Identity Through Representation: What Hidden Performers Reveal About Identity Construction (Dissertation)
Abstract:
Issues around identity are made most apparent when an aspect of identity is missing. Whilst modern pop star personas exploit the existence of the empirical human beings behind their identity constructions as a site for authentication, identification and commercial success, there are artist that have eschewed this approach in favour of hidden performances. Daft Punk have replaced their own author image with robotic representations that reflect a music that deals with the aesthetics of technology. Through creating the virtual pop band Gorillaz, Damon Albarn is able to reclaim his creative freedom to role-play and, in partnership with Jamie Hewlett, create music and a virtual world reflective of the digital technologies they are enabled by. Sia's anti-fame manifesto in billboard magazine set out her desire to forego the fame that accompanies the music that she has written for some of the world's biggest pop stars. Her own music is deeply personal and her use of obscured identity has enabled her to express herself without trapping herself into a single, potentially stigmatising, identity.
In all three cases, there are personal and creative freedoms that come from the removal of the artists’ personal image from the public gaze. However, to allow them to operate within the confines of the commercial imperatives of major label politics, these artists must replace their personal appearance with an alternative author image. These post-modern constructions that are offered up in place of the artist’s personal appearance reveal the constructed nature of all pop personas, as well as highlighting the fluid and changing nature of the self-identities that we each must socially construct. This study draws on key works on Identity (Bauman, Lawler, Webb) as well as key texts on stardom and authenticity (Dyer, Goodwin, Moore) and undertakes musical analyses using key production frameworks (Moore, Gibson, Moylan, Lacasse).
Keywords: Identity, Anonymity, Representation, Hidden, Post-Modern, Authenticity, Pop Star, Persona, Star System.
Invisible and Inaudible? A Comparison of Post–Classical and Classical Hollywood Scoring (Academic Essay)
The classical Hollywood score arose from an “intersection of changing technology, aesthetics and economics” (Kalinak 1992, p.66) and, as Cooke (2008, p.67) argues, resulted in a “formulaic product designed to appeal to a mass spectatorship”. Cooke (2008, p.183) goes on to suggest that “the diversification of musical styles and techniques in narrative cinema from the 1950s onwards was partly caused by momentous changes in the film industry” which included the the rise of the commercial theme song as an important revenue stream for film studios as well as the emergence of rock and roll and wider youth culture. This led to both the consolidation and expansion of existing practices of orchestral scoring as well as the diversification of types of music being in film scores. In classical film music, Gorbman (1987, p.73) argues that seven principles for composition, mixing and editing can be seen at work: invisibility; inaudibility; signifier of emotion; narrative cueing that can be referential or connotative; continuity; unity and, finally, that any of the previous principles can be violated in the service of the other principles. The purpose of this study is to compare examples of post-classical scoring to the first two of these principles, invisibility and inaudibility, to better understand both the consolidation and expansion of these practices put forward by Cooke.
Classical Hollywood film music has an “inherent necessity not to draw attention to itself” (Sabaneev cited in Cooke 2008, p.74) and is “a stimulus that we hear but, by and large, fail to listen to” (Kalinak 1992, p.3) which “works toward the goal of a transparent or invisible discourse” (Gorbman 1987, p.72). Machin (2010, p.155) argues that “It should not be something of which the audience is conscious” but rather “it should unobtrusively contribute to the film experience”. In his study of Post-Classical film scoring, Donnelly (1998, p.143) argues that whist “many contemporary scores bare some resemblance to studio era film music, industrial imperatives and aesthetic concerns have not remained static” and so we cannot consider contemporary film music to be a direct continuation of classical cinema scoring. So whilst Donnelly (1998, p.143) has observed that post-classical film scores, such as those by John Williams for Lucas’s Star Wars trilogy (Star Wars (1977), The Empire Strikes Back (1980) and The Return of the Jedi (1983)) and those by Danny Elfman for Batman (1989) and Batman Returns (1992) share classical Hollywood’s usage of the long orchestral score, they are not simply a continuation of a tradition of “underscoring” [1]. For example, in the ‘Party Man’ sequence, Donnelly (1998, p.148) observes how the music dominates the visual rhythm of the scene, with the actions of the Joker and his gang directly reflecting the rhythms within the music of the score. This sequence is evidence of a breaking from the traditions of the classical Hollywood style, where the “music regularly takes a back seat to other elements of the film” and is “rarely foregrounded in this manner”.
Vernallis (2013, p.42) argues that one way in which post-classical cinema deviates from the classical style is through its foregrounding of “striking audiovisual effects” and through her analysis of Michael Bay’s Transformers (2007) argues that “much of Transformers’ meaning and power stems from the soundtrack” (Vernallis 2013, p.50). She argues that the Transformers are “sound-dependant” with much of their power, strength and meaning being derived from the use of sound. There is a blurring of the distinction between sound-design and soundtrack which can be clearly observed in the New York City sequence where “sound collages” of “metal”, “para-animal cries” and other “mechanical” sounds are used as if they “were parts of the melodic line played on timpani and marimba” (Vernallis 2013, p.51). These “sound collages” are far from the invisible underscoring of the classic Hollywood style, rather, they become foregrounded and serve as being of equal importance to the visuals they appear alongside. It could even be suggested, as Donnelly does of Elfman’s scoring in the Batman films, that this type of scoring draws on an increased musical literacy among the audience [2] (Donnelly 1998, p.148) and allows for the use of “culturally coded” instruments and timbres to create musical clichés which become a foregrounded effect where “design and music coalesce in to a world of dazzling visuals and explosive musical sound” (Donnelly 1998, pp.151–2).
Interestingly, the foregrounding of the film soundtrack serves a commercial purpose as well as an artistic one. In addition to it’s use in creating and enhancing meaning on screen, a foregrounded score is advantageous to film studios as it allows for the commercial exploitation of the score in it’s own right. Cooke (2008, p.415) has observed that from as early as the 1920s film studios were taking advantage of “synergistic marketing” techniques to “sell films on the back of hit songs and vice verse”. Donnelly’s (1998, pp.148–9) study of Batman “demonstrates a situation where commercial logic has foregrounded aspect’s of the films music”, most notably in the use of Prince’s music in association with the on screen appearance of Joker. The film was accompanied by two soundtrack LPs (Donnelly 1998, pp.144–5), one of Elfman’s classical score and another of Prince’s music. This release represented the synergy of Warner’s recording and cinematic arms working together to cross-promote their products along side each other. Donnelly (1998, pp.148–9) argues that this association of the Joker with the music of Prince creates a situation where Joker represents the “triumph of musical logic over cinematic logic” in contrast to Batman’s invoking of his musical theme which represents the “subordination of musical logic to cinematic logic”. Whilst this may serve an artistic purpose, subconsciously representing to an audience the difference between Batman’s representation of the traditional value of justice through traditional scoring techniques and Joker’s representation of chaos through the interruption of these scoring techniques, there is also a commercial imperative being served through the score.
In describing the role of the music in Inception (2010), Director Christopher Nolan (Making of the Inception Soundtrack 2011) explains how “the momentum of the film is entirely defined by the structure of the music”. Composer Hans Zimmer scores the film, not from the edited movie, but rather from the script: “I wrote the whole score without seeing the movie” describes Zimmer (Sawdey 2010). It is only in the editing process where, as Nolan describes, the music and visuals are brought together to find “interesting points of synchronisation” (Making of the Inception Soundtrack 2011). This brings us back to Donnelly’s assertion that changes in film scoring have come about through changes in industrial imperative. If “most film music in the Golden Age was scored for a full orchestra and employed a tonal and harmonic language” (Cooke pp.83–4) where film music was produced by a “production line” of full-time “composers, arrangers and musicians” (Donnelly 1998, p.144) then we can see in the practices of Zimmer, that post-classical scoring is completely different. Working with a wide rage of sound sources, of which the orchestra is just one, Zimmer creates his music within the Digital Audio Workstation (DAW) where it can be layered and manipulated, and later, edited to allow for the music and visuals to come together. His practice is enabled by the progression of digital technology and the changes in industrial practices outlined by Donnelly. As a result, Nolan describes Zimmer as being “a minimalist composer with a maximalist production sense” creating “simple and specific pieces” but recording them on “a colossal scale” to create a score with such “movement and drive” that Nolan “let the music take over everything”. Contrasting this approach with that of the the classical Hollywood composers, who “composed and recorded after shooting of the image track was completed… working to a rough cut of the film” (Cooke 2008, p.73) to create soundtracks where “volume, mood, and rhythm must be subordinated to the dramatic and emotional dictates of the film narrative” (Gorbman 1987, p.76) we see a huge divergence in approach and the resulting musical material. In his use of electronics and technology we see antecedents in the work of Bebe and Louis Baron and their pioneering score for Forbidden Planet (1956) which was the first entirely electronic hollywood score: a score which pioneered not only it’s use of electronic sound sources, but also of recording technologies (Holmes 2008, p.86), a thread we see continued in Zimmer’s work today.
In Nolan and Zimmer’s latest collaboration, Interstellar (2014), this divergence of approach has come to the fore, as discussions around the music’s subservience to the narrative action have been held after audiences have complained the the volume of the music drowns out the dialogue (Kilkenny 2014). Kilkenny argues that the loudness of the music serves its own narrative and artistic purpose: in a movie where “emotion is the overriding principle” Zimmer’s soundtrack “supersedes the nonsensical aspects, conveying a sonic experience so powerful it overwhelms the tiny, logic-based details.” Ann Hornaday for the Washington Post (2014) has argued that by foregrounding the musical score of the film to a place where it demands to be attended to by the audience, directors are creating a “sonic soup”. Whilst the dense layering of sound can create “a certain realistic density” (Fincher cited in Hornaday 2014) that reflects an “aural realism” it can also be used by directors for “strong-arming [the] audience to the brink — and sometimes beyond — of, not just comfort, but coherence.” Whether this approach is an act of “indifference, ambivalence or outright antagonism” on the part of directors, as suggested by by Hornaday, or rather serves a greater artistic and narrative purpose, as suggested by by Kilkenny, it is clear these post-classical scores have diverged away from the passive, subservient role of the classical Hollywood style.
Howard Shaw’s scores for Peter Jackson’s Lord of the Rings trilogy (Fellowship of the Ring (2001), The Two Towers (2002) and The Return of the King (2003)) have earned him three oscars as well being recognised through performances of the scores across the globe by some of the most well renowned orchestras in the world (Shore 2014). This partnership has since been renewed for The Hobbit trilogy (An Unexpected Journey (2012), The Desolation of Smaug (2013) and The Battle of Five Armies (unreleased)). Already in the popularity of Shore’s works, their repeated performances separate from the visual elements of the film and their critical recognition in their own right, we see a separation away from the frequently backgrounded and unnoticed classical Hollywood score. Adams (cited in Handy 2014) observes an extensive use of themes and leitmotifs in Shore’s work and discovered over 80 unique themes and leitmotifs in the scores for the Lord of the Rings trilogy alone. Whilst the leitmotif is a feature of the classical hollywood score, we observe in Shore’s work, not a direct continuation of this tradition, but a development and evolution of its use. An example of this can be found in An Unexpected Journey (2012) where, in the ‘Misty Mountains’ scene, the dwarves are gathered in Bilbo Baggins’ living room. The song they sing together, ‘Misty Mountains’, establishes a melodic theme that will later become the dwarves’ leitmotif, representing their unity and uprooted sense of belonging throughout the rest of the film and proceeding trilogy. By foregrounding the score through it’s diegetic appearance, where the dwarves sing together in a style reminiscent of musical theatre, the audience are led to have a greater awareness of the musical theme when it appears later in the film. This creates a deeper understanding of its meaning and closer emotional bond with what it represents. A re-working of the song, ‘Song of the Lonely Mountain’ was also recorded by Neil Finn for the official soundtrack and played over the ending credits to the film, providing a further opportunity for commercial synergy.
In conclusion, we can see that where the classical Hollywood score arose from and was shaped by the requirements of it’s own particular set of changing technologies, aesthetics and economics, so too has the post-classical score. Through “striking audio visual effects” composers are able to draw on culturally coded sounds and timbres and create soundtracks and visuals that work together to create meanings which would not be possible were the music simply subservient to the visuals. In the work of Zimmer we see how technology has enabled a new way of working, allowing Zimmer to create soundtracks that combine diverse musical sources that dominate the visual momentum and narrative of the film. We have also seen that the commercial opportunity for music and film to be sold in synergy can influence creative choices of film making and scoring: bringing music out from an invisible and inaudible role to serve a commercial, as well as artistic, purpose.
Footnotes
[1] “music written specifically to accompany speech” (Cooke 2008, p.76)
[2] Another example of post-classical scoring playing upon the audience’s culturally coded expectations are found where Mera (cited in Wall 2010, p.156) has observed that in High Anxiety (1978) the common place assumptions of the invisibility of non-diegetic music are parodied by Mel Brooks, who looks around for the source of the loud music which plays when he is told bad news: the audience’s familiarity and acceptance of the surreality of non-diegetic music is being drawn upon as a source of humour when it breaks from it’s unconscious role in the background, subservient to the other elements of the film, and unexpectedly enters the film world dietetically and interrupts the film’s narrative flow.
Bibliography
COOKE, M., 2008. A history of film music. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press
DONNELLY, K. J.,1998. The classical film score forever?: Batman, Batman Returns and post-classical film music. In: NEALE, S., and M. SMITH, eds. Contemporary Hollywood Cinema. London: Routledge, pp.142–55
GORBMAN, C., 1987. Unheard melodies: narrative film music. London: BFI
HANDY, B., 2014. 'Lord of the rings' composer Howard Shore talks hobbits, his start on 'SNL' and working With Martin Scorsese [online][viewed 1 December 2014]. Available from: http://www.billboard.com/articles/6304248/the-hobbit-howard-shore-the-battle-of-five-armies-score-lord-of-the-rings-music
HOLMES, T., 2008. Electronic and experimental music. 3rd edition. London: Routledge
HORNADAY, A., 2014. Critic’s notebook: ‘Interstellar’s’ sonic soup or: how auteurs diss their audiences [online][viewed 29 November 2014]. Available from: http://www.washingtonpost.com/lifestyle/style/critics-notebook-interstellars-sonic-soup-or-how-auteurs-diss-their-audience/2014/11/07/7f8e4110-65cd-11e4-836c-83bc4f26eb67_story.html
KALINAK, K., 1992. Settling the score: music and the classical hollywood film. Wisconsin: University of Wisconsin Press
KILKENNY, K., 2014. Why interstellar’s organ needs to be so loud [online][viewed 29 November 2014]. Available from: http://www.theatlantic.com/entertainment/archive/2014/11/why-interstellars-organ-needs-to-be-so-loud/ 382619/?single_page=true
MACHIN, D., 2010. Analysing popular music: image, sound, text. London: Sage
SAWDEY, E., 2010. We built our own world: Hans Zimmer and Inception [online][viewed 29 November 2014]. Available from: http://www.popmatters.com/feature/128323-we-built-our-own-world-hans-zimmer-and-the-music-of-inception/
SHORE, H., 2014. Howard Shore biography [online][viewed 1 December 2014]. Available from: http://www.howardshore.com/biography/
VERNALLIS, C., 2013. Unruly media: youtube, music video and the new digital cinema. Oxford: Oxford University Press
Videos
An unexpected journey, 2012. [film]. Directed by Peter Jackson. USA: New Line Cinema
Batman, 1989 [film]. Directed by Tim Burton. USA: Warner Brothers
Batman returns, 1992 [film]. Directed by Tim Burton. USA: Warner Brothers
Fellowship of the ring, 2002 [film]. Directed by Peter Jackson. USA: New Line Cinema
Forbidden Planet, 1956 [film]. Directed by Fred Wilcox. USA: MGM
High anxiety, 1977 [film]. Directed by Mel Brooks. USA: Crossbow Productions
Inception, 2010 [film]. Directed by Christopher Nolan. USA: Warner Brothers
Interstellar, 2014 [film]. Directed by Christopher Nolan. USA: Warner Brothers
Making of the inception soundtrack, 2011 [online video]. [viewed 29 November 2014]. Available from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=W1FIv7rFbv4
Shaun of the dead, 2004 [film]. Directed by Edgar Write. UK: Universal Pictures
Star wars, 1977 [film]. Directed by George Lucas. USA: Lucasfilm
The desolation of smaug, 2013. [film]. Directed by Peter Jackson. USA: New Line Cinema
The empire strikes back, 1980 [film]. Directed by George Lucas. USA: Lucasfilm
The return of the jedi, 1983 [film]. Directed by George Lucas. USA: Lucasfilm
The return of the king, 2003 [film]. Directed by Peter Jackson. USA: New Line Cinema
The two towers, 2002 [film]. Directed by Peter Jackson. USA: New Line Cinema
Transformers, 2007 [film]. Directed by Michael Bay. USA: Paramount Pictures
Discography
FINN, N., 2012. Song of the lonely mountain [MP3]. UK: Watertower Music
An Analysis of Identity Construction In One Direction: This Is Us (Academic Essay)
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The film One Direction: This Is Us (2013) was released in August 2013 and directed by Morgan Spurlock. From the film’s title alone, expectations for the film are clearly set: what the audience are about to see is being presented as a genuine and truthful representation of the band. This makes the film a useful case study for discussions surrounding image construction: exploring how it is constructed and negotiated by the author, audience and media, each as active participants within the process (Ahonen 2007, pp.123–4). Tied in with the pre-established expectations of the film’s title are notions of authenticity and identity that are rooted in the band’s formation; rise to fame through the TV show The X Factor and their subsequent success. Goodwin (1992, p.103) has argued that the creation of character identities for pop stars, created outside of musical performance alone, is a vital part of the listener's identification with a pop star, as well being central to the industry’s understanding and monetisation of public taste. He goes on to suggest that the presentation of these constructions share more in common with the cultural constructions of advertising, where fiction is presented as mimetic reflection, rather than drama (as pure self-conscious fiction) or documentary (as simple mimetic reflection). It is interesting then to note at the outset, that the intention of the film, One Direction: This Is Us (2013) is to be presented as the mimetic reflection of the documentary format, when in fact, with its origination coming from the industry construction that is responsible for the promotion of the band, it actually shares greater commonality with advertising.
The film opens with voice overs of each band member discussing their childhood experiences and ambitions, accompanied by images of faded childhood photographs that appear on screen. As the voice overs continue, each member starts to turn their own story towards their singing credentials. As the visuals build in intensity they start to incorporate images of a stadium show being prepared. Building in the background, we hear dramatic music accompanying the growing sounds of adoring female screaming fans. The scene builds to a dramatic climax where we finally see the 5 boys all standing together facing the camera. At the the height of dramatic tension, out of the blue, Louis reaches over and slaps Niall in the face (shown in fig.1): the music cuts, and the boys break in to laughter and the dramatic tension is broken. We cut to the band performing at the O2 arena to an audience of excited and adoring fans. These opening few minutes are reflective of the narrative themes to follow, and so it is worth unpacking each element further.
Firstly, in opening with childhood memories, there is an establishing of a key element of the band’s core identity which is returned to frequently throughout the film: they are just like us. A key place where this identity is established is in the band’s formation on the TV show The X Factor which becomes the subject of the film’s narrative between 9:47–14:33. “You see these people that audition for the show and they come from the same sort of background as you... they just come from... normal working class families” explains band member Zayn Malik. In describing his experiences, Malik is affirming of one of the key aspects of these types of reality TV programmes that has been documented by Holmes (2005, p.156) in her work on the TV show Pop Idol: “The emphasis on the ordinariness of the contestants contributes to a deliberate blurring of boundaries between contestant and viewer and as a result, a potential invocation of the audience’s own aspirations (or fantasies) of success and stardom.” Tied in to the idea of “ordinariness” is the idea that Dyer (1998, p.42) describes as the “success myth”. This idea is founded on the notion that “American society is sufficiently open for anyone to get to the top, regardless of rank” (1). As Holmes (2005, p.157) and Stahl (2002, p.308) have both documented, this sense of “ordinariness” is important in creating a sense of “authenticity”, where by, as Leach describes of the Spice Girls, there is an ability “to speak as the audience and with the audience”, there by creating a “second person” type authenticity (Moore 2002, p.220). In the interviews with fans (15:19–15:54) that follow, we find evidence of this type of authentication: “When I am sad they are there for me” says one fan; “They’re just genuine guys” says another; “they sing our feelings” explains another. There is a clear sense of Moore’s (2002, p.220) “authenticity of experience” which forms a connection between the band and their fans. This connection also seems inextricably linked with their rise to fame on The X Factor. “They make us believe that anything is possible if we believe in ourselves” says one fan, in a clear demonstration of Meizel’s (2009, p.486) observations of “great ambition” being a source of inspiration for the fans of contestants on the TV show American Idol.
Returning to the established narratives in the films opening montage, we come now to the idea of playfulness that breaks the opening scene’s dramatic tension. At a number of points in the film, we see the band members engage in many of the processes we have come associate with pop stardom, yet at each stage, there is a subversion of these processes. For example, as we watch the band take part in “choreography” (06:30–07:50, shown in fig.2), we see them play and mess about: “It’s a bit of a free for all” chuckles the band’s choreographer as he attempts to direct the band, who run around with little notice being given to his directions. “From the start we were always very vocal,” explains band member Louis Tomlinson, “we couldn't follow the boy band stereotypes: choreographed danced routines and everything’s the same”. With this explanation, we start to understand the purpose of their subversion of conventions. Like the Monkees before them, the band are being presented as a “bunch of spontaneous, silly, footloose, ‘natural’ musicians who do funny things and make rock and roll music too” (Stahl 2002, p.320) and as Goodwin (1992, p.108) notes, the portrayal of band members as a group of friends, having fun, can be a critical point of identification for an audience. As Stahl (2002, p.326) goes on to explain, “the producers of The Monkees were so convinced of the value of the band members as participants in the production process that they structured the production of the television show in such a way that the band members were relied upon for conceptual and even productive collaboration in content.” In a similar way, we see in the process of “choreography” for One Direction’s live show, that the choreographer is not prescriptively assigning the band routines to perform, but rather, allowing the band members to contribute, often through their own personal humour and group dynamics, to the production of the show. This serves to further the audience’s identification in them as an “authentic youth cultural expression” (Stahl 2002, p.319) and to reinforce their authenticity established through their sense of ordinariness.
Following the initial opening scene of the film, we enter a montage (4:57–6:08) of press and media clips cut together with other footage that document the band’s popularity and success. “One Direction is taking over the music world one country at a time” one journalist states in the voice over. “One Direction are number one in more than 35 countries” says another. “Even the Beatles (3) have never achieved such Transatlantic success so early in their careers” says a BBC news reader. “It’s not just unusual, it’s unprecedented” says Radio One DJ Scott Mills. It is interesting to note that, as Ahonen (2007, p.121; p.141) has observed, the “mediated image” presented by the media can, in some cases work to strengthen the “presented image” that the artist, along with their “promotional machinery”, presents to the public. In other cases, where there is disparity between these two images, the audience must create their own “compiled author image” by weighing the veracity of each image they are presented with. The intention in this example is clear: by presenting only those media clips which support One Direction’s “presented image”, the audience are expected to build a “compiled author image” that is based exclusively on this “presented image” and reinforced by the “mediated images” of the media.
In two particular sequences the audience is encouraged to focus on the individual identities of the band members. The first sequence (53:10–57:15) gives us a glimpse of each band member’s own unique personality and characteristics and there is also a focus on how each member’s own idiosyncrasies feeds in to the group’s dynamics and relationships. Holmes (2005, p.159) has observed that the serialised process of reality TV leaves the audience with a greater sense of “knowing the star as a real person”. It is interesting then that during the second sequence (1:06:12–1:11:14) where each member returns home that band member Harry says, “you meet a lot of people who see a media perception of you and it’s just nice coming and spending a bit of time with the people who know me.” It’s impossible to escape here how the chosen film format of the apparently mimetically reflective documentary leads us to suppose that, by documenting the band returning to the people who truly know them, we the audience are also being allowed to see the “real them”.
One of the criticisms of reality television is that is produces stars who are “‘well known’ simply for their ‘well-knownness’” (Daniel Boorstin cited in Holmes 2005, p.148). One way we see this criticism negated in the film is with the continual interspersing of live performance footage (shown in fig.3) between the interview and documentary content. This continual refocusing of the audience’s attention on the band’s abilities to sing and perform live serve as a persistent reminder of a perceived worthiness of their position. Whilst we see a connection to the band’s work ethic and innate natural singing abilities, the main focus of the band’s fulfilment of “stardoms” expectations of extraordinariness seem to be fulfilled in the films focus on their extraordinary achievements, and so could arguably play in to Boorstin’s criticisms. Holmes (2005, p.158) has cited the work of Gamson in arguing that programmes like Pop Idol walk “a tenuous line in seeking to reconcile a conception of stardom as ‘bestowed,’ ‘pre-destined,’ and based on a ‘indefinable internal quality of the self’ with the discourses of labour, production, and commercial enterprise”. We see these discourses carefully negotiated by the film at various points, where on one hand there is a heavy focus towards the band’s sense of fun, there is also attention drawn to the work and effort required to achieve their success (4). A surprising exposition of these negotiations comes from one of the security team as he describes his role: “People might look at it and say, ‘this is not very professional with all the clown acting and jumping and fighting and that kind of stuff.’ But that’s just part and parcel of what One Direction is” (58:16– 58:27). Wrapped up in this statement is an understanding of the apparent paradox of the amount of effort and work required to make something feel so effortless and fun.
In the penultimate sequence of the film, the band are preparing for their biggest show to date: a performance to 65,000 people in Mexico City. As part of this build up, through a montage of interview footage, the band reflect on the status as pop stars. They attribute their success and status, not to any single factor or condition, but to a melting pot of reasons: “When I think about how lucky we are to be in this position...” says Liam; “One of the best things about all of this is that I have made four new best friends” say Louis; “We’re all there for each other and that’s why it works” say Harry; “The fans completely changed our lives” he explains; “It’s important that we let the fans know that this is a teamwork between us and them” says Louis; “We don’t take it too seriously and that’s the main sort of thing that we all live by and that’s what keeps us, you know, as us” says Liam (1:36:45–1:37:14). Tied in with these statements are the melange of factors that have helped to construct the band’s identity as pop stars: their identity and authenticity that is founded in their ordinariness and their rise to fame through the TV show The X Factor; their extra-ordinary global success as as measure of their worthiness and as evidence of the truthfulness of the “myth of success”; their focus on a fun expression of youth culture which serves as a key point of identification for their audience and the exposition of the “complex questions” that reality TV’s focus on the ordinary person has raised about our approach to conceptualising constructions of fame (Holmes 2005, p.149). In conclusion, we can return to Meizel’s (2009) study of American Idol and the formats celebration of contestants who, whilst they may meet some of the technical expectations of the show, fail to meet other social or technical requirements placed upon them, but find success regardless. We can speculate then, whether part of One Direction’s appeal and success is an extension of this phenomena due, in part at least, to their failure to meet some of the technical and social expectations associated with boy bands. As band member Louis Tomlinson expresses so pointedly, even if intended humorously, “It would just be amazing to be remembered like... One Direction, they just had fun... they were just normal guys but terrible, terrible dancers" (1:13:06).
Footnotes:
(1) One of the results of the construction of the band’s identity through “ordinariness” is that it provides a site of negotiation with the notion of the bestowment of fame. Holmes (2005, pp.167–8) cites the work of Italian sociologist Francessco Alberoni in drawing an analogy between “the star system” and the political arena, where the media, though construction of public visibility, proposes candidates for “election” by an audience, “the electors”, who then determines their degree of success. No where is this clearer than in the reality TV formats of shows like The X Factor through which One Direction were formed. Throughout the film we find reoccurring references to the band’s gratefulness to the fans, who they consider to be be responsible for both placing them in their position of pop stardom and sustaining their longevity in that position. In an interview with Simon Cowell, the band’s mentor whilst on the TV show and head of the Band’s record label, he is very clear in attributing the band’s success, both on the show and afterwards, to the determination and dedication of a loyal, and growing fan base. “The fans made it their mission that One Direction were going to become the biggest band in the world” (14:40) he explains. Together with his earlier description of the process of putting the boys together in to the band after they had failed to succeed in the solo auditions, we see a clear real-life example of the process of proposal and election that Alberoni describes. This leads us to recognise that the audience’s bestowment of fame and their election of the band is a key element to the band’s identity. Whilst Holmes (2004) has observed that TV shows like The X Factor provide evidence of the “ways in which the two claims-to-fame stories continue to jostle for cultural legitimacy” as negotiation between notions of the mythic, gifted self and notions of the “success myth” take place, in the film One Direction: This Is Us we see a emphasis placed upon the discourse of “‘ordinariness’, ‘lucky breaks’, ‘specialness’ and ‘hard work’” (Holmes 2004) to create a clear connection with the latter.
(2) This focus on the band’s friendship and sense of “having fun together” is reinforced at numerous points in the film. One place where this is explicitly discussed is between 12:30–12:54. Here the band talk about the importance they placed upon becoming friends before they became colleagues.
(3) At a number points in the film there are references made to the Beatles and comparisons drawn between the two bands: “it’s akin to Beatlemania” states Mike Williams, the editor of NME. This connection creates a type of “musical retroism” (Klinkmann 2007, pp.20–1) that seems to be an “anachronic retrology” that, rather than suggesting any “specific, style-defining influences”, simply works within “a more fluid... notion of cultural and aesthetic remembering” to enact a “collective memory of sorts” and suggest a connection to an idealised past.
(4) This is evidenced during one sequence (1:18:56–1:19:54) where band member Niall says, “recording this third album has been extremely hard... we’ve been waking up in the morning and going straight to the studio and then going to the arena and doing a show, and then going straight back to the studio after the show... so it’s been really tough for us this time.”
Bibliography
AHONEN, L., 2007. Mediated music makers. Doctoral Dissertation, University of Helsinki
DYER, R., 1998. Stars. New Edition. London: British Film Institute
GOODWIN, A., 1992. Dancing in the distraction factory: music television and popular culture. Minneapolis, USA: University of Minnesota Press
HOLMES, S., 2004. The only place where ''success'' comes before ''work'' Is in the dictionary...?: conceptualising fame in reality TV. A Journal of Media and Culture [online]. 7(5). [viewed 16 April 2014]. Available from: http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0411/07-holmes.php
HOLMES, S., 2005. “Reality goes pop!”: reality TV, popular music and narratives of stardom in Pop Idol. Television & New Media, 5(2), pp.147–72
KLINKMANN, S., 2007. Retro Icons and anachronistic artists. In: K. KALLIONIEMI et al., eds. History of stardom reconsidered [online]. Finland: International Institute for Popular Culture [viewed 7 April 2014]. Available from: http://iipc.utu.fi/reconsidered/
LEACH, E., 2001. Vicars of ‘wannabe’: authenticity and the Spice Girls. Popular music, 20(2), 143–167
MEIZEL, K., 2009. Making the dream a reality (show): the celebration of failure in American Idol. Popular Music and Society, 32(4), pp.475–88
MOORE, A., 2002. Authenticity as authentication. Popular music, 21(2), 209–223
STAHL, M., 2002. Authentic boy bands on TV? Performers and impresarios in The Monkees and Making The Band. Popular Music, 21(3). pp.307–29
Video:
ONE DIRECTION: THIS IS US (EXTENDED FAN EDITION), 2013 [Film]. Directed by M. SPURLOCK. UK: 1D3D Ltd; Columbia Pictures; Sony Pictures Entertainment
Benny Blanco: A Study Of The Influence Of Technostalgia In Modern Pop Production (Academic Essay)
Benny Blanco’s productions with Katy Perry, Rihanna, Maroon 5, Ke$ha and more have scored him 13 No.1 singles in the US by the age of 24 and have helped to shape the sound of modern chart-pop (Makarechi 2012). Studying his music making process and studio practices makes it possible to understand the role of technostalgia in influencing this sound. Where “nostalgia is commonly understood as a desired return to an ideal past in response to a troubled present” (Davis cited in Pinch and Reinecke 2009, p.153), technostalgia can be thought of as “more than a return to an ideal past, but rather an attempt to mediate between past and present to achieve a particular sound and feel” (Hennion cited in Pinch and Reinecke 2009, p.153). In the work of Pinch and Reinecke (2009) and Bennett (2012) we see that the way vintage and analogue technologies are used within the modern music making process is both widely varied and vastly complex. Vintage and analogue gear are often integrated together with digital components in to hybrid workflows that reflect a range of choices, restraints and values that are made by and placed upon producers and music makers. As Barlindhaug (2007, p.75) has documented, “software exists alongside its older analog counterparts, in a relationship much more complex than that of the metaphors and remediations we find in consumer media.” How then do Blanco’s choices and values, reflected in his own unique combination of analogue and digital equipment, shape our understanding of technostalgia’s influence upon the production of modern chart-pop music?
Blanco’s workflow revolves around recording “everything in Pro Tools as audio” where he will “edit and use lots of effects” (Gallant 2013). He builds and layers sounds by “dragging and dropping in to Pro Tools”. Blanco is similar to the musicians Pinch and Reineke (2009, p.155) talked to in their study: “although they may favour particular old instruments and equipment, they are quite willing to use digital equipment when the occasion merits it, especially if they perceive big benefits.” With Blanco, we might actually take that statement one step further and suggest that his whole process is enabled by the use of digital technology, specifically, both the digital audio workstation (DAW) that he uses to layer and arrange his audio as well as the effects processors (1) he uses manipulate it. Bennett’s (2012) research has found that, very often, the desire to record with old equipment is inextricably linked to notions of a more “authentic” recording process which is reflective of capturing a “live performance” that is perceived to be more truthful. However, Blanco’s recording process stands in stark contrast to this. It might be easy to assume that by stating “I play everything myself; I don’t know how to use MIDI” (Tingen 2012) that Blanco might be attempting to capture a more truthful performance, however, we see that is not the case. Rather, his process is to “play one note at a time and layer that until it becomes a chord” (Tingen 2012).
In her work on club cultures, Thornton (1995, pp.26-31) documents the differences in “live culture” and “disc culture” and their relation to each other as part of a continuum of ascribing and understanding authenticity. In Bennett’s (2012) work we find a clear link between the use of vintage recording equipment and an attempt to connect with a “live culture” type of authenticity: one that revolves around the “essence or truth of music” being “located in its performance by musicians in front of an audience” (Thornton 1995, p.26). By contrast, as we will explore in the following paragraphs, Blanco’s production practices connect far more with the idea of “disc culture” and notations of authenticity as they relate to a sound’s unique origin as well as its exclusivity and rareness (Thornton 1995, p.30).
Software synthesisers have been a key feature of a diverse range of software tools that have developed to allow computers to function as “tools for recording and producing sound” (Barlindhaug 2007, p.73). However, Blanco “shuns building music from scratch with computer-generated timbres. He instead seeks out traditional instruments and low-end keyboards, records them and then builds melodies and chords from the tones they yield” (McKinley 2013). Despite using the computer as a DAW, Blanco avoids software synthesisers in favour of old, vintage and analogue keyboards and synthesisers (2). The question is then, to what end is it that Blanco is eschewing the possibilities of MIDI and computer-generated sounds?
Firstly, we see that to Blanco, the sonic quality of the instruments he is using is of paramount importance. He describes the idea of vintage equipment having “a warmer feel” (In The Studio With Benny Blanco - WSJ Interview 2012) as well as a desire to use what he describes as “the real thing” (3) (Benny Blanco - Behind the Scenes Documentary 2011). These ideas hint at notions of both “sonic characteristics” and “aesthetic intention” (Bennett 2012) as motivations for using vintage keyboards.However, it seems that the originality of the sounds are more important than their point of origin, although, to Blanco, the two are also intrinsically linked. “I’m into anything that doesn’t sound like something else. I don’t want people to hear my tracks and say, ‘Oh, that’s from the Triton or Fantom [keyboard synthesisers].’ I want to use what nobody wants” (Gallant 2013). The origin of the sounds are important to Blanco in so far as they mark out a distance sonic characteristic, but their origins are equally unimportant in so far as they just need to be “different” rather than “better”. “I just want to sound different than everyone else. ... I just want people to be like, ‘Yo, that dude Benny was different.’ Even if it sounds awful, at least they can’t say, ‘Oh well, I’ve heard that before’” (McKinley 2013).
It is interesting to note here that “software based technology is smaller... cheaper and more practical. Such benefits have, over the last 2 decades in particular, outweighed the limitations in terms of the arguable difference in sonic character” (Bennett 2012). However, it is exactly this convenience that Blanco is seeking to avoid. By using the very items that have been “rendered all but obsolete by a digitally driven culture that devours all that preceded it” (O’Hagen 2011) Blanco is choosing to instead value the uniqueness and rareness of the sounds he is creating and then manipulating within the DAW. It is these very values that Thornton (1995, p.30) observes are the hallmarks of disc authenticity. Pinch and Reinecke (2009, pp.162-3) have also documented how it is often the imprecision of analogue and vintage equipment that is responsible for the sonic idiosyncrasies and characteristics that makes this equipment desirable. We can see this very clearly In Blanco’s use of toy and vintage equipment which he describes having to tune by ear. It is the resulting sonic imprecisions that add to the uniqueness, and so desirable, character of the sounds he is creating (In The Studio With Benny Blanco - WSJ Interview 2012). Blanco’s approach seems to connect with the importance of originality and rarity of sounds in shaping “authenticity” as it is understood in the context of disc culture (Thornton 1995, p.30). Further discussion of Blanco’s perceived benefits of analogue technology can be found in appendix A.
Here we can return to Blanco’s comment of looking for “the real thing” (4) when referring to his use of vintage and analogue keyboards and synthesisers over MIDI and software synthesisers. Taylor (2001, p.6) has documented the difficulty in qualitatively distinguishing any single item of technology from another, however by unpacking Blanco’s approach, it may be possible to understand the distinction that he is making more fully. Pinch and Reinecke (2009, p.157) have documented how early analogue synthesisers were aiming to emulate other electronic and orchestral instruments and, as technology progressed, the ability of these synthesisers to emulate a greater range of sounds with greater fidelity increased. Framed within Zak’s (2012) work regarding the distinctions of lo-fi, hi-fi and no-fi, we might understand this to be a transition from a low fidelity technology to one of higher fidelity. However, Pinch and Reinecke (2009, pp.157-8) go on to suggest that, it is not the emulation of the original sound that users of vintage gear are trying to reclaim, but rather the unique sonic characteristics of the synthesisers themselves. Framed again in Zak’s (2012) work, we might understand this as creating a “no-fi” sound. By using vintage keyboards Blanco is not looking to connect with the “real thing” as a hi-fi or lo-fi emulation of another sound, rather, he is looking to connect with the unique sonic characteristics of the keyboards themselves, and the aesthetic that they represent. The sounds are recognisable not as representations or emulations of other instruments, but as exactly what they are: synthesisers. Drawing on the synthesiser’s history as a signifier for the created reality of science fiction (Synth Britiania 2009), we can understand it as one of the key instruments in the creation of “no-fi” spaces in recorded music. So, we see that there are two parallel stories here: one which documents technology’s progress by it’s ability to recreate with greater fidelity pre-existing sounds and another which documents the synthesisers ability to create the kind of science-fiction soundscapes that were previously unavailable.
Analysis: Rihanna — ‘Diamonds’ (2012)
From the song’s opening chord’s we hear the fingerprints of Blanco’s production techniques: each chord’s timbre is the result of the layering of different elements — the fast, percussive, metallic attack at the start of each note, along with the soft swelling sounds underneath — as well as the clear manipulation of sound, as evidenced in the echoing of each chord hit. The resulting effect is to create a single, but complex, expansive spread source (Moylan 2007, p.51) which is elevated within the soundbox (5) as shown in fig. 1 (Moore 2012)(Gibson 2008). The song progresses through the verse with the staged arrival of layers of percussive material building towards the chorus which explodes with multiple layers of sound filling the soundbox (as shown in fig. 2). In the chorus, the layering of sounds most clearly demonstrates Blanco’s no-fi approach to creating spaces within the soundbox: there is no attempt to re-create an antecedent performance space, rather, he is using the sounds of the synthesisers to create totally new spaces. The dense, heavy, thumping drum beat and low bass synthesiser create a grounded sound, almost earth like, above which the vocals, synthesisers and other percussive materials float and soar: the created sonic space is symbolic of the lyrical themes of being “like diamonds in the sky”.
As the song progresses, the spaces change also. Whilst there is some consistency in sound sources, which is suggestive of a continuation of the same space, the changes in layering and arrangement suggest a movement through this created space. The second verse finds a thinning of sound sources within the soundbox: the percussive material is reduced, with the chords, strings and vocals elevated over the top to reflect the verse’s lyrical suggestions of feeling the heightened ecstasy of drug use. In the second chorus we return to a similar space as the first chorus, which is followed by a bridge section where the sound box (shown in fig. 3) is cleared even further to contain a thinned chord sound, vocals and strings all of which are elevated within the soundbox to enhance the previously established connection to the lyrical themes of elevation and euphoria. As the song approaches the final chorus, a low string sound appears and the sounds are progressively low pass filtered, to give the feeling of being descended, before the final chorus arrives with the thickening and intensifying of previous chorus sounds and spaces. This is particularly clear in the gated synthesiser which has a much fuller sound in the final chorus and is placed more prominently forward in the mix. This synthesiser part is also a good example of Blanco’s ability to connect with a synthesisers unique sonic characteristics whilst also drawing upon the synthesiser’s connection with social, cultural and musical history. Here, Blanco is trying to capture a sense of “late night rave” (In the studio with Benny Blanco - WSJ interview, 2012) through his synthesisers as a representation of rave culture. The gated synthesiser is a good example of this and its connection to rave culture is enhanced by its elevation in the soundbox and so allusion to a drug fuelled euphoria.
In talking about his production for this piece of music, Blanco describes a wish to capture a “nostaligic” feel to the piece, and references Toto’s song, ‘Africa’ (1982) (In the studio with Benny Blanco - WSJ interview, 2012). We can hear similarities in the two songs’ tempos and rhythmic materials: the similar syncopated rhythms of both songs create emphasis on the quarter notes for example. There are also similar timbres in both songs, for example, the harder percussive timbre of the chords in ‘Diamonds’ can be heard in the arpeggiated response melodies in the call and response bridge sections after the Choruses in ‘Africa’. Also, the softer padded and swelling synthesiser sounds of the two songs share timbral similarities. In this way, we can see Blanco, at least partially, reclaiming the unique sonic characteristics of old synthesisers, as discussed earlier, to create a sense of nostalgia whilst also using digital layering and sound manipulation to create a sense of newness and originality.
Analysis: Katy Perry — ‘Teenage Dream’ (2010)
‘Teenage Dream’ is a song who’s lyrical themes revolve around Perry finding a love that causes her to feel like she is re-experiencing the carefree and reckless feelings of her youth. Blanco’s “interventionist” (Moore 2012, p.191) production of the song helps to enhance the meanings of the lyrical content as well as create new potential meanings. Similarly to ‘Diamonds’, we hear the building and layering of sounds and the creation of no-fi spaces through use of his unique blend of vintage and analogue synthesisers used within a digital workflow. As the timeline in appendix B shows, the song builds and changes with each section, creating what Blanco describes as a “roller coaster” experience that keeps the listener’s interest (In the studio with Benny Blanco - WSJ interview, 2012). In ‘Teenage Dream’ the building and layering of sounds in the songs production matches the song’s lyrical structure as Perry builds up confidence in the love that she is describing and leads the listener towards the chorus and the central premise of the song.
In the chorus we find the clearest example of how Blanco’s use of layering and digital manipulation help to enhance the song’s meanings. The driving of the four-to-the-floor drum groove creates the feeling of youthful vigour and determination that is hinted at by the suggestion that Perry and her love “run away and don’t ever look back”. Over the persistent regularity of the drum groove Blanco has layered what sounds like bass, guitar and synthesisers together in to a single, dense, sound source. He digitally manipulates these sounds in to a syncopated rhythm (shown in fig. 4) that moves around over the steady drum beat to create a feeling of unease and uncertainty. In the context of the musical arrangement (6) and the lyrical themes, this unease seems to represent Perry’s emotional restlessness as the world around her changes.
In the bridge and outro sections we hear very clearly Blanco’s use of digital manipulation of sounds: the vocals are processed through a long delay to create a fading echo effect and the other sounds are processed through a low pass filter effect. In the bridge the low pass filter cut off frequency rises as a lead towards the arrival of the final chorus, and in the outro the low pass filter cut off descends as the music fades away. These two sparsely textured sections also serve to contrast with the thickly textured choruses which build in intensity with each occurrence. These changes in texture serve to reinforce Blanco’s “roller coaster” journey through out the song, keeping the listeners interest whilst also enhancing the feelings of youthful excitement that the song captures in its lyrics.
In a song where lyrical themes play with notions of nostalgia and love’s re-kindling of youthful feelings, we also see Blanco play with the same ideas in his selection of sound sources. In the second half of the choruses we hear a Rhodes like sound play a series of descending melody lines, the selection of which could be thought of as being representative of a nostalgic connection with it’s real-life counterpart, and thereby challenging our previous assumptions about Blanco’s use of vintage synthesisers purely as an attempt to create unique, and thereby “authentic” sounds. However, we can hear that the sound has been digitally manipulated to create a timbre that, whilst reminiscent of a Rhodes sound, is not a direct replica of one. Combined with the way that Blanco layers this sound with other synthesised sounds, he creates a sense of playing with ideas of nostalgia and newness, both of which are key lyrical themes. This example then, reinforces our understanding of how Blanco’s unique combination of analogue instruments and digital workflow is used to create his unique sound.
In conclusion, we can see the songs ‘Diamonds’ and ‘Teenage Dream’ as reflective of Blanco’s approach to production and the influence of technostalgia upon his sound: a unique amalgamation of analogue equipment and sounds combined with digital workflows, practices and manipulations. In his selection of equipment and sounds we find a connection with the unique sonic characteristics of the synthesisers as they represent and connect with notions of both nostalgia and their ability to create unique, synthetic, sonic spaces. Tied in to this process we also find connections to disc culture’s emphasis on uniqueness and originality as markers of authenticity.
Footnotes:
(1) Blanco uses “tons” of plug-ins including the Decapitator, PitchBender and Echo Boy plug-ins made by Sound Toys, the Echo Farm plug in by Line 6 and the Sausage Fattener made by Dada Life as well as plug-ins made my Vengeance and the plug-ins that come bundled with Pro Tools created by AIR (Tingen 2012).
(2) As Tingen (2012) has documented, Blanco’s extensive keyboard collection includes over 50 instruments including a Roland Juno 60, a Juno 106 and a Sequential Cicuits Six-Track. Many of the keyboards were originally very basic models or “toy” instruments which he often modifies to create a jack output. These include a Casio VL1, Suzuki Omnichord and the Yamaha PSR-100, famous as the model that helped to create the sound for Katy Perry’s ‘Teenage Dream’. Amongst his collection there are also vintage analogue instruments like the Korg Polysix and Roland Saturn 09 as well as modern additions like the Teenage Engineering OP1 and the Access Virus.
(3) Further discussion about the potential meanings of “the real thing” are found later on.
(4) Unpacking this phrase can be quite difficult as the true meanings behind it are impossible to know for sure without asking further questions. The “real thing” might suggest a romantic or nostalgic attachment to these old instruments as being endowed with a inextricable connection to the performance and live culture authenticates discussed previously. However, taken in the context of Blanco’s other comments regarding his digital workflow and sound manipulations, we see that this is not the case. Rather, we can look at a different view as to what “real” means in this context.
(5) Although both the vocals and the chords echo at the same rate, a quarter note delay, which is suggestive of a sense that the two sound sources are occupying the same space, the vocal is treated with a ping-pong delay to make it move across the stereo image. The resulting effect is to create a very clear, no-fi sense of contrived space
(6) Pallett (2014) has suggested that by centring the melody line around the tonic of the song’s scale but by denying the listener the I chord that the song creates a sense of Perry’s voice being central to the song, whilst the rest of the song oscillates around her and thereby creating a sense of suspension and movement.
Bibliography
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BENNETT, S., 2012. Endless analogue: situating vintage technologies In the contemporary recording & production workplace. Journal on the art of record production, 1(7), [viewed 7 March 2014]. Available from: http://arpjournal.com/2143/endless-analogue-situating-vintage-technologies-in-the-contemporary-recording-production-workplace/
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PINCH, T. and D. REINECKE, 2009. Technostalgia: how old gear lives on in new music. In: K. BIJSTERVELD and J. DIJCK, eds. Sound souvenirs: audio technologies, memory and cultural practices. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. pp.152-66
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Videos:
Analogue gadgets back in fashion in a digital age, 2010 [online video]. Presented by: L. J. RICH. UK: BBC [viewed 22 March 2014]. Available from: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/programmes/click_online/8710938.stm
Benny Blanco - Behind the Scenes Documentary, 2011 [online video]. Produced by J. GILLAM. USA: Sight and Sound: Documentary. Available from: http://vimeo.com/20104704
In the studio with Benny Blanco - WSJ interview, 2012 [online video]. USA: WSJ Live [viewed 22 March 2014]. Available from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YnHofSA0CKE
Synth Britania, 2009 [online video]. Directed by B. WHALLEY. UK: BBC [viewed 23 March 2014]. Available from: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=69Wjc6QYuKI
Discography:
PERRY, K., 2010. Teenage Dream [MP3]. UK: Capitol
RIHANNA, 2012. Diamonds [MP3]. UK: Def Jam
TOTO, 1982. Africa [MP3]. UK: Sony
Appendix A
To Blanco, using analogue synthesisers brings with them another major benefit: the physical manipulation of the sound through “faders and buttons” which he finds “very inspiring” (Tingen 2012). Here we find a direct correlation with the work of Pinch and Reinecke (2009, pp.156-7) who document the same appeal for tactile control over the instrument by the musicians they interviewed for their study. However, they fail to address the implications of modern MIDI hardware controllers and their ability to provide tactile control for software synthesisers as well as failing to explore more deeply the reasoning for a preference for tactile control over the other forms of control available within the DAW and digital workflows. MIDI controllers, like those made by Novation (Novation n.d.), allow for the direct manipulation of digital parameters with assignable tactile controls like buttons, faders and knobs. Also, Inglis (2011) has demonstrated that there are available a wide range of ways to automate and control the parameters of digital instruments as well as recorded sounds within the DAW. However, we also must consider the limitations of computer interaction to one handed operation with the mouse and pointer as apposed to the possibility of multiple contact and control points available through hardware interaction. Whilst this is a worthy angle of discussion, when we consider that Blanco has expressed his preference for not using software synthesisers due to their sonic qualities alone, it is possible to assume that their ability to be controlled in a tactile way is not of consequence to him. Whilst it is possible that this would not be the case for other musicians and producers, this study focusses on Blanco’s production practices and so this avenue of exploration has been omitted from this study.
Turning then to the notion of tactile controls as preferable, we can explore further possible explanations for this expressed preference by Blanco and the musicians studied by Pinch and Reinecke (2009). L. J. Rich (Analogue Gadgets Back In Fashion In A Digital Age 2010), has suggested that the appeal of analogue interfaces and interactions draws from inherent human nature: the endless possibilities of the analogue workings of the human body which interact with the “digital” workings of the on and off firing of neurones in the brain. Her suggestion is that it is the inherent “analogue” interface that our bodies provides to the digital brain that creates the appeal for the tactile qualities of analogue interfaces. We can consider here the wide range of works undertaken to try to understand the different ways in which people learn and process information. Zhang et al. (2011, p.1) have documented how over the past eight decades many scholars have tried to explain ideas of “intellectual styles” as they relate to “distinctive personality types or types of behaviours”. The Visual-Auditory-Kinesthetic (VAK) model (Bandler and Grinder cited in Chan 2011, p.379) is one such way in which these differences in “intellectual styles” have been understood. “Kinesthetic learners are likely to be active learners who prefer to do practical tasks and activities” (Chan 2011, p.379) and so, we can wonder if the appeal of the interactive analogue interface with its tactile controls is really as universal as Rich would have us imagine, or if in fact, it is appealing to those who would demonstrate aspects of a kinaesthetic learning style. Sadly, further progress down this theme of research is not possible within the scope of t. his study as it would require further research and far more comprehensive exposition than is allowed within the word limit of this article.
Appendix B
Lady Gaga: Constructing Authenticity (Academic Presentation)
The assignment brief was to discuss notions of authenticity in relation to a pop star of my choice through a powerpoint presentation and presentation script. I chose to focus on Lady Gaga's performance at the iTunes Festival and explored a range of ideas surrounding how authenticity is constructed. For this assignment I received an A3 mark.
To keep the files small, I have separated out the video clips in to the separate files below:
Rihanna — Unapologetic (Academic Essay)
“We first met her [Rihanna] in 2005 as a beauty bathed in the light of her native Barbados... and she quickly started growing into her budding pop stardom... . Since February 8, 2009, when her life changed at the angry hands of Chris Brown, she's become increasingly rebellious: depressed and furious..., ready to reclaim her party-hearty sassiness..., and dirty-as-fuck... . Back in 2007, at 19 years old, Rihanna proclaimed that she was a Good Girl Gone Bad; now she's doing her damnedest to live out that prophecy.” (Ganz 2012)
As Spin Magazine’s album review articulates so clearly, Rihanna is an artist who has been presented within a range of genres over the past 7 years. She has embraced a range of musical styles and has challenged notions of genre and the expectations associated with them. Through analysing the marketing of her 7th studio album, Unapologetic in comparison to the musical content of the album it will be possible to raise questions about genre construction and its limitations.
Frith (1998) draws from the work of Fabbri in arguing that genre is constructed by “a definite set of socially accepted rules” that fall under 5 headings. Formal and technical rules are those which govern the musical production and performance. Semiotic rules refer to the way meaning is conveyed. Behavioural rules, although sometimes hard to distinguish from semiotic rules, describe “performance rituals”. Social and ideological rules describe how a musical community relates to the world around it. Finally, commercial and juridical rules refer to a genre’s relationship to its means of production and promotion.
Musically, there is a difficulty in establishing a “home musical style” (Tagg 2012, p.523) to Unapologetic and therefore there is also difficulty in establishing which elements serve as “genre synecdoche” and which serve as a “style flag” for the “home musical style”. Tagg suggests that if a synecdoche is used frequently enough it may no longer sound foreign to the home stye and may it’s self become an indicator of style.
Opening track ‘Fresh Off The Runway’ is produced by David Guetta and The-Dream. Vocals and beats are chopped and mixed with digital slow downs as if being mixed live by DJs using the Laptops/CDs that have become common in place of the older vinyl decks. In his review for Billboard, Hampp (2012) claims that “opening with a straight-up hip-hop track produced by the biggest name in EDM quickly sets the tone” for the album.
The album is laced with synthesisers: the instrumental hallmark of the EDM genre (Butler 2006). From the straight up, 130bpm, club banger ‘Right Now’ (which again features David Guetta) to the slower ballads of ‘Diamonds’ and ‘What Now’ the album is heavily reliant on electronic instrumentation. However, instrumentation is not exclusively electronic. ‘Stay’ relies almost entirely on a piano and ‘What Now’ and ‘Diamonds’ also feature one prominently. We also hear the inclusion of guitars in ‘Love Without Tragedy / Mother Mary’, ‘No Love Allowed’ and “Loveeeeeee Song”.
There are a few songs on the album that stand out as belonging to a particular musical style. ‘Right Now’ is the only obvious EDM track on the album. ‘Nobody’s Business’ also sits in a dance music tradition. Through it’s Michael Jackson sample and less technological sounding instrumentation sits more comfortably within the disco style which Ventura (2012, p.67) describes as “a catchy hook above a regular, strong beat” with vocals adding “high soaring melodies”. ‘Jump’ features prominently the wobbling bass lines and drops of Dubstep (Ventura 2012, p.129). ‘No Love Allowed’, with it’s palm muted guitars, dub echoes and emphasis on the off beat is reminiscent of reggae (Ventura 2012, p.68-9). ‘Numb’ stands out as the only track to feature the hip hop stalwart of rap (Ventura 2012, p.82), an addition that comes from the featuring of Eminem.
Structurally, songs fit to a strophic form (Duckworth 2012 p.379), tying the songs in to the formal and technical rules of pop music (Middleton 1999). Tempo’s vary, but only two fall in to the standard tempo shared by tracks from the EDM genre of between 120-150bpm that Butler (2006, p.34) describes.
Despite the instrumentation lending its self to a classification within the EDM genre, given the lack of dance music structures and tempos and instead, the prominence of a wider range of musical styles, the album does not sit easily within that classification. Instead, there are a range of intertextual references within the musical production that bring with them not just the sounds of the genre they come from but also all their associated ideals and expectations.
If there was any clearer indication of the discomfort with which Unapologetic sits within any single genre it is the way new sub-genre descriptions emerge and amalgamations of genre labels are used within reviews. NME coin the term “Swag pop” (Martin 2012) where as Billboard amalgamate three genres with “urban, dubstep-leaning R&B” (Hampp 2012) and go for a softening of the strict R&B description in favour of “urban, R&B-friendly” instead. The Guardian goes in to genre-overload, referencing 4 different genres within the first 2 sentences. “Her seventh album in seven years is all filthy lyrics and crashing dubstep drops: R&B-pop turned up to 11” says Rodgers (2012) where “turned to 11” is an unmistakeable reference to the rock-parody Spinal Tap.
Looking at the the album cover (fig. 1) it is possible to understand semiotic aspects of the album. The cover depicts Rihanna naked, posed provocatively and staring at the camera. The photo is obscured by graffitied words and shapes. Her gaze is on the viewer, but her eyes are partially obscured by the added graffiti. In the photograph, we see her from the waist up, which suggests that we are being encouraged to feel close to Rihanna within an intimate social proximity (Machin 2010, p.42). The viewer is to feel engaged in her sexual provocation and intimacy, but kept back by the graffiti.
The graffiti that obscures her body is written in the style of magic marker graffiti, made with a wide-tipped pen, that became synonymous with Hip Hop Culture (Price 2006 p.28-9). The use of hashtags references the link between the album and social network twitter. In NME’s review of the album, the link is stated clearly: “In the age of Twitter, the gap between pop stars’ personal lives and the music they make is more blurred than ever. Never more so than on Rihanna’s seventh album.” (Martin 2012)
The semiotic communication of the album sleeve is clear: We are to see Rihanna as a strong, sexually empowered artist. She plays on the overtly sexualised image of “overexposed young black female flesh” (Sharpley-Whiting 2007, p.11) that has become synonymous with the hip hop genre and uses that as a display of strength, artistry and perceived intimacy.
To promote the album release, Rihanna, along with over 200 band members, journalists and fans embarked on the ‘777’ tour: 7 shows in 7 countries over 7 days. Billed as a “rock and roll” experience, this was not an attempt to fit Rihanna’s music in to the formal and technical rules of rock and roll (Frith 1998 p.91-93) but rather, through implied semiotic and behavioural reference to the genre, take advantage of its commercial and juridical expectations and incorporate them in to the global brand surrounding Rihanna. (For further analysis, see appendix A)
Unapologetic is released under the Def Jam records - a “hip-hop and r&b label” (Def Jam 2009). HMV Online (2012) categorises the album in “rnb & soul” which they place under “dance / urban”. iTunes classify it under “pop”. Billboard covers the ‘777’ tour under their “hip-hop and r&b” section ‘The Juice’. Although there is some discrepancy in the categorisation of the album, there is a general consensus towards its categorisation within a commercial sphere (as popular music) as well as being broadly considered as “urban” including her placement in the R&B Chart which comes under the “Urban” Chart category (Official Charts Company).
There is a clear leaning towards the labelling of Rihanna as a “pop star” - Pitchfork (Hooper 2012), NME (Martin 2012) and Spin (Ganz 2012) talk about her directly in those terms, where as billboard talks about “pop music” and “pop ballads” (Hampp 2012). There is also clear recognition that Rihanna is a performer who is globally “popular”, making albums and singles that sell in vast quantities (Lane 2012).
Hess (2007) argues that “hip hop is unique among popular music forms in the extent to which its artists confront the commercial nature of their music”. From the semiotic “bling” to the open lyrical celebration of wealth (which Unapologetic draws from openly in the track ‘Pour It Up’) Hip Hop is a genre that has openly embraced it’s commerciality. In painting Rihanna’s success with brush of hip hop, she is endowed with the ability to celebrate her commerciality whilst maintaining authenticity as an artist.
In conclusion, we see that genre construction is not a set of clearly defined, unchangeable rules. Instead, there are blurred boundaries between genres, the rules of which are being constantly re-examined and changed over time. Whilst we can find it helpful to talk in broad terms to find ways with which to understand the music we are listening to and the social context it appears in, it may well be that, as Negus (1999 p.29) argues, although genre is constructed through social consensus, it is actually most useful to the people who want to sell us something.
Bibliography
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SHARPLEY-WHITING, T., 2007. Pimps up, ho's down: hip hop's hold on young black women. London: New York University Press
TAGG, P., 2012. Music’s meanings: a modern musicology for non‐musos [online]. Huddersfield: MMMSP [viewed 29 November 2012]. Available from: http://www.tagg.org
WARNER, T., 2003. Pop music: technology and creativity: Trevor Horn and the digital revolution. Aldershot: Ashgate
Appendix A
The ‘777’ tour was described by Elle magazine as a “rock and roll fantasy” (Ellen 20012), Rolling Stone call it “a rock & roll fantasy camp” (Rosenthal 2012), The Quietus describe it as “proper rock star flamboyance, excess and glamour” (Rogers 2012) and Billboard quote Rihanna as calling the experience “a random rock & roll tour” (Ramirez 2012). If the tour is purposefully evocative of rock and roll tours, the question has to be raised as to why an album in which a guitar can barely be heard is being promoted in this way?
Rock has traditionally been thought of as being a genre that has valued the notion of the album as a body work, and has such sold albums in greater units than Pop music which has focussed on the single (Warner 2003, p.4). By referencing rock and roll through the tour, the album is linked to the genre and the accompanying expectations of the “rock album” as an artistic body of work as well as its commercial success. Popjustice argues that “this whole ’777 tour turns into anarchy’ thing fits perfectly with her rude girl popstar persona” (O’Mance 2012).
Factory Records and Stereotypes of Independent Record Labels (Academic Essay)
Independent record labels are commonly defined through their antithesis to overtly commercial major labels. “This sense of polarisation has placed independent companies in a romantic position as champions and guarantors of authenticity in popular music.” (Wall 2003, p.99). Major labels are seen to be safe and standardised; operating through conventional practices and driven by profit. In contrast to that, independent labels are stereotyped as facilitators of new artists and their “unmediated art” (Cavanagh cited by Fonarow 2001, p.35); operating closely within a local scene and through unconventional business practices. Through examining the foundation of Factory Records in 1978 (24 Hour Party People 2002) and it’s subsequent output, it is possible to evaluate the validity of these assumptions.
Tony Wilson founded Factory with much of the “radical” (Wall 2003, p.99) spirit associated with the stereotype of independent labels. Ogg (2009, p.312) describes a “loose embrace of conventional business models” including a famous avoidance of paper based contracts. In an interview with Anthony Fyfe (2007) in Q Magazine, Wilson describes the first 50/50 pay deal contract which he signed in his own blood: “The central feature of the contract, which caused us disruption later, was the phrase ‘The musicians own everything, the company owns nothing, all our groups have the right to fuck off.’”
Factory was founded with a clear sense of identity in it’s location of Manchester. Ogg (2009 p.320) quotes the journalist and musician Cath Carrol: “It [Factory] was as much a part of the bricks and industry of the city as it was entertainment.” This theme of identity and Factory’s embodiment of working class values in the North East of England would become extended in to the opening of Haçienda nightclub. This would lead to Factory being placed in the centre of the international phenomenon “Madchester” (The Telegraph 2007).
We start to see a dichotomy to Factory and it’s relationship with the stereotypes of independence. Stephen Lee (cited by Wall 2003, p.101) “argues that the idea of ‘independence’ allows record company staff to take part in the construction of cultural communities in which the label will become a signifier for alternative values with a subculture of music fans (Lee 1995).” Factory conforms to the stereotypical assumption of independent companies being “closer to the street” that Wall (2003 p.99) asserts. But, whilst Factory was part of the cultural community of Manchester it also found success in a wider setting.
The success of acts like New Order and The Happy Mondays challenges the stereotypical assumptions that independent companies are set up as part of “anti-capitalist, and pro-counter-culture position” (Wall 2003, p.98). New Order and The Happy Mondays accumulated five top 40 UK singles (including New Order’s number one hit World in Motion in 1990) and five top 10 albums. (Official Charts Company n.d.). Both bands also found international success accumulating 7 singles in the Billboard Hot 100 between them (Billboard n.d.).
Negus (1996, p.43) argues that many independent companies are not making and releasing material out of political or counter-cultural motivation, but rather as part of their commitment to their own financial success as part of the music industries as a whole. Whilst some of Factory’s output achieved commercial success, the company was established as an antithesis to the corporate cultures it saw in major labels. It’s archetypal eschewing of conventional business practice in favour of artistry and innovation validates many of the clichés through which we understand independence.
In spite of its commercial success, Factory was not driven by a brazen need for economic gain. Wilson is quoted in The Telegraph (2007) as saying, “You either make money... or you make history”. Arthur Baker, co-writer of Thieves Like Us (1984), is quoted by Nice (2010 p.244) as ruing that the song could have been a “monster single” but the band’s refusal to edit it down was indicative of their obstinance towards mainstream culture.
“It [Factory] was run in such a way that gave space for human beings to be themselves, not geared up to some corporate idea or schedule. ... I’d had talks with record companies, and found they were bloody awful and I hated them. So Factory wasn’t a record company, it was just a group of people with some mad ideas, the imagination to have the mad ideas, and the balls to commit themselves to the things they’d dreamt up.” (Vini Reilly cited by Ogg 2009, pp.321-2)
In his interview with Fyfe (2007), Wilson describes how, due to the 50/50 pay split and the cost of the Saville designed single sleeve, Blue Monday lost Factory 2p for every copy sold. “I didn’t want to make money” Wilson said. But money was being made and vast amounts of money were being spent in what Ogg (2009, p.334) describes as “unabated decadence”. £30,000 was spent on a board room table, £400,000 was spent on New Order recording Republic in Ibiza and Factory’s estate was valued in the region of £2.5 million.
Factory breaks from the stereotypical small budgets and limited resources associated with independent labels (Fonorow 2001 p.37). But with vast sums of money being spent on artistic endeavours without conventional business practice behind them, in 1992, Factory went in to receivership with debts of £2.5 million (The Telegraph 2007). Alan Mcgee is quoted by Keith Cameron in NME (1994): “There’s only two things that happen with independent labels... you either get bought out or die. And that’s it. There is no middle ground” (Hesmondhalgh 1999, p.51). The ‘burn-out or sell-out’ stereotype of independence is fulfilled in the story of Factory.
In conclusion, Factory’s relationship with stereotypes of independence are varied. It’s artistic output, radical spirit and deep sense of identity in it’s location demonstrate a company that fits the oppositional force to major labels that independent companies are held up to be. Even though Factory’s financial extravagance would eventually lead to its demise, its commercial success challenges the small-scale, rough and ready stereotypes derived from guitar driven punk and indie labels (Wall 2003, p.98).
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Videos:
24 hour party people: the factory records saga, 2002 [online video]. UK: Channel 4 [viewed 20 October 2012]. Available from: http://mycourse.solent.ac.uk/streamvid/videoplayer.php?flv_url=ContentLocal-MP4/3726_4s~tctfzyql.mp4&title=24%20hour%20party%20people:%20the%20Factory%20Records%20saga&broadcast=CH4,%2008/04/02