whitewolfsonicprincess' 2nd single Child of the Revolution

Tuesday, May 06, 2014

What is the Authentic Voice?

Yes, I'm reading a book about The Smiths. And maybe that's why thoughts of money and class are forefront in my consciousness. And then, I also recently read that article about Elvie Thomas and Geeshie Wiley, and the whole idea of the "authentic voice" kind of resonates. Voices of the poor, the struggling, the under-class, the dismissed, the invisible. Folks. Singing songs about life and love and death and mystery.

What makes some artists more "authentic" than others? We are all human, we all feel pain, we all can love, we all will grow old and die. Pop music sort of encompasses and swallows up the folk. We do like our origin stories... scruffy Liverpool lads rising to pop royalty, young drug dealer rapping about life on the streets becomes an international brand. That is the glory of pop.

We don't begrudge someone who comes from nothing, and then achieves some kind of pop apotheosis. That is the arc of the story we love. But then the money, the success, that becomes the reality. And who really wants to hear about the problems of the rich and the well-heeled?

Can a rich kid sing the blues convincingly? Can a 1%-ter write a song that resonates with us all? Can we separate the art from the artist? What works? And again, in our over-sexed, over-hyped pop world everything seems mixed up, sometimes everything is intentionally artificial, and in some way, everything can seem inauthentic. Can the truly artificial, inauthentic also reveal a resonant truth?

The celebration of bling is pretty ridiculous, tired and stupid. I guess the question you always have to ask, is "what is this music saying to me?" What is "the meaning?" Does this music really, authentically "speak to me?" I think we respond to songs of honesty, of some reality, of some deep humanness. We expect our best artists to know a bit about life.  We want music that feeds the soul... at least I think that's what I want from the best of the music I listen to.


Jeane 

There's ice on the sink where we bathe 

So how can you call this a home 
When you know it's a grave ? 




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