The long history of relationships between music and corporate entities (or politics) did not start with the Age of Technology, but it may well reach its culmination here. Of all the yin-yang pairs that present themselves for contemplation, that of music and politics–while seeming to represent irreconcilable differences–does not need to manifest as opposition. (Taoists relate the symphony of bubbling springs to the internal politics of self-governance, poetically to boot.) Yet the story of these odd bedfellows is getting stranger, and harder to discern.
In the 1960s and 70s, the president of Guinea, Sékou Touré, funded an initiative to stir public pride, launching a system of national orchestras to play the folk music of Africa. He needed the support of the artistic community and wanted indigenous peoples of his homeland to be culturally courageous, especially as he was cutting off ties with the colonizing French, a move that injured his status among African leaders. Touré exhibited plenty of dictatorial prowess; his campaigns were not always popular. For many musicians, however, this movement became payday–sometimes the only prosperous gig around for artistically inclined hopefuls.
Touré's initiative is only one example of that double-edged sword known as political music. The music itself wasn't necessarily political, and much good came of it. The incredible Bembeya Jazz is still going strong after a decade-plus hiatus, as is the legendary Orchestra Baobab, formed in Senegal in 1970 under a similar political stratagem. They were not forced to play specific songs, but free to develop a plentiful catalog, as folk-based as it was progressive. The bands infused Cuban elements so tastefully that one hears the Afro-Latin mix with every guitar strum and percussive tap. One might also think of the similar fusion of military music along the Balkan trails, where Macedonian and Serbian troops picked up Middle Eastern percussion and carried the sounds north. Once used to signal battles and testosterone-fueled national pride, today some of the most unique music in the world is played in Southeastern Europe. Artists did what they always do: take the best aspects of any given situation, and make music from it.
What happens when the situation is so indistinguishable from its shadow that separating the sincerity from the sale becomes impossible? We're not discussing politicians or corporations taking already existing music and using it for their own ends (think Bill Clinton and Fleetwood Mac). If the sincerity behind the endorsement exists–as when Mac played for Clinton's farewell party–that's just using music as a means to an end. Extra Golden, a unique and forward-thinking outfit of Kenyan and American musicians, dedicated a song to Barack Obama ("Obama") on their latest to thank the Senator for helping them clear visa issues. (And it's a great song.)
The thing that's been confusing is when music suffers the same fate as print, like when you open a magazine and cannot tell the difference between content and advertisements–or if any such difference truly exists. The first example that comes to mind is the ever-growing Scion Remix Project, a successful marketing effort by Toyota's build-your-own offshoot. Their audio/video strategizing has involved some musical heavyweights, including Raekwon, Guru, GZA, Ghislain Poirier and Armand Van Helden. The results, for the most part, have been negligible–but this is not an album review, and I just don't happen to like the styles of music they've released, especially their most recent five-EP set. What is obvious through a project like this is how crucial the relationship between musicians and corporations has become, especially over the last decade. Considering music is no longer the terrain exclusively, or much at all, of large record labels, everyone is jumping into the game. While it's exciting to see the paradigm of creative power shift to artists, there is much to be saddened by.
The RIAA's argument about "stealing" music was always a moot point. Like intelligent design advocates picking fights with evolutionary biologists, there was never any battle to begin with. Musicians know that money, at least by the labels' model, was not made selling records; that went to the label, distributor and store. Their financial reward was gained in two ways: advances, which had to be paid back through sales regardless, and touring–the latter including merchandising profits. The courtroom disasters currently going down, where people that may have downloaded a few songs are being hit with thousands (or hundreds of thousands) of dollars in fines, are part of an illustrious smokescreen. It's still the "big five," hoarding their share of the market.
The main problem with expansion–and this is something that has baffled and frustrated governments and corporations equally–is that it eventually peaks. To push any initiative to peak, in the sense of hoarding and controlling resources, is to create an imbalance. This is basic science. Yet over and again companies and politicians fall for the same trap, and when the carpet is swept from underneath them, they vow to destroy anything within reach as they crash to the ground. The RIAA and our current government are two entities too similar to dismiss, both reminiscent of the seven-year-old child threatening to hold his breath until he gets his way. Unfortunately, such stubbornness never dies; it just takes a rest until it wakes again for another temper tantrum.
Perhaps I'm being romantic when I think of the writings of Sufi master Hazarat Inayat Khan: "Music is not only life's greatest object, but music is life itself." He talks about music one day becoming the "religion of humanity," yet I think he knew it already is. Poets of his country, India, had created the idea of Nada Brahma millennia ago: sound is the ever-present force expressing itself through the universe and linking the cosmos with humanity. The classical systems of North and South India were cyclically timed to tune into the patterns of nature, of winds and monsoons, star-rises and sun-falls. Music was played because it was an expression of life, not the salability of it.
Yet artists should be paid for their craft, in every medium. The notion that selling your art to a corporate entity or label is an awful but necessary means to a successful end might be a psychological truth, but it's not reality. What's good about psychologies is that they can, and do, change. It's tough to imagine idealistic scenarios, though, when the Black Eyed Peas are selling Snickers in cartoon webisodes about being the "real deal hip-hop." Disgraceful. Last year I read an interview with two Crunk stars that stated that the music they create "is not who we are." They make it to sell it, and are in truth different people altogether. Nonsense. Whatever you create is a reflection of who you are, and if you decide to believe those two entities are separate, that's not removing yourself from your craft for a sale. That's a neurosis, and not owning up to personal responsibility.
Accountability is not easy to own up to when the music you create is made exclusively to be sold. You have to turn a blind eye. A "dumbing down," as it is sometimes referred to is not necessarily necessary; indeed, some advertisements feature incredible music. There just seems to be something amiss in the process of creation if you're stopping every few moments to ask yourself, "Would a lot of people be into this? Does this beat appeal to my contact at the agency? Would it make (said product) more attractive to consumers?"
Again, my romanticism abounds, yet some musicians display too much integrity to let others off the hook. Jeff Buckley turning down a large Gap ad campaign comes to mind, as does Ani DiFranco's continued perseverance with her own Righteous Babe Records. There are many pitfalls and disappointments on the long road, but in the end these artists can own up to every decision they've made and be content with themselves. It might not have landed them overtly Photoshopped Maxim and Vogue cover shoots; it may not get them on the exclusive guest list for Club (place name here) in (place city here) every weekend. What it does, however, is remind those of us enjoying the process of struggle and creation, even in its darkest and most despairing moments, that there's something beautiful in expressing yourself completely without regard to external factors. It keeps the rest of us honest, and creative, and responsible for what we do–as well as granting us a vitality and resourcefulness that can last a lifetime.