dumb things to say to singers, revisited
I was going to do one of my occasional reader-mail forays, and then I saw that one particular post from a couple weeks ago, the one on the pointlessness of fan-artist verbal exchanges, had proved especially...is "popular" the word? Glad to have agitated. I think that I obscured the case I was making with reminiscences and warm-hearted comedic digressions, but my thinking went something like:
A produces an artistic document and B consumes it, appreciatively.
A kind of relationship between the two is thereby created. And it truly exists, but only for B.
Conversation between parties with a clear and mutually understood and acknowledged relationship -- such as buyer and seller, father and son, friend and friend, stranger and stranger -- has guidelines that are clear and understood.
Conversation between our parties A and B, entered into by one as a kind of intimate with a feeling of shared experience and by the other as a stranger, has no clear guidelines at all. A follows the guidelines applicable to strangers (politeness, caution) while B is guided by his intuitive awareness of shared experience.
Complicating the situation is that A, if professionally successful, meets hundreds if not thousands of B's each year, whom he cannot individuate.
A further complication is that A, as an artist, has a better-than-even likelihood of being abnormally touchy or neurotic; while B, as a fan who has expended some effort and borne costs to put himself in A's path, has a better-than-even likelihood of being socially maladjusted or weird.
Conversation between A and B has no clear guidelines and no clear advantage for either party. The best outcome for A is that he may be afflicted with a foolish sense of godliness; for B it is that he may leave the meeting with his illusion of intimacy pleasantly strengthened and with a good story to tell.
A and B would do just as well avoiding verbal exchange altogether. QED.
There, is that sweeter to ingest? I mean, don't make me cut the lighthearted banter and flood this page with yawn-inducing syllogisms. Because I will try, out of pure consideration, if pushed. Haven't any of you ever met me? Don't you understand how nice and affable I am about 75% of the time, hobnobbing before and after a performance? When I bother to post, it's to put forward some abstract observations on a topic that's been eating at me. It's not to say "I hate the whole world" in code.
My good friend Danny Barnes wrote something amusing on his website a few years ago. Some lowbrow-country philosophe had got within Barnes's earshot and decried Garth Brooks's lofty remoteness from his admirers: the security detail, the managers and image manipulators, the rope that separated him from his fans at the meet-and-greet. Was this any way for an Oklahoma country boy to behave toward those who loved him most? was the suggestion, along with, Aren't entertainers like Danny Barnes more true-to-life and all full of integrity than fancy-pants corporate sleazeballs like Garth Brooks?
Well, Barnes replied with a question of his own: Do you think for a minute that if I had the wherewithal to cut myself off from a pack of strangers and devote more of my attention to music and family and private thoughts, that that velvet rope wouldn't go right the hell up?
That's a brilliantly corrective kind of observation. Because it's perfectly intuitive why you shouldn't corner Bob Dylan and tell him about how you were in a jacuzzi in Santa Barbara the first time you heard "If Dogs Ran Free" or what your opinion of Al Kooper's organ tone is. The first thing wrong with this scenario is, what fearsome bodybuilder fell asleep on the job, permitting you to walk up to Bob Dylan and start chattering at him? If he snaps angrily at you and runs away, you'd not likely be surprised or take umbrage. On the contrary, you'd probably be impressed by his ordinariness: he hates being bothered by presumptuous, talkative strangers. There's no reason that should be any less true of the down-on-his-luck, Crazy Heart barroom desperado. The precariousness of his position -- he can't afford to alienate anyone, you drove all the way from Iowa -- may look to put him more in debt to his small platoon of followers, but the basis of their relationship with him is at heart the same, the odds of meaningful intercourse equally long. He's still "A," as above, with or without the velvet rope.
In his excellent book Cultural Amnesia, Clive James wrote of the prescience of Greta Garbo, who threw all her fan mail directly into the fireplace. She was present at the dawn of the mass media, as its first global female star, and she understood that media power created a brand new possibility, a relationship between people unprecedented in world history. The relationship, if I remember James's analysis right, is characterized by two fundamentals. It is an illusionary relationship; and there is no proper response the object can make to the overtures of the admirer. Any response will be misinterpreted as evidence of a relationship that isn't really there. And so into the flames!
I -- no Garbo or Dylan -- am going to keep being very nice and polite to everyone, or at least to everyone who is polite to me. But that's only because that's who I am, for better or worse. I do think Greta Garbo was right, and I do think there's a nearly impermeable boundary between performer and spectator. This is why I don't relish meeting, often go out of my way not to meet, artists I revere -- what' s to say?
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22 comments
If you're theory inclined, pick up a copy of Celebrity by Chris Rojek. It speaks to a lot of what Clive James wrote about.
Now I'm even more offended.
I'm reminded of the Steve Earle story:
Steve proclaimed in an interview that TVZ was the best songwriter in the world "And I'll stand on Bob Dylan's coffee table and shout it."
Townes, when told, said "I know Bob Dylan and his bodyguards. Steve wouldn't get anywhere near his coffee table."
I gave Fulks a listen initially because I was so intrigued by the Atlanta paper's review of a guy who wrote a song ("Roots Rock Weirdoes") insulting his core audience. I figured he must be in it for some reason far more interesting than filthy lucre.
So I consume the musical products and drive a stretch when the stars align (our sitter's at home in Nashville on summer break? hot damn!). I don't feel like I have the right or the need to consume the artist. If he doesn't reveal it on stage or in the ones and zeroes on my iPod, I guess he can keep it and should. Art's about a relationship with the art, not the artist. Dostoyevsky & Dali may have been repulsive human beings, but they created some fantastic art.
And on the subject of Dylan, a friend who works shows at the Tennessee Theatre said they had strict instructions not to make eye contact with Dylan. That's going a bit far for my taste, but I don't pay over $50 to see nobody.
There are good reasons why you don't want to meet your heroes. They will almost always disappoint you, but that has nothing to do with them and everything to do with "B". If they are standoffish or rude then they lower themselves in B's eyes. If they are everything you hoped they would be then you're left with nothing to look up to anymore. So it's lose/lose. But it's hard for B not to take the opportunity to do so even if it's going to change that relationship for the worse. Take Springsteen, my personal hero. What we all know about him is that likely we would be charmed and pleased with how down to earth and approachable he is. However, the bile that would inevitably spill from my mouth upon meeting him would no doubt make it difficult for him to respond with anything that will ultimately lead to a pleasant meeting for both of us. First of all I'd be balling my eyes out and saying things like "you saved my life", "your music means everything to me", "you're the greatest live performer ever", etc. It would be an uncomfortable situation with friends let alone strangers. That is why although I made a pilgramage to Asbury Park, NJ with many books in hand, toured all the Bruce haunts major and minor(Stone Pony, Madame Marie's, Kingsley St, etc.) I avoided going to his place in Rumson and hanging out at the gate till I got arrested. I want to keep some of the distance to avoid having the vision in my head changed to something else. Although my favorite Bruce story meeting his fans is the one I visualize when I think about it. A young fan waited after a show to get Bruce's autograph. He got it but consequently missed his bus home. Bruce noticed he was just kind of hanging around after the autographs had all been done and asked the kid why he was still hanging around. He told Bruce he'd now missed his bus home and wasn't sure how he was going to get there. Bruce gave him a ride home and when he got there the kid asked him if he'd come in and say hi to his mom because she'd never believe him if he didn't. Bruce agreed and after the kid convinced his mom that Bruce Springsteen was sitting in their kitchen she came downstairs, met him and they all had breakfast together before Bruce drove off. Now that's a hero. Or maybe just a regular guy.
We're taught that consuming = connecting. And that discerning consumption is akin to creative skill, a passport to membership in a creative community. But whatever level of inclusion you can achieve is sort of akin to pilots on the plane "letting you fly" when you're a child. There's sort of a friendly pretense between artist and consumer, or at least a basic politeness, you'd hope.
We build a network with others and create shared meaning based on similar tastes. That's why I wear the face of some musician on my chest, rather than that of my closest friend, or someone I otherwise know who is particularly aesthetic.
I understand the consumer side of the equation but it's difficult to understand the producer side of things. How much does the audience provide a context for your work? Does this idea of audience ever move beyond the en masse abstract idea of audience? Is it ever personal, and do you need to connect?
You tell stories in your songs, and sometimes the people are not you. I think we are all interested in finding others who are interested in, and able to digest our stories. How often is the ability ever so clearly articulated as with a story teller?
At best I think the line between artist and consumer should be a permeable one - not where the artist in some way belongs to his/her fans, so much as each side gets something out of the other, and it's more than money and more than a worshipful high. I'm thinking of a connected community. I am a damn hippie, though. I'd like to think that something along those lines is possible and at times takes place.
That's not to say that anything is owed to fans besides a certain graciousness. I think admiration creates a vulnerability that I hope would be respected. I recently wrote an author whose work I really admire, and I must admit, the lack of even a form letter as response was a bit crushing.
I will probably still ask you dorky questions about your banjo playing next time I see you.
Then I'll go harass Nora or Grant.
We want to become real friends with our heroes, to cross over into a building a real relationship. We want our heroes to recognize our cleverness and validate our worth. We want them to want to hang out with us, to want hear our stories and opinions. We want to contribute to the relationship, to give something back besides money, applause, and evangelism. We want to believe we can transcend the john/whore relationship into a genuine Richard Gere/Julia Roberts romance!
What, is that creepy?
I bothered Robbie the way I did because he's so effing odd. He stands out and you have to look. Hmpf. Well if he forces me to look, then I will force him to listen. Hmpf. Of course that isn't the way it works.
He is way tall, full of odd angles and he has those loping Don Martin legs. There is one ear that sticks out more. The high cheekbones. And uncommonly good hair. For as asymmetric as he is he packs a lot of charisma. My mind said Stop! I must examine this thing.
I give a shit what he thinks about my worthless opinions I just liked to sit next to him to feel his Pop Rocks weirdness and smarts prickling my awareness. I didn't have a lot to say. I was silently annoying. But I guess I should say that I am sorry I was annoying. So, yeah, Sorry Robbie. I think I am pretty much over it now and I can be normal.
Does this mean you won't ever be on Facebook?
I am stealing a disc for sure if you ever should return to Houston!
Having been introduced to you after a show in Pittsburgh I can attest to your politeness. I could tell from the look in your eyes you probably wanted nothing more that to get packed up and out of there but you still managed a convincing smile and some pleasantries.
The first time I had a conversation with Robbie, I was standing back while my friend blabbered to him and Grant about how much she liked the show. To my surprise, Robbie looked past her and asked me where I had heard the song I had requested during the show.
So there, all you losers...this "B" was approached by said "A". I win.
Funny to read this stuff when, after having hosted a house concert during which the singer's vocal style reminded me of RF's, I asked the artist if he was familiar with RF because he sounded just like him (he wasn't). Must have been the wine.
Wow, I think I have said some doozies over the years. Like when I said I liked it when you would play more of the "old songs" (stuff off CLS and South Mouth, Hillbilly Giants)in your shows, and you said, something like, that's because I'd been coming out to see you since you had one album out. In my defense I don't think I had ever approached you but to say "hi how are you, Wow, great show,(It was-Ironsides in Sacramento, sometime in the 90s)I saw you last year at the Birchmere." That started the mutual bumming of cigarettes and discussions of trying to quit, etc. Then, when I was living in Austin a friend had asked me to actually go up to the stage and talk to Lorne which ended up with me having drinks with the band and my friend and Lorne talking on my phone. The old days, as they say, when you could actually be sitting at the bar alone after your show. Now I feel some kind of weird need to check-in, say hi, pay homage even though I may have to wait in the 20 or so-deep (shudder) merch line.
Our experiences conversing with Robbie have been very enjoyable, without exception. Funny and illuminating. For us, anyway! He did write "Thanks for blinding me!" on a CD after one closeup photo opportunity, but he was just looking for something witty to write.
Or so he claimed.
As for Dylan, I got lucky. Encountered him at a cafe in 1993 and had an actual conversation. No bodyguards, no weirdness, no pack of glowing-eyed idiots who think he's Gawd. He was one of the sharpest observers I've ever met, maybe he could tell I was harmless.
The best interaction I've ever had with an artist I admire was with Debbie Harry. At a pre-show meet & greet I found Chris Stein, Tina Weymouth and Chris Franz to be friendly, accessible folks. Then Debbie walked into the barren, primitive room wearing olive green tights under a Wehrmacht officer's jacket. She carried an attitude you could cut with a chain saw. As the closest person, it was my duty to gush about how cool it was to meet her and all that crap. When I paused she silently looked me up and down like I was a side of Grade D beef. She reached into a nearby cooler, grabbed a can, turned to her assistant and said in her best Garbo voice "I've got my Fresca...let's get the HELL out of here!"
That, my friends, is s STAR.
Wow, Robbie, I am not sure what to think about all of this. I guess most...well, some...maybe a few, artists would still exist without fans, most being well meaning, I think. The fact that you are an artist and I may be a construction worker who happens to like your product is not unusual, but we are still just two folks, none better than the other (well, I may be a little better, but I am kinda special). I happen to enjoy visiting with my favorite band members after shows when the opportunity presents itself, and I find most of them to be likeable and "just another fellow" who just happens to be able to play the shit out of a guitar, fiddle, or whatever. However, after reading your posts, I am not sure I will be able to act normal (relatively speaking) anymore around said artists.
What about small talk, is that more palatable to your special breed?
I've never felt the desire to hold conversations with "famous" artists. I don't buy into the big fascination. I guess I am not easily moved and until I like you I don't like you. I'll enjoy your work and buy your shit and think you are precious and all that, but no, don't want to talk to you, thanks. I already reluctantly follow so many cumbersome laws I would rather not follow, so the non-mandatory ones ... like the Law of Admiration are out the window. I think I would rather have herpes than have to move in circles with vaunted geniuses where I am B and they are A and I have to remember who likes only organic coffee and who thinks fur is murder and who eats only the brown m&ms, etc. My Sister Mary Elephant would pop out and tell them to get over themselves.
Hi Andrea! I remember using Andrea's phone at Sprecherfest to play a birthday prank on someone. I remember the lecture I got that night, too. If it makes anybody feel better I got a good long talking-to about "bothering" Robbie. I got told from a concerned (and somewhat inebriated but vigorously well-meaning) sideman. Robbie is accessible and I think that's why he suffers. He doesn't hate his fans, but once in a while he gets weary of them. I know I would.
If a show does not go well (usually technicle difficulties) Robbie will endure me. It's almost like he thinks he that such a sacrifice might somehow appease the Fates and next time they'll let him have a good show.
Boy, I'm sure glad I told you that you and Los Lobos were my favorite artists. It's even true. You seemed to like that.
I've been ruminating about this since reading it yesterday. It is something I've thought about myself, because I do like to say a word or two to a performer after a show I've enjoyed, and my husband usually does not. But afterwards, I generally look back and think I've said something lame. (I once offered to buy Marshall Crenshaw a hamburger, which was either kind or idiotic, probably the latter. He quite politely declined.) So clearly the question becomes, what is the point?
I dunno...I guess part of it is just the impulse to say thank you. So maybe just buy the CD, say thank you, and split, huh? Sounds reasonable...
Another thing: performers benefit from the presence of the audience as a whole, because clearly it's a lot more fun to sing to a rowdy bunch of psyched-up folks who love your songs than to sing to the mirror. One of the reasons you do this, right? So it's...I guess a Jimmy Carter or Woodrow Wilson thing, loving mankind but not so much the individuals, maybe.
Here's a question for you, in case you ever comment further on this matter: I know of at least two singers, one pretty successful (as in having a record deal), who are selling everything from house concerts (perfectly reasonable) to the chance to have them to your home, where they will cook you a fabulous dinner....for a pretty, nay stunning, penny. I'd love to know what you think of that.
In fact, when I see your show again, I may ask you. You've been warned.
- sniff -
I have no doubt that enduring fan babble can be a real chore at times, but performers can be pretty damn socially retarded themselves (I'm looking at you, Jonathan Richman).
jen521, I seem to recall from the old board that you are blonde, reasonably attractive, and had a picture of your cleavage in your profile. And yet you somehow managed to get attention from a performer! Incredible!