and more people are realising the fundamental irrelevance of those at the top. Despite their desperate attempts to manipulate it, the internet’s inherent unpredictability and democratic nature mean that brilliant music can still be found. On rare occasions – witness the magisterial Arcade Fire – it can even break into the mainstream, but the main beneficiaries lie away from the majors. They are the independent labels, who can access a wealth of talent and, despite the threat of the MP3, benefit from a far greater base of fans and consumers. They are the underground scenes and genres given an outlet to develop outside local and national boundaries. Look at that most acquired of niche tastes, post-rock. How, before the internet age, could bands from Glasgow, Iceland, Texas and Tokyo claim a common bloodline?
Most of all, though, those who benefit are us, the consumers. There is a wealth of music out there for us to access. Much is terrible – there’s nothing new there. But, just as likeminded bands can interact, so can likeminded fans, helping to bring the cream to the surface. A great Republic of Letters has been formed, constantly discovering, recommending, sharing, cajoling. We sisters are doing it for ourselves, and the industry can only ever play catch-up. Innovative, diverse, fascinating and downright incredible music is out there. And now, more than ever, it’s up to you to find it.
State of the Union
