Music is Not a Meritocracy

A lot of independent music discourse centers around the idea of “overlooked” or “under the radar” albums. The example that I notice every year is when Pitchfork releases their middle-of-the-year list of “overlooked” albums, which this year includes some of my favorites (Hand Habits, Sneaks, Kelly Lee Owens), including a couple that I wrote about specifically because I thought they weren’t likely to get attention elsewhere. This Pitchfork list always amuses me because it seems to miss the fact that, in the world of indie music, what makes a band overlooked is that they didn’t get a highly positive review or a flashy profile on Pitchfork.com.

The important thing to remember is that “overlooked” and “obscure” are media-created definitions. All music at one point just exists in the world in isolation, and it’s only media narratives and reactions that determine what music becomes “overlooked” vs. the music that becomes popular or critically acclaimed. It’s also obvious from the world of pop music that success and attention aren’t really correlated with being actually good at making music, but are instead usually determined by some sense of marketability, mass appeal, image, etc.

In independent music, critical acclaim is usually the big factor that determines if a band gets the opportunity to reach listeners and become one of those bands that makes everyone’s year-end list and is considered culturally relevant. But what goes into a band getting that acclaim instead of being one of the “overlooked” bands on the June list is almost entirely arbitrary. It’s decided by critics who write for websites that are more concerned with building a “brand” than honestly evaluating music as art, and who face myriad conflicts of interest.

The biggest issue is that sites like Pitchfork are hopelessly intertwined with the artists they’re supposed to objectively cover. An artist like St. Vincent is essentially part of their brand at this point; they feature her in news pieces and interviews all the time, driving traffic to their website, and she plays at their music festival. So even though her new song, “New York,” is dreadful, Pitchfork is going to pretend that it’s good because they make money off St. Vincent being an acclaimed artist who is synonymous with their hip young people brand.

In addition to this, just like in the world of pop, who gets covered in indie music is more about the image and marketability of an artist than their music. The difference between which band gets a coveted “Best New Music” tag and who gets something like a 7.4 is usually a matter of public relations maneuvering, an artist being friends with the writers, or it’s because the artist is particularly good at self-promotion and has a “personality” that can be sold to readers.

This all makes it sound like Pitchfork are these puppet masters who control everyone’s music taste, which maybe sounds dramatic. But it’s really not so far-fetched. I still remember when Pitchfork did a massive reader’s poll of the best albums from 1997-present, and the results were practically identical to what Pitchfork itself had declared the best albums from that time to be. They’ve created their own base of consumers who share their taste and values, and can probably convince them that almost any band is good with enough editorial work. It’s not that the artists they praise are flagrantly awful, but they are often not any better or worse than artists who get no attention at all. So people hear the artists they recommend and think “this is good,” and might not consider the other artists who could be in that spot instead.

I get asked sometimes why I care so much about the media stuff, and it’s because of that trickle-down effect. It’s undeniable that the music media has a lot of control over which bands reach listeners and which don’t, and in a world where word of mouth is everything, their recommendations set the tone for the discussion. And the more I find bands on Bandcamp or through random Spotify recommendations, the more I suspect that nothing really separates those bands from the highly-covered ones except for the opportunity to be heard and the perception that they’re not important, which is determined by corporations whose goal is to make a profit, not to help music.

Most people aren’t losers like me who have a bunch of free time to sift through Bandcamp and try to find all this uncovered music. They rely on the media to comb through the millions of releases and spotlight the stuff that is worth listening to. But right now, they’re not doing a very good job. Every site’s content is redundant and covering the same tiny swath of music (indie-but-not-too-indie music made in England and the U.S.). Just look at the year-end lists they put up and marvel at how similar they all are. With so much good music out there and given the inherent subjectivity of the medium, it’s hilarious to see everyone decide on the same 20 “best” albums. Rather than embracing the diversity in tastes and perspectives that the internet can theoretically provide, music has mostly become a monoculture where a small number of artists are celebrated and trumpeted as “important” while the rest are thrown into a pile labeled “obscure” and assumed to be oddities that don’t appeal to most listeners.

There are specific types of artists who I notice get very little coverage in today’s media landscape. The ones I like the most are artists like Emma Ruth Rundle, quieter personalities who make subtle music that isn’t politically charged and doesn’t lend itself to crafting the narrative that the media desperately craves to make their reviews seem interesting. There are bands who specialize in certain genres that the media largely ignores or actively treats with disdain, whether it’s shoegaze, goth, metal, etc. And maybe the most glaring example is all the quality artists from foreign countries who make music that is every bit as worthwhile as Americans, but go unnoticed by primarily American and British writers who are busy enough covering what’s happening on their own turf.

There is so much good music out there that it’s impossible to comprehensively cover it all, so some great artists are naturally going to get overlooked. What bothers me is that these overlooked artists are often assumed to be inferior in some way to the artists who arbitrarily get hyped by writers who are often narrow-minded and susceptible to groupthink. There is this underlying assumption in a lot of indie music conversation that this is a meritocracy, that the most talked-about bands earned their coverage because their music was undeniably good. It just isn’t true, and all you have to do is listen.

Girlpool – “Powerplant”

The first 50 seconds of Girlpool’s new album, Powerplant, sound exactly like I expect them to. Harmony Tividad and Cleo Tucker’s whispery voices interlock over soft guitar parts that are similar to their debut effort, Before the World Was Big, which wowed me back in 2015 with its minimalist style that found great power in simplicity. But then something surprising happens in the second part of “123:” a drummer comes in, there’s a loud, soaring chorus and Girlpool evolve in mid-song like a freshly leveled-up Pokemon. Similar to a level 36 Charizard, they’ve grown bigger, stronger, and even learned some new moves.

The decision to add percussion and expand the band’s sound runs an obvious risk: that, by embracing more conventional instrumentation and songcraft, Girlpool will lose what made Before the World Was Big so unique and become just another indie rock band. Tividad and Tucker are keenly aware of this, and much of Powerplant intentionally teeters on the edge of that cliff, only to be brought back to stability by surprising moments that subvert the indie rock form.

The third track, “Corner Store,” has one of those moments. It starts out as a jaunty indie pop song, erupts in a cacophony of noise out of nowhere, then abruptly switches back to the band’s usual sound as if nothing happened. It’s the most obvious example of one of the themes I got out of Before the World Was Big, which is Tucker and Tividad as these vulnerable young voices who are confronting the darkness of the real world in their music. This is emphasized even more on Powerplant, which contrasts their harmonies with noisy guitars and uses quiet/loud dynamics that wouldn’t sound out of place on a Pixies or Nirvana album.

Powerplant ends on two if its strongest tracks: “It Gets More Blue” and “Static Somewhere” both use the quiet/loud concept to full effect with big sing-along choruses and are the culmination of the band’s evolution from Juno soundtrack minimalists into full-blown rock stars. What’s really remarkable is that they pull off this transformation while losing none of what made Before the World Was Big feel so special. The harmonies of the two singers make the band still feel intimate, even when surrounded by much more noise than before.

After one listen to Powerplant, the fear of Girlpool becoming “just another band” was out the window. If anything, embracing the traditional rock style has further illuminated their strengths. There is now an even more subversive element to the band’s music as they play off indie rock tropes, and the use of dynamics helps highlight the unique presence of Tividad and Tucker. Their vulnerability, chemistry and songwriting ability ensure that everything Girlpool does will be original.

Slowdive is Too Pretty

No band has benefited more from jumping on the trendy reunion train than Slowdive. The shoegaze group, which had been inactive since the mid-90s — when they were basically run out of town by their record label and the music press — has returned to a larger audience than ever while being recast as a festival headliner. And as one of the “original” shoegaze bands (along with the also-reunited My Bloody Valentine and Ride), they’re being credited with innovating a genre that continues to influence a massive amount of current music.

This portrayal of Slowdive is odd, because I never felt like they were a particularly innovative or important band. Their most famous album, Souvlaki, came out well after MBV defined the genre with Loveless, and the band hadn’t even formed when Isn’t Anything was released. Their main innovation to the genre was removing a lot of the rough edges and tension that make MBV such a unique band and instead making music that was smooth and pretty, but much less compelling. I partially blame them for this current strand of indie music like The xx that is very concerned with being “spacious” and “chill,” to the point that the people making it sound disinterested in their own music.

Slowdive’s self-titled reunion album cements their legacy as a slightly above-average shoegaze band. It sounds very pretty and meticulously arranged, but that is part of the problem. My favorite part of shoegaze is how it can sound chaotic and beautiful at the same time when really loud guitars collide with the breathy vocals and melodies. While the genre’s name implied a passiveness on behalf of the performers, bands like MBV have a confrontational element to their music — they’re testing the audience with massive sheets of noise to see if they can find the melodies buried underneath.

Part of why I’m not so enamored with this Slowdive album is that it lives down to the derisive nickname of the genre. It’s very passive music that ends up settling in the background rather than engaging the listener. I’m not going to sit here and act like it’s terrible — the members of this band are very experienced and know how to make music in this style, and I like “Star Roving” and a couple of other songs. I’m just struggling to really care about it or feel like I need to listen to a new Slowdive album in 2017. It’s too quiet and one-note, without the tensions and contrasts that I like to hear in this style of music.

I’ll admit that I might be biased against this album, because I’m so averse to this trend of manufactured nostalgia where everyone gets hyped for some middle-tier 90s band that already had a full career arc. I don’t get this excitement for Slowdive when they have three albums and some EPs that you can listen to at any time, then formed Mojave 3 and released more albums that barely anyone cares about. I wish some of this excitement was reserved for newer bands, or even bands that were around in the 90s and have continued making music instead of breaking up then reuniting.

As for this “shoegaze revival” created by the original bands reuniting, I think it’s a misnomer. Anyone who actually listens to and likes this genre knows that it’s been alive and well for years as tons of bands have added their own spin on the formula and continued pushing it forward. While MBV’s reunion album showed that they’re still the masters of this genre, Slowdive blends in with all the other revivalists and feels unremarkable.