Post by 3 on Oct 8, 2004 21:49:14 GMT 1
While London's Vapour festival of real independent music showcases labels like FatCat, Memphis Industries, Warp and Domino, “indie” as we know it now has evolved into something far removed from its original form. “Indie” should mean music released on labels free of big record company strangleholds. Instead, it’s been hijacked as a term for MOR neuterings involving boys with guitars (the likes of Travis, Starsailor and Coldplay), signed to majors. It’s what Creation boss Alan McGee memorably called “music for bedwetters”.
Although Chris Martin last year squeaked, “I will lamp anyone who says we're not rock’n’roll,” indie now means sentimental balderdash for Ford Mondeo-driving sales reps crying into their timesheets. Forget The Fall ranting to an audience of disaffected ne’er do wells, this is chewing gum for the earholes of the comfortably numb - easy money for producers of faux independent radio stations.
For a while now, imagination-starved major label execs have latched on - like an incubus to the virginal teat – to the nation’s youth’s appetite for what is generally termed “indie”. Universal, EMI, Warner and Sony all clamour for a piece. And, even though Coldplay and their ilk claim to be totally in charge of what they do, despite being on a major label, it's debatable.
Majors are all limos and smiles while you're selling shedloads and playing lapdog. But, as with the mass of “tax loss”, never-to-be-heard-of-again bands signed by majors, things sometimes even turn sour for top acts. Look at Prince's wrangle with Warners when he wanted out of a reputed $100m deal that gave the major total rights to his recordings. Or George Michael's rancour over Sony's Columbia takeover and their subsequent refusal to release his Listen Without Prejudice LP because it didn't sound like Faith. The label thereafter barred him from releasing anything for 21 months. Even Black Rebel Motorcycle Club were summarily dropped by Virgin for low (second) album sales, ditto Lisa Maffia by Sony... No artist signed to a major label can claim “100 per cent control” because it's the suits holding the purse that pull the strings.
The main protagonists of this castrated rock form are united by their ability to smile wryly while singing sad songs. Indie is the “why does it always rain on me” generation gone stellar. U2's Bono could be said to have spawned this breed of smug strummers from his satyr-like hindquarters, during a break from being fly/ironic.
And yet, even though we've got “proper” UK bands as fine as Sluts Of Trust, Clinic, The Rakes, Sons And Daughters, Mogwai, Gonga, The Mutts, Neil's Children and more, still the musical opium of the masses, the fluff bizarrely termed “indie”, is lapped up like some placebo. It’s comfort with all the kick of a skinny Horlick’s. Indie should about independent record labels releasing shit-end of the stick tracks by boredom stricken no-hoper heroes and non-careerist nutcases. It's the music that major record companies would never touch with a bargepole, and long may it remain so.
ref: Stuart Turnbull [08 October 04] - www.bbc.co.uk