Monday, 4/28/97 True artistic talent lies unheeded Most people
prefer their culture safe and sane, not innovative
Why is it that mediocre artists often reap financial and
critical rewards while many great, revolutionary artists, from
Bartok and Emily Dickinson to the Velvet Underground and P.J.
Harvey, go largely unnoticed for years? Many artists highly touted
in their time have been reduced to footnotes in history books while
those who were scuttled into common graves are now immortal. This
problem has existed nearly as long as art itself, from Parisian
salons to the literary and music reviews in today’s papers. Most
have long accepted and dismissed it as one of the many cruel
ironies and inconsistencies of the entertainment world, but its
implications for modern music warrant a closer look. Take this
quandary to the street and the common answer would be, "Some folk
ain’t got no taste." But when looking at the mass adulation these
stagnant and second-rate artists receive, it seems that "some folk"
translates to "nearly all the folk." How else do you explain the
success of Vanilla Ice, the Spice Girls, trashy romance novels or
tabloid television shows? While creatures who roam the streets in
hot pink jumpsuits and T-shirts that say, "Honk if you like the New
Kids" exist, most of us would claim to know a good thing when we
hear it. But do we? Even those who have "good taste," a "good eye"
or a "good ear" are initially stupefied and put off by the most
innovative artists. Picasso is considered one of the greatest
artists of all time, and he’s still stopping hearts and turning
stomachs – he’d be proud if he were alive. The frustrating fact is
that humans are drawn to the familiar – the beautiful, comforting
and harmonious – whether it be in another person, on canvas or on
the radio. Revolutionary, and therefore unfamiliar, art is jarring
and confusing, even if we are exposed to it many times. This is the
battle that artists like Picasso, James Joyce, Tori Amos and P.J.
Harvey must fight. If you don’t like them the first time around,
what guarantees that you’ll give them a second chance? It is easier
to go back to the Whitney Houstons and the Hooties. And though they
may have talent, they don’t have much vision or pose a challenge to
the listener. This problem has been exacerbated with the
light-speed turnover of the music industry, whose cranks turn out
thousands of bands per year. If you don’t like someone, the record
companies, the radio and critics are ready to feed you someone
else. There is no time to cultivate an understanding of a complex
artist. And even if there were, how do you know which artists are
"difficult" and which ones just, well, stink? While this is a
problem for music fans who often get caught listening to hundreds
of bands who all sound like the Gin Blossoms or Bush, it is a
greater problem – and responsibility – for those in the music and
media industries. They are the decision-makers and voices who put
bands in front of your eyes and ears. But with hundreds of bands to
sift through and 14-hour days, how many have the time to really
listen to an artist? Will KIIS-FM listen to a song 10 times before
deciding they hate it? Probably not. Will a Rolling Stone writer
who has 20 CDs in front of him and two days to hear them all be
able to? Not if he eats and sleeps. Where does this leave artists
who are a slow burn, whose complex layers of music are slowly
sifted in the mind to reveal their magic? Probably in the bargain
bin. The luckiest and most strikingly talented often make it
because there’s immediately "something there" that sparks interest.
But many fall by the wayside before you even hear them. How can
this be rectified? Is there anyone so talented that they can
immediately tell if a record will grow on them? And what a tragedy
it would be if all of a record’s mysteries were revealed at once.
Some of my favorite records are ones that took me years to like;
every time I listen, I find a new gem – a vocal twist or background
countermelody I’d never noted before. I first heard R.E.M. in 1983,
and it took me until 1988 to decide that I liked them. Now they’re
my favorite band, and "Document," a 10-year-old album, is still
slowly growing on me. Maybe by 2000 I’ll love it. One of my goals
as a lover and critic of music is to further develop that "sixth
sense," which opens new doors – not only to a fresh sound but to
the never-ending succession of doors that just one artist can lead
you to, whether it be their influences, politics or passions.
Personally, it’s like panning for gold. For those who have the
patience, one great new band is worth wading through hours of
mediocre fluff. That discovery, like a jewel no one else has found,
is one of my greatest joys. Professionally, it’s the duty and
supposed purpose of any "critic" not just to criticize music they
don’t like or understand but to introduce people to great sounds
they otherwise would not have heard. Most artists work their entire
lives in poverty, putting not just their work but their souls up
for our perusal and approval. They deserve that chance. Fiore is a
fifth-year art history student.