Live and Let Live

Why is it that supporters of live music cannot do unto recorded music as they would have done to themselves? Last month saw the publication of the UK Live Music Census, which offers an excellent examination of live music in Britain. This campaigning document has a tightrope to walk. On the one hand, it wants politicians to listen. Therefore, it makes a case for the great economic value of live music. The sector is described as ‘one of the real success stories of the past decade’. Seeking to confirm this, the census focuses on three towns, calculating the millions of pounds that their live music scenes contribute to the UK economy as well as the thousands of jobs that they provide. On the other hand, the report is concerned about an industry under threat. It is particularly focused on small venues and the ‘“perfect storm” of issues at present which is affecting their long-term viability and sustainability’. And it wants to campaign for remedies.

            The activism in this sector has been worthwhile. The introduction of ‘agent of change’ legislation is a case in point. One factor that has affected British venues in recent years has been a rise in noise complaints, particularly from the occupiers of new buildings that have been erected in town and city centres. Live music activists have encouraged the British government to introduce this new legislation. The principle of ‘agent of change’ is that ‘the person or business responsible for the change is responsible for managing the impact of the change’. In respect of live music, this means that property developers have to bear the soundproofing costs if they construct new apartments near existing venues. Conversely, if a new venue opens in a residential area, it would have to pay for any soundproofing required. The UK Live Music Census adds weight to this cause by undertaking a comprehensive, detailed and thought-provoking survey. In addition, its data and feedback prompt further recommendations for the government and local authorities: business rates should be addressed so that small venues do not face crippling and disproportionate increases; licensing laws should be amended so that younger audiences are able to attend gigs at these venues; parking restrictions should be liberated to ensure that bands can load and unload their gear; venues should be funded to help preserve the Britain’s live music traditions.

            I agree with all of this. What I find more problematic, however, is that live music is promoted by putting recorded music down. This point is argued in respect of the music’s social worth. The report states:

Many of the respondents commented on the difference between the live music and the recorded music experience, often to say that the former is somehow ‘better’ than the latter. For some, this is because of the uniqueness of the experience, because unlike with recorded music, the performance is different each time. The uniqueness of the performance also means that in an increasingly mediated world, the experience is authentic; it cannot be repeated. Part of the reason for this sense of unrepeatable authenticity is because the performer-audience interaction is a fundamental part of the experience. The live music event allows audiences to inhabit the same physical space as the artist, sometimes even to meet them in person.

But is the gig going experience really always good for society? The unique ‘aura’ of the live event and the adoration of stars could be considered unhealthy. It places art on a pedestal and encourages a divide between creators and their followers. Walter Benjamin famously welcomed the liberation provided by recorded media, noting its ability to democratise artistic practice by making the work more accessible in space and time. (For my own take on this, see ‘The Aura Restorer’.)

            In addition to its social bias, the UK Live Music Census is partisan when it comes to music’s economic worth. It proclaims the victories of live music at the expense of the record industry. The report notes that ‘Live music revenue overtook recorded music revenue in the UK in 2008’, referencing a PRS for Music report by Will Page and Chris Carey, and adds that ‘since 2014 UK Music has published figures in its now annual Measuring Music report that appear to suggest that live music is now consistently the largest generator of revenue in the UK’s music industries’.

            Live music income has definitely grown in this century and the fortunes of recorded music have declined. Nevertheless, as I have written elsewhere ('Sympathy for the Mechanical' and 'Measuring the Measuring'), the economic comparisons that have been drawn between the two sectors are problematic. The PRS for Music reports do not compare like with like. Their recorded music figures are restricted to business-to-consumer ‘payments for physical music products, downloads-to-own and subscriptions’. Their live music totals are more expansive. As well as documenting the income from ticket sales by agents and venues, they include secondary ticketing and ancillary spend. The UK Music figures can be questioned too. Although their recorded music totals do include business-to-business income, they are still narrow in comparison to the live music figures, which feature the ‘total spend’ at gigs and festivals (including food and beverage sales, merchandise, parking costs, camping fees, etc.) as well as total ticket sales and the sponsorship of events. These live music figures also include the income of music promoters, music agents, production services and ticketing agents, whereas the income for retailers and distributors is discounted from the recorded music figures. Moreover, UK Music does not, in fact, posit the live sector as generating the most income. This accolade goes instead to ‘musicians, composers, songwriters and lyricists’.

            How are these artists getting paid? The UK Live Music Census adds some distortions of its own. Its authors argue that ‘live music is now more economically significant than recorded music for musicians’. The results from their questionnaire show that professional musicians earn, on average, 49% of their income from performing, 3% from recording, and 4% from composing; semi-professionals earn 23% from performing, 2% from recording, and 1% from composing; and that amateurs earn 23% from performing, 2% from recording, and nothing from composing. It is wrong, however, to suggest that these figures are indicative of musicians as a whole. The census took place at live music venues. What would the answers have been if it had been compiled at recording studios or at songwriters’ bootcamps?

            In a similar manner, the authors argue that ‘the census data suggests that spend on tickets for live music events now forms a greater proportion of consumer spend on music than recorded music’. Their figures demonstrate that 47% of respondents spent more than £20 on tickets for concerts or festivals each month and that only 25% spend the same amount on recorded music. But the authors were asking people at gigs. It is doubtful that the figures would have been the same if they had been compiled in record shops, or even if they were solicited from people in the comfort of their homes.

            Moreover, while these comparisons are unfair on recorded music, they also say little about live music’s economic dilemma: how to account for the discrepancy between the economic riches of the live music sector and the economic woes of many of those working in the field? Although the report is centred on small venues, it has room for concern about promoters, 50% of whom complain that ‘the cost of paying bands had an extreme, strong or moderate negative impact on their events in the past 12 months’. However, these musicians also have monetary troubles. Although the census report maintains that live music income is more important for musicians than their advances and royalties, the findings also demonstrate that 68% of musicians have encountered ‘stagnating pay’ for their gigs and find it difficult to bring in a viable income. On top of this, two-thirds of musicians have performed for no fee in the past 12 months, while 16% have been asked to pay to play.

The report pays less attention to those who are prospering from live music. Moreover, it does not suggest that they should help fund the venues, promoters and musicians who are suffering from low rates of pay. Instead it asks for ‘the wider music industries (including recording and publishing, possibly via the UK Music network) to support musicians and smaller venues beyond current support; for example, by subsidising emerging artist fees and/or providing venue infrastructure’. And so recorded music has its uses after all.

The suggestion is not unwarranted. Record companies probably should provide support for live music. The fortunes of the two fields should not be contrasted; they should instead be viewed as intertwined. Live music continues to drive the sales and use of recordings, just as recorded music continues to drive ticket sales for gigs. This should not however absolve the live music industry from its own responsibilities. As the census notes, ‘the largest entertainment company in the world, Live Nation Entertainment, owns both the largest live music promoter in the world, Live Nation Concerts, and the biggest ticketing company in the world, Ticketmaster’. Its CEO Michael Rapino is number one in Billboard’s notorious power 100 for 2018, marking him as the leading figure in the music industries. Maybe it’s time to phone him up and ask him for some wealth distribution.

The Aura Restorer

If the ‘aura’ of recorded music is complex, the aura of live popular music performance is even more so. This all stems from the fact that recordings are no longer doing the job of recording. They do not reproduce existing events; they are events in themselves. ‘Accordingly’, as Sarah Thornton noted, records have ‘shifted from being a secondary or derivative form to a primary, original one’. This has had a knock-on effect for performance. Where records once sought to recreate the acts of performers, performance is now secondary to recording.

Walter Benjamin claimed ‘that which withers in the age of mechanical reproduction is the aura of the work of art’. He proposed two ways in which reproductions have democratic potential. They escape the cult or originals (offering instead ‘a plurality of copies’) and they break with tradition (rather than being tied to a specific place or time, they could ‘meet the beholder or listener in his own particular situation’). Live performance reverses both processes. Fans experience a unique event and they are tied to its co-ordinates. On top of that, they attend gigs to experience the ‘aura’ of stars. They willingly fall under their ‘phoney spell’.

It looks, therefore, as though live performance will undo all the good, democratising work of reproduction. This is not quite the case, however. And this is because records come first. Audiences take their knowledge and experience of records with them when they go to see a live act. This complicates the experience. Take the following quote, for example. In 1963, a Beatles fan was asked why she and other girls screamed throughout the band’s performances. She replied: ‘We came to see the Beatles. We can hear them on records. Anyway, we might be disappointed if we heard them in real life’.

This is profoundly philosophical. It also cuts through so much of the bullshit about live music. In witnessing a band live, the actual quality of the music is not the priority. What matters, if you want it, is the aura of being in the same room as that band. Even then, though, the real love is not for the act, it is for their records. So why bother going to see the band at all?

What makes it worthwhile is the communal experience of gathering with other fans. It is a chance to make transform a private listening experience into a public event. The deep knowledge of the recorded music has an outlet. That knowledge can now be shared, along with the passion, belief and fantasies that have accumulated. And this doesn’t apply solely to girl fans screaming at their teen idols, it applies to every live music experience that takes as its starting point the popularity of the artist’s recordings. The greatest live performers know this too. Take Prince, for example. If any performer deserved star treatment he did. He had the songs, the talent, the vision and the charisma. And yet he toyed with all of this. Knowing that the real action was taking place in the auditorium, his shows were not centred on his acceptance of the fans’ devotion, but on the playful giving of that devotion.

            The Beatles’ quote comes from Electric Shock, Peter Doggett’s monumental history of pop music. Later in the same book he contemplates the popularity of tribute bands. In the process he condemns the ‘vast audience for whom it barely matters whether they are witnessing an authentic pop idol or a workmanlike facsimile: all they want is the chance to relive some precious pop memories’.

Doggett’s denigration is misplaced. Witnessing a tribute band can be superior to the experience of seeing the ‘real’ act. It is also, in some ways, truer to the relationship that the fan has with recorded music. Conventional live performance restores something of the ‘domain of tradition’. Rather than experiencing art democratically, as fans have done with recordings, fans can become overwhelmed by the presence of the stars. Tribute bands, instead, offer a reproduction of reproductions. They are there to recreate the hit records, the famous TV appearances and/or the ‘live’ performances that have been witnessed on film. It is precisely because they aren’t the real thing that they set the fans free.

And then there’s karaoke . . . 

The Removal of Approval

The technique of reproduction detaches the reproduced object from the domain of tradition. By making many reproductions it substitutes a plurality of copies for a unique existence. And in permitting the reproduction to meet the beholder or listener in his own particular situation, it reactivates the object reproduced. These two processes lead to a tremendous shattering of tradition which is the obverse of the contemporary crisis and renewal of mankind.

Walter Benjamin, The Work of Art in the Age of Mechanical Reproduction (1936)

For Walter Benjamin ‘that which withers in the age of mechanical reproduction is the aura of the work of art’. He believed that audiences feel overwhelmed and inhibited when in the presence of an original artwork. On top of that, they feel that curators and aesthetes are setting the conditions for their appreciation. In contrast, when dealing with a reproduction of the same artwork, the audience can have a direct and involved relationship. They meet it on their own terms. They choose the time and place in which to hear or see the reproduction. They don’t feel the need to seek approval for what they feel about it; they have their own jurisdiction. Benjamin argued that:

Mechanical reproduction of art changes the reaction of the masses toward art. The reactionary attitude toward a Picasso painting changes into the progressive reaction toward a Chaplin movie. The progressive reaction is characterized by the direct, intimate fusion of visual and emotional enjoyment with the orientation of the expert.

He was right. And that is why we keep going back to him. We also come back because his thesis includes some head-spinning stuff. Benjamin argued that reproduction shatters aura, but he also claimed that reproduction facilitates its return. Ramping up the complexity, he suggested that this return provides a different type of aura. Benjamin’s essay is focused primarily on film production. He noted that:

The film responds to the shriveling of the aura with an artificial build-up of the ‘personality’ outside the studio. The cult of the movie star, fostered by the money of the film industry, preserves not the unique aura of the person but the ‘spell of the personality’, the phony spell of a commodity.

This is the only time in the Work of Art essay that Benjamin discusses commodification in pejorative terms. Mass manufacture is liberating; mass promotion is not. It bewitches us.

These processes happen in music too. Records make music ordinary: they render expensive productions cheap and these productions become part of our everyday lives. The music industries want records to be un-ordinary. They want us to fetishise recordings so that we feel the need to own them (or at least this was the record business model in pre-digital times). They do so through their star-making machinery. They promote their performers because they want us to become invested in them.

Benjamin saw this much, but he was less alert to the fact that fans re-create aura too. His essay is centred on the idea that mass manufacture ‘reproduces’ original works of art. With recorded music, however, this soon ceased to be the case. As Sarah Thornton noted:

Initially, records transcribed, reproduced, copied, represented, derived from and sounded like performances. But, as the composition of popular music increasingly took place in the studio rather than, say, off stage, records came to carry sounds and musics that neither originated in nor referred to actual performances … Accordingly, the record shifted from being a secondary or derivative form to a primary, original one.

As a result, records ‘accrued their own authenticities’. Thornton claimed that:

Recording technologies did not, therefore, corrode or demystify ‘aura’ as much as disperse and re-locate it. Degrees of aura came to be attributed to new, exclusive and rare records. In becoming the source of sounds, records underwent the mystification usually reserved for unique art objects.

Although record companies eventually cottoned on to this practice, it was audiences who undertook this attribution first. They developed the art of record collecting.

A record embodies two creations: there is the creation of the sound recording and there is the creation of the product that houses the sound recording. Sound recording became ‘primary’ rather than ‘derivative’ and this is what prompted fans to restore aura. It was, however, the product that enabled this restoration to take place. The restoration of aura is therefore diffuse. It comes back via the worship of stars and via the worship of objects.

The restoration is also incomplete. A fan might be in awe of a star, but that aura is accumulated in the fan’s ‘particular situation’ – it is developed through the purchase of reproductions that are played in the fan’s own home. When a fan plays the record of a star they can indulge in a private fantasy of engagement; they do not have to suffer a public display of power. And when a fan attributes aura to a record they are not under a phony spell: they are restoring aura on their own terms. It takes the ‘orientation of the expert’ to develop a knowledge about record collecting. There is creativity rather than passivity in what is going on here. The shattered aura is re-assembled, but this building process results in something that is new.