tag:theconversation.com,2011:/au/topics/australian-music-7505/articlesAustralian music – The Conversation2024-02-15T05:09:08Ztag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2235592024-02-15T05:09:08Z2024-02-15T05:09:08ZWhy are so many Australian music festivals being cancelled?<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/575794/original/file-20240215-16-25r5i5.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C4265%2C2845&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://unsplash.com/photos/three-men-carrying-women-surrounded-by-many-people-during-daytime-74tlEYKgrBE">Jade Masri/Unsplash</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Regional touring festival Groovin’ The Moo has <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/triplej/news/groovin-the-moo-2024-cancelled/103464566">announced its cancellation</a> only eight days after placing tickets on sale, citing low <a href="https://www.gtm.net.au/">demand</a>. </p>
<p>A mainstay of the summer festival calendar, this follows a series of similar cancellations, including the <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2023/may/17/falls-festival-2023-2024-music-cancelled-new-years-eve">2023 edition of Falls Festival</a>, <a href="https://www.9news.com.au/national/valleyways-2024-third-aussie-music-festival-cancelled-amid-cost-of-living-pressures/be65eea0-0572-4e43-8c5d-1c9e3eb33335">ValleyWays</a>, <a href="https://www.news.com.au/entertainment/music/music-festivals/ruin-everything-coastal-jam-festival-scrapped-days-before-it-was-to-start/news-story/266f8eb315aa9b62544e483583582d3c">Coastal Jam</a> and <a href="https://7news.com.au/news/south-australian-festival-vintage-vibes-with-groove-armada-rudimental-postponed-c-13184043">Vintage Vibes</a>, and the “pausing” of Hobart’s iconic <a href="https://www.artshub.com.au/news/news/paused-in-part-but-not-cancelled-dark-mofo-announces-dates-2696718/">Dark Mofo</a> for 2024. </p>
<p>So why are we seeing so many Australian music festivals cancelled? And what will the future of festivals look like?</p>
<h2>Growing challenges for festivals</h2>
<p>The well-documented <a href="https://pursuit.unimelb.edu.au/articles/more-than-half-of-australians-are-only-just-making-ends-meet">cost-of-living crisis</a> is an obvious culprit when it comes to low demand for festivals, as consumers cut down on expenses. </p>
<p>However, other factors are at play here. They include:</p>
<p><strong>1. Higher overheads</strong></p>
<p>Rapidly increasing overheads, such as <a href="https://themusic.com.au/industry/sooki-lounge-owners-public-liability-in-live-music-venues-killing-us-all/AHC-EhUUFxY/30-01-24">rocketing public liability insurance costs</a> for both venues and festivals alike, affect the viability of such events. </p>
<p>This problem began with the COVID pandemic, but extreme weather events exacerbated by climate change have <a href="https://theconversation.com/climate-change-is-transforming-australias-cultural-life-so-why-isnt-it-mentioned-in-the-new-national-cultural-policy-198881">compounded these issues</a> as well as affecting the viability of outdoor summer music festivals. In 2022 alone, <a href="https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1177/1329878X231184913">more than 20</a> Australian festivals were cancelled because of extreme weather.</p>
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<p><strong>2. Slower sales</strong></p>
<p>Prior to the pandemic, concerns regarding the <a href="https://theconversation.com/crowded-house-how-to-keep-festivals-relevant-in-an-oversaturated-market-50760">oversaturation of the Australian festival market</a> were already starting to bite. Pre-COVID festival cancellations included the end of the Big Day Out after 20 years in 2014. The annual event <a href="https://theconversation.com/music-festivals-are-in-trouble-but-the-shows-must-go-on-21035">began to falter in the preceding years</a> due to issues that have compounded in the decade since.</p>
<p>As the pandemic eased and festival producers rushed back onsite, they have been faced with a fundamental shift in Australian cultural consumption habits, particularly among young people.</p>
<p>People are <a href="https://tixel.com/blog/ticketing-state-of-play">waiting longer</a> to buy tickets. 2023 was the first time in over a decade that Splendour in the Grass, Australia’s biggest single-ticket festival, <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/news/2023-07-19/splendour-in-the-grass-ticket-sales-down-by-30-per-cent/102620896">didn’t sell out within hours</a>. The trend towards delayed “commitment to purchase” is cause for concern among promoters, who rely on opening-day sales for momentum and capital.</p>
<p>This change can be understood as a response to the rolling cancellations of the pandemic, in combination with rising ticket prices, domestic financial pressures and <a href="https://theconversation.com/as-the-9-to-5-work-day-disappears-our-lives-are-growing-more-out-of-sync-125800">busy schedules</a>. It is increasingly normal to look for second-hand tickets at reduced prices as an event approaches. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/crowded-house-how-to-keep-festivals-relevant-in-an-oversaturated-market-50760">Crowded house: how to keep festivals relevant in an oversaturated market</a>
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<p><strong>3. Youth avoidance</strong></p>
<p>Industry observers are concerned about a drop in youth attendance. Young people who came of age during COVID missed their <a href="https://theconversation.com/no-festivals-no-schoolies-young-people-are-missing-out-on-vital-rites-of-passage-during-covid-145097">key festival-going years</a> and may now have moved on to other cultural experiences – followed by younger siblings. This emphasises the long cultural tail of an event like the pandemic.</p>
<p>The cost-of-living crisis especially affects young people, the core audience for festivals like <a href="https://themusicnetwork.com/groovin-the-moo-on-track-to-sell-out/">Groovin’ the Moo</a>. The majority of under-35s say financial pressure is limiting their <a href="https://creative.gov.au/advocacy-and-research/audience-outlook-monitor/">attendance at arts events</a>. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/no-festivals-no-schoolies-young-people-are-missing-out-on-vital-rites-of-passage-during-covid-145097">No festivals, no schoolies: young people are missing out on vital rites of passage during COVID</a>
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<p><strong>4. The consolidation of taste</strong></p>
<p>While “variety” festivals such as Groovin’ the Moo and Falls Festival – which feature diverse, multi-genre lineups – are struggling, genre-specific festivals and major artist tours continue to perform well. </p>
<p>These include metal and hard rock festivals such as Good Things Festival and Knotfest, and major recent tours by Queens of the Stone Age, Pink, Blink-182 and, of course, Taylor Swift. The media industry and the music industry specifically are experiencing the effects of an <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2019/dec/28/overload-ambush-and-isolation-the-decade-that-warped-popular-culture-simon-reynolds">increasing siloing and consolidation of taste within specific niches</a>, exacerbated by the digitisation of media via highly curated streaming platforms. </p>
<p>Perhaps “variety” music festivals are heading the same way as <a href="https://themusic.com.au/features/the-ultimate-gig-reflecting-on-big-day-out-10-years-after-the-last-iteration-of-the-festival/xLR61tnY29o/02-02-24">the Big Day Out</a>. The struggles of festivals historically backed by Triple J (such as Groovin’ the Moo and Falls) may reveal the national youth broadcaster’s loosening grip on relevance and its inability to appeal to a broad audience in an increasingly hyper-curated media environment. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/i-almost-feel-like-stuck-in-a-rut-how-streaming-services-changed-the-way-we-listen-to-music-219967">'I almost feel like stuck in a rut’: how streaming services changed the way we listen to music</a>
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<h2>Is this anything new?</h2>
<p>The factors influencing the success of a given festival are complex, as illustrated by the case of Groovin’ the Moo. The Newcastle date <a href="https://www.newcastleherald.com.au/story/8512368/groovin-the-moo-2024-newcastles-first-tickets-sell-out/">sold out in less than an hour</a>, with <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/C2_XsVoLQ04/?utm_source=ig_web_copy_link&igsh=MzRlODBiNWFlZA%3D%3D">reports</a> of strong early sales for the Sunshine Coast edition, yet the overall tour was deemed unable to proceed. </p>
<p><a href="https://onlinelibrary.wiley.com/doi/abs/10.1002/cjas.1659">Uncertainty is inherent in the music business</a>, where an oversupply of product meets a market driven by the vagaries of taste. </p>
<p>Festival programmers must “<a href="https://www.thesaturdaypaper.com.au/culture/music/2024/01/31/how-are-australian-music-festivals-choosing-their-headliners">forecast</a>” what will draw a crowd, booking performers up to a year in advance. However, mega-crises, such as the pandemic, climate change and financial shocks, create deeper uncertainties that fundamentally challenge business as usual. </p>
<p>Uncertainty poses a profound threat to live music in particular, which depends on advance planning and investment, with its returns and benefits hinging on the controlled realisation of future events. </p>
<p>Too much uncertainty also stifles innovation and diversity, as the large <a href="https://www.smh.com.au/culture/music/the-overseas-giants-swallowing-australia-s-live-music-industry-20221026-p5bt01.html">multinationals</a> that dominate the music industry are better able to withstand its effects.</p>
<p>Music festivals are a leading site of Australia’s <a href="https://theconversation.com/creative-country-98-of-australians-engage-with-the-arts-80145">engagement</a> with the arts, with significant <a href="https://www.taylorfrancis.com/books/mono/10.4324/9781315596778/music-festivals-regional-development-australia-chris-gibson-john-connell">social and economic benefits</a>. They have also become a focal point for a range of societal challenges, from economic to environmental crises. Sustaining a vibrant, diverse and accessible festival sector will require these challenges to be confronted. </p>
<p>The age of deep uncertainty isn’t going away. For Australia’s diverse festival landscape to survive we need to find new ways – such as financial buffers, government-backed insurance schemes, big ticket levies, tariffs on major international tours, and climate action and mitigation – to ride and survive this uncertainty.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/223559/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Sam Whiting receives funding from Creative Australia and the Australasian Performing Right Association.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Ben Green receives funding from the Australian Research Council and the Australasian Performing Right Association.</span></em></p>Groovin’ the Moo is the latest in a long line of Australian music festivals to be cancelled. It is the new normal in our age of ‘deep uncertainty’.Sam Whiting, Lecturer - Creative Industries, University of South AustraliaBen Green, Research Fellow, Centre for Social and Cultural Research, Griffith UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2150532023-10-18T19:06:25Z2023-10-18T19:06:25ZIn 2003, one in four Aussie households owned Innocent Eyes. Delta Goodrem deserves a place in our music history<p>I remember when my family bought Innocent Eyes, at a JB Hi-Fi off the Nepean Highway. I was 12 and had just started high school. It was the first time I really understood the power of music; I felt like Delta was imparting words of wisdom through this time of transition. I played that original copy so much it started skipping and I had to buy a replacement. </p>
<p>Delta’s music has continued to define my life. It was the catalyst for lifelong friendships. The music bonded us, but our relationships transformed into something greater. We’ve worked together, travelled the world, and stood by one another on wedding days. </p>
<p>My story is one of many significantly shaped by this record. Innocent Eyes is the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_best-selling_albums_in_Australia">second highest selling</a> Australian album in Australia of all time, only behind John Farnham’s Whispering Jack. It sold 4.5 million copies worldwide, including 1.2 million in Australia. To put that into context: one in every four Australian households owned a copy. </p>
<p>So why is Delta Goodrem overlooked in Australian music history?</p>
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<h2>A run-away success</h2>
<p>Released 20 years ago, Innocent Eyes achieved unprecedented success, staying at number one for a record-breaking 29 weeks (that’s seven-and-a-half months). She became the <a href="https://www.aria.com.au/charts/2003/singles-chart">first artist</a> to have five number one singles on the Australian charts from a debut album.</p>
<p>At the 2003 ARIA awards, the 18-year-old <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/news/2003-09-22/abc-wins-first-aria-award/1482198">had a record ten nominations</a>, taking home every award she was nominated for, with the exception of album of the year (she twice lost to herself, for a total of seven wins). As Powderfinger accepted for Vulture Street, they joked “Can I see that envelope please? This is truly, completely unexpected”. </p>
<p>In the weeks leading up to the ARIAs, it was unclear whether Delta would attend: her diagnosis with Hodgkin’s lymphoma was front page news. The awards were Delta’s first public appearance in months; the night became an unofficial celebration of her return. </p>
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<p>Delta recently <a href="https://www.instagram.com/reel/CyC7XaNRwcb/">went through her archives</a> from this time as part of a sold-out 20th anniversary tour, a celebration of an album that captured the hearts and attention of the Australian public in a way that hasn’t been replicated. </p>
<p>This was not a comeback tour. Delta has remained an integral part of the Australian music scene. She’s one of our country’s standout performers, taking to the stage at AFL Grand Finals, Sydney Mardi Gras and the Commonwealth Games opening ceremony (twice). </p>
<p>She has released duets with <a href="https://open.spotify.com/track/1KSYEp78sFWjcmQIPCqLKd">Tony Bennett</a> and <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jgurkRvgos0">Olivia Newton-John</a>, written songs for <a href="https://www.perthnow.com.au/news/wa/delta-goodrem-teams-up-with-her-idol-celine-dion-ng-8ad32e6bbe66945a66c21d1328aef841">Celine Dion</a>, and <a href="https://youtu.be/8IrVorbjRdk?si=bJjM-0VAGTBymSpy&t=29">filled in for Adele</a> with less than an hour to rehearse. </p>
<p>Delta has mentored artists on The Voice; performed as Grizabella in Cats; her latest film, Love Is In The Air, has been <a href="https://www.instagram.com/p/Cx9LvrfvBwv/">streamed 12 million times</a>; and she’s achieved five number one albums.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/all-roads-led-back-to-ramsay-street-for-a-cul-de-sac-of-memory-and-nostalgia-a-fitting-neighbours-finale-187774">All roads led back to Ramsay Street for a cul-de-sac of memory and nostalgia: a fitting Neighbours finale</a>
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<h2>But no hall of fame?</h2>
<p>It was <a href="https://www.aria.com.au/awards/news/jet-to-be-inducted-into-aria-hall-of-fame">recently announced</a> Jet would be inducted into the ARIA Hall of Fame. Their debut album, Get Born, was also released in 2003, featuring the smash hit Are You Gonna Be My Girl?.</p>
<p>Jet are an incredible Australian rock success story, with <a href="https://www.bmg.com/au/news/BMG-acquires-Jets-recordings-catalogue.html">6.5 million records</a> sold worldwide. </p>
<p>But their impact and legacy doesn’t match Delta’s <a href="https://deltagoodrem.com/pages/about">9 million records</a> sold. Get Born was certified <a href="https://au.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/jet-get-born-tour-48293/">nine-times platinum</a>; Innocent Eyes is <a href="https://deltagoodrem.com/pages/about">23 times platinum</a>. </p>
<p>In the decade to 2010, <a href="https://www.aria.com.au/charts/2000/end-of-decade-albums-chart">she sold more albums in Australia</a> than any other artist – local or international.</p>
<p>Since the hall of fame began in 1988, 80 bands and artists have been celebrated. Only <a href="https://www.aria.com.au/hall-of-fame/">11 have been women</a>. The musical legacy of women <a href="https://www.soapunk.org/resources/All%20the%20girls%20in%20town%20-%20The%20missing%20women%20of%20Australian%20rock.pdf">is not recognised in the same ways</a> as their male counterparts.</p>
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<p>Many “best of” music lists are dominated by male artists. Rolling Stone’s <a href="https://au.rollingstone.com/rolling-stones-200-greatest-australian-albums-of-all-time/">Greatest Australian Albums of All Time</a> only features two females in the top 20 (Kylie and The Go-Betweens). Characteristics of “good” music and artistic integrity often hold masculine connotations. <a href="https://doi.org/10.1353/sof.2010.0098">This impacts</a> which artists achieve consecrated status. </p>
<p>Innocent Eyes defined a generation of Australians, many who were teenage girls. Popular music and culture with predominantly female audiences is <a href="https://doi.org/10.1017/S0261143001001520">often dismissed</a>. Rock is seen as “authentic” and masterful; pop is not worthy of such acclaim. While “<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rockism_and_poptimism">poptimism</a>” helped legitimise the genre, <a href="https://theconversation.com/the-2017-aria-awards-are-still-off-key-when-it-comes-to-gender-88301">there’s still work to be done</a> to shift these perceptions.</p>
<p>The elevation of Jet but not Delta to the ARIA hall of fame is evidence of how Delta’s talents as a songwriter and musician are underrated. She commands the piano, and has written almost every song she’s released. When speaking with people about why I’ve been a fan for so long, I always explain you have to see her live: Delta’s vocals are phenomenal, she truly connects. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/music-recommendation-algorithms-are-unfair-to-female-artists-but-we-can-change-that-158016">Music recommendation algorithms are unfair to female artists, but we can change that</a>
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<h2>This album means everything</h2>
<p>I’ve been speaking with Delta fans as part of my PhD research on music fandoms. One fan described the album as “going home to my parent’s place […] no matter what is happening in the world, that album is a safe place.”</p>
<p>For many fans, this album means everything. These songs were the soundtrack to our adolescence, and have continued to wrap themselves around us. </p>
<p>“It is truly one of the greatest honours of my life to have written an album that might have meant something to you, or been a part of your life,” Delta said on stage last month.</p>
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<p>At the peak of Innocent Eyes’ success, weeks before her cancer diagnosis, <a href="https://www.news.com.au/entertainment/music/delta-goodrems-secret-fan-weapon-how-she-became-the-queen-of-the-instore-appearance-spending-up-to-14-hours-meeting-her-fans/news-story/163b3a34dd35f7cdcd4ff090998e6f66">8,000 fans descended</a> on Highpoint Shopping Centre. She stayed signing CDs for 14 hours.</p>
<p>Music has a unique ability to <a href="https://journals.openedition.org/volume/4390">document time and construct identity</a>. There is a sense of nostalgia for the time we first heard these songs, and reflections of what they mean to us now.</p>
<p>“Iconic” Australian music often reinforces the pub rock canon, overlooking the significant impact of other songs and artists. </p>
<p>Innocent Eyes – and Delta Goodrem – deserve a place in the cultural memory and legacy of Australian music. </p>
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<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Kate Pattison has previously worked with Delta Goodrem's social media team.</span></em></p>Delta’s music defined the lives of teenage girls like me – but she is still waiting to join the hall of fame.Kate Pattison, PhD Candidate, RMIT UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2148372023-10-08T19:26:28Z2023-10-08T19:26:28ZAustralian video-game music is an exciting area of cultural activity – and you should be paying attention<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/552259/original/file-20231005-15-vd064x.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=8%2C0%2C2986%2C1994&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.pexels.com/photo/a-woman-playing-with-a-video-game-console-7382425/">Pexels/Polina Tankilevitch</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>An enthusiastic, sellout crowd arrived at Melbourne’s Hamer Hall in September to hear an evening of music from Orchestra Victoria. </p>
<p>The program consisted largely of Australian music and premiere performances. If the sight of over 2,500 filled seats (filled, anecdotally, by those much younger than the typical orchestra audience) did not indicate how deeply this music was loved, then the standing ovation at the end of the night would leave no-one in doubt.</p>
<p>This packed concert, however, wasn’t a performance of a symphonic great or even a major film soundtrack. It was an evening of music created for video games.</p>
<p>Video games are now a cultural activity for <a href="https://igea.net/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/IGEA_AP2023_FINAL_REPORT.pdf">the vast majority of Australians</a> and a major platform through which audiences are introduced to new music. </p>
<p>Audiences have personal, even intimate relationships with the music of video games, given the long hours spent playing in lounge rooms and studies around the nation.</p>
<p>The potential of video-game music is particularly evident in Australia, where several independent video games have obtained both critical and commercial success around the world. This is, in part, thanks to their music, such as <a href="https://hardcoregamer.com/features/checking-the-score/checking-the-score-cult-of-the-lamb/426836/">Cult of the Lamb</a> (2022), <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/listen/programs/game-show/game-show-ausmusic-unpacking/13620250">Unpacking</a> (2021) and <a href="https://www.thegamer.com/hollow-knight-ost-still-surpasses-every-expectation/">Hollow Knight</a> (2017).</p>
<p>However, how the game developers actually work with musicians to produce these landmark works has so far been an unanswered question.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/how-video-games-like-starfield-are-creating-a-new-generation-of-classical-music-fans-211016">How video games like 'Starfield' are creating a new generation of classical music fans</a>
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<h2>Performing on the global stage</h2>
<p>Our new <a href="https://creative.gov.au/advocacy-and-research/australian-music-and-games-2023-benchmark-2/">Music and Games 2023 Benchmark</a> aims to establish the scope and scale of Australia’s game-music sector. </p>
<p>Our research includes findings about working conditions, rights, royalties and more. It paints a picture of a sector confidently performing on the global stage alongside far bigger national industries.</p>
<p>Game music work is overwhelmingly being undertaken in Australia as contract-based freelance work and rarely as full-time employment. Despite this, game developers see composers as fundamental creative partners. </p>
<p>Game music workers feel they have meaningful input on the projects they work on. They rarely approach game soundtracks as “just another gig”. This is reinforced by our finding the vast majority of game music workers in Australia create original music for game projects, rather than implementing pre-existing works.</p>
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<p>Australian game composers are more likely than workers in other soundtrack sectors to retain rights and opportunities. </p>
<p>In film and television, disadvantageous <a href="https://agsc.org.au/buyouts-apra-membership/">“buyout” contracts</a>, where composers hand over all ownership of their music to studios, have become common. In the Australian game music sector, such arrangements exist in only 13% of projects. This allows most composers to retain ownership of their music and to tap into additional revenue streams like performance royalties. </p>
<p>An astonishing 74% of music workers are able to release their game’s soundtrack personally and independently, rather than going through either the game’s studio, publisher or a music label.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/music-that-you-help-make-composition-for-video-gaming-draws-on-tradition-and-tech-124282">Music that you help make: composition for video gaming draws on tradition and tech</a>
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<h2>Different ways of working</h2>
<p>There is no “one way” of working for Australian game music workers, with a wide diversity of skills and experiences evident. </p>
<p>Many composers work directly with game development tools or with audio “middleware” such as <a href="https://www.fmod.com">Fmod</a> or <a href="https://www.audiokinetic.com/en/products/wwise/">Wwise</a> on game projects. Tools like these allow composers to engage with the game’s production and implement their music directly into the game, rather than simply handing over audio files to game developers.</p>
<p>Around half, however, prioritise music creation and leave implementation of that music up to the developers. This means technical knowledge of game development is not as integral to creating game music as many may assume.</p>
<p>Creative communication skills are also important for musicians and highly valued by game developers who may otherwise find music to be a language they do not speak.</p>
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<p>Like the game development and music sectors more broadly, unpaid work remains common. Only 53% of game music workers report any income from this work. </p>
<p>However, we found the median annual income for all game music workers is A$40,000, compared to only <a href="https://makingmusicworkcomau.files.wordpress.com/2020/06/mmw_full-report.pdf">$30,576 for musicians generally</a>. Among those who make more than the Australian minimum wage ($45,000) from game music, this jumps to a considerable median income of $82,500.</p>
<p>Being at the intersection of games and music also means the gender and racial inequalities of the video game and screen composing sectors are entrenched within game music. </p>
<p>Three-quarters of all game music workers identified themselves as male, and 72% as white, Caucasian or European. While Australia has diverse musicians, they currently have unequal ability to move into game music. This needs proactive solutions.</p>
<h2>Creative works in their own right</h2>
<p>Our benchmarking report reveals an exciting and so far under-appreciated area of cultural activity in Australia. </p>
<p>Australian game soundtracks are not sterile assets produced for a mass medium. They are genuine creative works that are adored in their own right by audiences around the world. </p>
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<p>However, growing the sector in Australia requires focused support. Its lack of diversity is a major area of concern. </p>
<p>Even while game music workers are able to retain generous rights to their music, many are frustrated and confused by the lack of clear standards. We also heard several stories of workers being pressured to give up their rights once an international publisher decided to invest in a local game developer. </p>
<p>As <a href="https://igea.net/2022/12/australian-game-development-industry-records-job-boom/">Australia’s game industry continues to grow</a>, it will be important to watch how Australia’s musicians are brought along for the ride.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/a-sustainable-australian-video-game-industry-production-rebates-are-a-small-important-step-147090">A sustainable Australian video game industry? Production rebates are a small, important step</a>
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<p><em>Correction: this article originally misstated the capacity of Hamer Hall. This has been corrected.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/214837/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Dan Golding received funding from Creative Australia to undertake the Australian Music and Games 2023 Benchmark report. He is also a practicing videogame composer and made music for Untitled Goose Game and the Frog Detective series, both of which are mentioned in the report.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Brendan Keogh received funding from Creative Australia to undertake the Australian Music and Games 2023 Benchmark report. </span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Taylor Hardwick worked as a Research Assistant at the QUT Digital Media Research Centre (DMRC), which received funding from Creative Australia to undertake the Australian Music and Games 2023 Benchmark report.</span></em></p>Our new Music and Games 2023 Benchmark aims to establish the scope and scale of Australia’s game music sector.Dan Golding, Associate Professor, Swinburne University of TechnologyBrendan Keogh, Senior Lecturer, Queensland University of TechnologyTaylor Hardwick, Research Assistant, Queensland University of TechnologyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2122662023-09-21T23:32:49Z2023-09-21T23:32:49ZFor the people in the nosebleed section: the Hilltop Hoods’ The Calling at 20<p>On September 22 2003, Adelaide hip-hop group the Hilltop Hoods released The Calling. </p>
<p>They had been making music for over ten years, but this, their third full-length album, would be their first to have mainstream success.</p>
<p>They hoped to sell 3,000 records. Those expectations were quickly eclipsed.</p>
<p>The album was launched with a sold-out show at Planet nightclub. Two tracks (The Nosebleed Section and Dumb Enough) gained significant radio play. The Hoods used this publicity to grow their fanbase through touring. </p>
<p>They became the first Australian hip-hop artists <a href="http://hilltophoods.com/discography/the-calling/">to reach</a> gold status, selling 35,000 copies. By 2006, it was platinum: 70,000 copies sold. Since 2003, all of the Hoods’ albums have reached platinum or higher. </p>
<p>Twenty years since its release, The Calling is still a <a href="https://tonedeaf.thebrag.com/50-all-time-greatest-aussie-hip-hop-tracks/">mainstay</a> on “best of” Australian hip-hop lists.</p>
<p>Rapper Briggs <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/listen/programs/classic-albums/hilltop-hoods---the-calling/10273916">describes</a> the album as “the icebreaker”:</p>
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<p>This opened the door for the possibilities. It wasn’t a piss-take, it wasn’t anything but real hip-hop music.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/hip-hop-at-50-7-essential-listens-to-celebrate-raps-widespread-influence-211298">Hip-hop at 50: 7 essential listens to celebrate rap's widespread influence</a>
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<h2>Bringing hip-hop to Australia</h2>
<p>Today, the Hoods are one of the most successful music acts in Australia. </p>
<p>In 2022, they were the <a href="https://www.nme.com/en_au/news/music/spotify-wrapped-australia-most-streamed-local-artists-songs-2022-3358173">third-most-streamed</a> Australian artist on Spotify behind The Kid Laroi and the Wiggles. This year, they have toured Australia, the UK and Europe with many shows selling out – as have all their upcoming shows in <a href="https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=838153687672551&set=pb.100044337824283.-2207520000&type=3">Aotearoa New Zealand</a>. In January, they had their <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/triplej/programs/hack/hilltop-hoods-make-hottest-100-history-most-entries-ever/101903244">23rd entry</a> into the Triple J Hottest 100 – taking the mantle for most entries ever from Powderfinger and the Foo Fighters.</p>
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<p>Rewind to the 1990s. The Hoods were performing at parties and small venues as part of Adelaide’s underground hip-hop scene. Hip-hop was decidedly unpopular. Australians (especially white Australians) who produced or consumed it were often the target of jokes both from peers and in the media. </p>
<p>Hip-Hop was created by people of colour in New York in the 1970s. The genre had a short boom in Australia in the early 1980s, when young people learnt about it through American media, travel and migration. </p>
<p>Australians were introduced to hip-hop culture as a package made up of the “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3q8J72oNLZY">four elements</a>”: <a href="https://blackmusicscholar.com/mcing-the-art-of-hip-hop/">MCing</a> (or rapping), DJing, breaking and graffiti. Breaking and graffiti were immediately taken up in Australia, but it took more time for young people to start recording music. </p>
<p>Still, the culture was often defined by the media <a href="https://www.weslpress.org/9780819566386/phat-beats-dope-rhymes/">as a novelty</a> and dismissed as “too American”.</p>
<p><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Def_Wish_Cast">Def Wish Cast</a> from western Sydney was established in 1989. They were one of Australia’s first major hip-hop groups and their pioneering music inspired others – including the Hilltop Hoods when they formed in suburban Adelaide in 1996.</p>
<h2>Forging a path</h2>
<p>By the early 2000s, there were signs the cultural cringe connected to Australian hip-hop was lessening. The first ARIA awards for hip-hop music went to 1200 Techniques’ Karma <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/doublej/music-reads/features/classic-albums-1200-techniques-choose-one-australian-hip-hop/13905768">in 2002</a>, two years before the ceremony had a category for Best Urban Album. </p>
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<p>But hip-hop music still struggled for support from major record companies, radio producers and the general public. Artists had to hustle to promote themselves. Hip-hop practitioners took on roles as managers, journalists and record label owners to create their own opportunities. </p>
<p>The Calling was the Hoods’ first release through independent label <a href="http://obeserecords.com/obs/releases-obr001-050/">Obese Records</a>. It ranges from politically conscious to party anthems. The title track compares hip-hop to a religious vocation: the lyrics suggest the Hoods have been called to be hip-hop artists in the same way that other people are called by their faith.</p>
<p>Other tracks on the album are more light-hearted. The battle-rap-inspired Dumb Enough calls out anyone “stupid” enough to challenge the Hoods; The Certificate is a rowdy <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Posse_cut">posse track</a> involving the Hoods and other members of Adelaide collective <a href="https://www.discogs.com/artist/204073-Certified-Wise">Certified Wise</a>. </p>
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<p>The Hoods’ breakout song was The Nosebleed Section, which came ninth in Triple J’s Hottest 100 in 2003 and 17th in the Hottest 100 of All Time <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/triplej/programs/hack/hilltop-hoods-make-hottest-100-history-most-entries-ever/101903244">in 2009</a>. </p>
<p>Producer and DJ Rob Shaker <a href="https://ozhiphopshop.com/australianhiphopnews/exclusive-rob-shaker-lists-his-top-10-australian-hip-hop-albums/">said</a> the song “changed the landscape of hip-hop in this country”. Mark Pollard, founder of Australian hip-hop magazine Stealth, <a href="https://www.bloomsbury.com/au/hilltop-hoods-the-calling-9781501392672/">told me</a> the Hoods were “national icons” who “helped turn an amateur industry into a cottage industry into a professional industry”.</p>
<p>As well as paving the way for future artists, the song and the album were an entry point for new fans, who then learnt about other local artists, such as Muph & Plutonic, Bliss n Eso, Layla, Drapht and Downsyde. </p>
<h2>Following the calling</h2>
<p>The success of The Calling meant the Hoods could quit their day jobs and concentrate on music full-time. In turn, other artists were able to imagine a future where hip-hop was their career.</p>
<p>But the band wasn’t without controversy. For some commentators, their success signalled how hip-hop was being connected to a <a href="https://www.bloomsbury.com/au/hilltop-hoods-the-calling-9781501392672/">white patriotic Aussie identity</a>. Radio host and record producer <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/king-9781761046308">Hau Latukefu says</a> this new wave of hip-hop fans did not “understand – and respect – that hip-hop is a Black art form”.</p>
<p>Australia’s hip-hop industry has also been called out for <a href="https://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/music/hip-hop-a-poor-cop-in-a-white-mans-world-20130712-2pvej.html">racism within the scene</a>. It is only now that hip-hop artists from diverse backgrounds – who have always played a key role in Australia’s hip-hop community – are achieving more mainstream success. </p>
<p>The industry is changing in other ways. Journalists and artists themselves are now having open conversations about the historical marginalisation of <a href="https://acclaimmag.com/music/its-time-to-listen-to-more-diverse-voices-in-australian-hip-hop/">women, non-binary and trans artists</a>. </p>
<p>In the past few years, new <a href="https://beersbeatsandthebiz.com/">podcasts</a>, <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/hip-hop-and-hymns-9781761042065">autobiographies</a>, <a href="https://puzlepress.com/">graffiti books</a> and <a href="https://www.sensibleantixx.net/burn-gently-documentary">documentaries</a> have emerged telling hip-hop stories from different perspectives. </p>
<p>Members of the scene are looking back on the past and thinking about what the <a href="https://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/music/tkay-maidza-remi-sampa-and-the-changing-face-of-australian-hiphop-20161024-gs9f1e.html">future of hip-hop in Australia might be</a>. The Hoods themselves continue to release new music, including songs like Show Business that reflect on their experiences in the industry. Hip-Hop culture in Australia continues to thrive as new generations are answering the calling. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/how-hip-hop-learned-to-call-out-homophobia-or-at-least-apologize-for-it-202819">How hip-hop learned to call out homophobia – or at least apologize for it</a>
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<img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/212266/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Dianne Rodger is the author of the book The Calling (Bloomsbury 33 1/3).</span></em></p>The Calling, the Hilltop Hoods’ third album, would be their first to reach mainstream success.Dianne Rodger, Senior Lecturer in Anthropology, University of AdelaideLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2127692023-09-04T06:25:30Z2023-09-04T06:25:30ZIt was written for nuclear disarmament – but today You’re The Voice is the perfect song for the ‘yes’ campaign<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/546121/original/file-20230904-17-cssrkf.jpeg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=5%2C2%2C1911%2C1074&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">John Farnham in the new ad for the Yes campaign. </span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Uluru Dialogue</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>The serendipity of the pairing between John Farnham’s 1986 hit single You’re the Voice and the Voice to Parliament referendum is obvious, but it goes well beyond the fact the two share the key word “voice”. </p>
<p>The original was composed by a team of British songwriters in response to an anti-nuclear demonstration in London’s Hyde Park in 1985. Chris Thompson, Andy Qunta and Maggie Ryder had planned a song-writing session on the day an <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/1985/10/27/world/100000-in-london-protest-arms-race.html">estimated 100,000 marched through central London</a> in support the Campaign for Nuclear Disarmament. </p>
<p>Thompson, however, overslept. As an act of self-admonishment he decided to express his remorse by conceiving a song that emphasised the importance of personal agency in achieving political change.</p>
<p>This is the kernel of meaning in You’re the Voice. It is also what makes it so especially well suited to support a campaign about a referendum to give Indigenous Australians a constitutionally recognised Voice to Parliament nearly 40 years later. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/the-voice-to-parliament-explained-212100">The Voice to Parliament explained</a>
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<h2>The grain of Farnham’s voice</h2>
<p>Thompson was not at all convinced at the time Farnham <a href="https://www.news.com.au/entertainment/music/why-john-farnham-was-nearly-rockblocked-from-youre-the-voice/news-story/9e048f2d4550a8b4c1a28e2eba4909f6">could do the song justice</a> when he requested it for inclusion in his album Whispering Jack. </p>
<p>And yet the particular qualities of Farnham’s singing is also arguably crucial to the song’s success, then and now.</p>
<p>The music’s combination of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sentimental_ballad#Power_ballads">power ballad</a> tempo with <a href="https://music.amazon.com.au/playlists/B078H6J6BF">pub anthem</a> singability calls for a kind of full-throated vocal performance that takes more than a little inspiration from African American gospel traditions. </p>
<p>Singers drawn from these traditions include giants of popular musical culture like James Brown, Tina Turner and Aretha Franklin. It is not exaggerated praise to suggest Farnham here delivers a performance that stands with their best.</p>
<p>And it was career changing for him, helping Farnham to put to rest his earlier image as a clean-cut purveyor of sentimental pop songs like <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r0c55lXRAeg">Sadie the Cleaning Lady</a> and relaunch his career. </p>
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<p>Farnham’s singing here exemplifies what Roland Barthes famously described in <a href="https://courses.lsa.umich.edu/jptw/wp-content/uploads/sites/23/2017/08/Barthes-ImageMusicText.pdf">an essay from 1972</a> as the “grain of the voice”: the element of a singer’s individuality which helps convey the sincerity and authenticity of what is being sung.</p>
<p>You’re the Voice further highlights the grain of Farnham’s singing via the exclamation “oh, whoa!” regularly punctuating the song’s chorus. In a powerful moment of sonic symbolism, the exclamation is eventually taken up in the advertisement (like the sentiment of the song itself, it is no doubt hoped) by a chorus of supporters.</p>
<h2><em>You</em> are the voice</h2>
<p>Indeed, if it is to succeed, the referendum will need to convince an especially broad coalition of Australians to vote for “yes”.</p>
<p>The song supports this goal from its very title: <em>you</em> are the voice. It asks each of us, individually, to consider how we can act for the common good. </p>
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<p>We have the chance to turn the pages over <br>
We can write what we want to write <br>
We gotta make ends meet, before we get much older. </p>
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<p>The song’s explicit call to action has now been connected to the forthcoming referendum: now is the moment to use your voice at the ballot box to give, in turn, a constitutionally enshrined voice to indigenous Australians.</p>
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<p>The “yes” campaign’s appeal to collective responsibility is one aspect of the referendum process that <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2023/aug/16/lidia-thorpe-calls-for-referendum-called-off-indigenous-voice-to-parliament-no-campaign">concerns some Indigenous critics</a>. The very enterprise of constitutional reform, after all, presumes the legitimacy of the Australian constitution which in turn presumes the legitimacy of the original act of colonial dispossession. </p>
<p>But the bigger threat to the “yes” campaign arguably comes from those who see the idea of an <a href="https://ipa.org.au/ipa-today/the-indigenous-voice-to-parliament-has-the-potential-to-be-divisive">Indigenous voice to parliament itself as divisive</a>. </p>
<p>Yet, as the song goes:</p>
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<p>This time, we know we all can stand together <br>
With the power to be powerful <br>
Believing we can make it better.</p>
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<p>The use of You’re the Voice here reinforces the view that supporting the Voice to Parliament is a positive act of national reconciliation that we, as a nation, can take together. </p>
<p>It is an injunction to take personal and collective responsibility for the history and character of the country we all share. </p>
<h2>Politically inclusive</h2>
<p>The advertisement is the work of human rights lawyer <a href="https://www.unsw.edu.au/staff/megan-davis">Megan Davis</a>, historian <a href="https://www.clarewright.com.au/">Clare Wright</a> and <a href="https://themonkeys.com.au/">The Monkeys advertising agency</a>.</p>
<p>It focuses on a family as they watch key moments which shaped Australia’s collective identity. It looks at key moments of reconciliation, Indigenous achievement and Indigenous protest; but also broader moments in collective action.</p>
<p>In a particularly astute move, the advertisement overlays images of <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2019/jan/01/john-howard-port-arthur-gun-control-1996-cabinet-papers">John Howard’s 1996 gun reforms</a> in the wake of the Port Arthur massacre as Farnham delivers the lines:</p>
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<p>We’re all someone’s daughter<br>
We’re all someone’s son<br>
How long can we look at each other<br>
Down the barrel of a gun?<br></p>
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<p>Implicit in this conjunction is a reminder to us that support for the “yes” vote, like any nation-changing political act, can come from any side of politics.</p>
<h2>Democratising the message</h2>
<p>There are many more layers we could tease apart in You’re The Voice. Its extended bagpipes solo originated as an homage to AC/DC singer Bon Scott, connecting it to the egalitarian, <a href="https://www.popmatters.com/141796-let-there-be-rock-2496022409.html">working class culture</a> Scott’s music addresses. </p>
<p>Then there is the way the bagpipes, combined with the song’s use of side-drum rhythmic patterns, evoke the sound world of a military tattoo or march. This simultaneously elevates the register of its message. The song – and now the ad – is an implicit call to arms.</p>
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<p>The inclusion of You’re the Voice in the “yes” campaign thus provides powerful support for its central message.</p>
<p>Farnham himself recognises this. Upon release of the advertisement, Farnham <a href="https://www.smh.com.au/politics/federal/john-farnham-backs-voice-permits-his-anthem-to-front-yes-campaign-ad-20230901-p5e18t.html">spoke about</a> how, when it was first released in 1986, the song “changed his life”. </p>
<p>Generously, he concluded: </p>
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<p>I can only hope that now it might help in some small way, to change the lives of our First Nations Peoples for the better. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/why-the-yes-campaign-should-embrace-the-politics-of-nationhood-212006">Why the 'yes' campaign should embrace the politics of nationhood</a>
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<p><em>Correction: this article has been updated to reflect the advertisement was the work of Megan Davis, Clare Wright and The Monkeys advertising agency.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/212769/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Peter Tregear does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>You’re the Voice reinforces the view that supporting the Voice to Parliament is an act of national reconciliation we can take together.Peter Tregear, Principal Fellow and Professor of Music, The University of MelbourneLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2053992023-07-04T02:59:57Z2023-07-04T02:59:57Z60% of women and non-binary punters and artists feel unsafe in Melbourne’s music spaces<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/525827/original/file-20230512-19-50hj2p.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C17%2C2912%2C4346&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Markus Spiske/Unsplash</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>A new <a href="https://figshare.com/s/62519f8c95bab5ca4c32">survey</a> of 126 women and non-binary punters and artists working the music industry in Melbourne has found 60% of respondents feel unsafe in music spaces. </p>
<p>The survey found sexual violence disempowers female music workers, deters non-binary communities from working in the industry, and discourages punters from going to gigs.</p>
<p>This is a marked increase on previous surveys. In the <a href="https://www.musicvictoria.com.au/wp-content/uploads/bsk-pdf-manager/2019/07/MLMC-2017-Report-compressed.pdf">2018 Victorian Live Music census</a>, only 8% of respondents did not believe “most Victorian venues provide a safe and inclusive environment”.</p>
<p>The <a href="https://www.musicvictoria.com.au/initiatives/victorian-live-music-census/">2022 census</a> didn’t even ask about safety or sexual violence.</p>
<p>As Melbourne beats Sydney to became the nation’s most <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/world/2023/apr/17/melbourne-overtakes-sydney-as-australias-most-populous-city">populated city</a> in 2023, the epidemic of sexual violence may intensify in its urban music spaces. </p>
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<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/is-sexual-abuse-and-exploitation-rife-in-the-music-industry-167852">Is sexual abuse and exploitation rife in the music industry?</a>
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<h2>The #meNoMore awakening</h2>
<p>In 2017, <a href="https://themusicnetwork.com/me-no-more/">an open letter</a> was signed by over 1,000 women who work or participate in the Australian music industry, calling out abuse and harassment in the industry under the hashtag #MeNoMore. </p>
<p>This is a global problem. Studies have found <a href="https://iaspmjournal.net/index.php/IASPM_Journal/article/view/991">grassroots venues</a> and promoters in the United Kingdom need to implement changes to tackle sexual violence and work towards gender equality. Music festivals <a href="https://www.routledge.com/Gendered-Violence-at-International-Festivals-An-Interdisciplinary-Perspective/Platt-Finkel/p/book/9781032336695">are rife</a> with structural sexism, inequalities and gendered power dynamics. </p>
<p>In <a href="https://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/tempo/article/abs/teaching-tertiary-music-in-the-metoo-era/9A4E6871975D51BEC51711E23BE44B3F">music education</a> women “face disadvantages in terms of income, inclusion and professional opportunities”. </p>
<p>In <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/17512786.2019.1674683">music media</a>, women deal with discrimination, harassment and sexist abuse. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/525828/original/file-20230512-17-4cs0n6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="A woman plays guitar" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/525828/original/file-20230512-17-4cs0n6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/525828/original/file-20230512-17-4cs0n6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/525828/original/file-20230512-17-4cs0n6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/525828/original/file-20230512-17-4cs0n6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/525828/original/file-20230512-17-4cs0n6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/525828/original/file-20230512-17-4cs0n6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/525828/original/file-20230512-17-4cs0n6.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">A 2022 report found unacceptably high rates of sexual harassment in the Australian music industry.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Anton Mislawsky/Unsplash</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In late 2022, the <a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/1RCH10ICOZUX9T7LWpb-Dx9pTKlA9fISn/view">Raising Their Voices</a> industry report about the contemporary Australian music scene found unacceptably high rates of sexual harassment, sexual harm, bullying and systemic discrimination. </p>
<p>The report called for an industry-wide approach to respond to the findings. </p>
<p>In January, it was announced the federal government’s new Revive cultural policy would <a href="https://theconversation.com/pay-safety-and-welfare-how-the-new-centre-for-arts-and-entertainment-workplaces-can-strengthen-the-arts-sector-198859">establish a centre</a> to address sexual harassment in the arts and entertainment industry. </p>
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<em>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/pay-safety-and-welfare-how-the-new-centre-for-arts-and-entertainment-workplaces-can-strengthen-the-arts-sector-198859">Pay, safety and welfare: how the new Centre for Arts and Entertainment Workplaces can strengthen the arts sector</a>
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<h2>A frequent violence</h2>
<p>In our survey, we found groping and harassment were normalised in clubs and venues.</p>
<p>Respondents reported street harassment to and from venues, or were assaulted in commercially shared vehicles.</p>
<p>The majority of perpetrators were men. </p>
<p>One third of the music punters reported an incident to venue staff or festival management. </p>
<p>“In the last incident of assault I reacted by punching the guy, and I was thrown out by security after I explained what happened […] ” one punter said. “I want to call it out now […] I am sick of this shit”.</p>
<p>Music workers were less likely to report these incidents than punters: 80% of music workers told us they had not reported these incidents to venue staff, festival authorities, music management or to police. </p>
<p>Fearing unemployment in a highly competitive industry, they remain stoic victim-survivors in the boy’s club. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/525829/original/file-20230512-19-o251am.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Punters at a gig" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/525829/original/file-20230512-19-o251am.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/525829/original/file-20230512-19-o251am.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/525829/original/file-20230512-19-o251am.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/525829/original/file-20230512-19-o251am.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/525829/original/file-20230512-19-o251am.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/525829/original/file-20230512-19-o251am.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/525829/original/file-20230512-19-o251am.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">Some punters are now reluctant to go to gigs.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Lindsey Bahia/Unsplash</span></span>
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</figure>
<p>“As someone who has worked in the music industry for 40 years, I feel I have a thicker skin when it comes to sexual harassment… [but] I feel that it really is time for change,” one music worker told us.</p>
<h2>What’s next</h2>
<p>More than one-third of the music workers we spoke to had considered leaving the industry due to sexual harassment. Some punters told us they were reluctant to go to gigs.</p>
<p>If Melbourne wants to be considered a global music city, then the music talent and audience drain related to the epidemic of sexual violence requires critical attention.</p>
<p>The 2018 Melbourne Music Census found <a href="https://www.musicvictoria.com.au/wp-content/uploads/bsk-pdf-manager/2019/07/MLMC-2017-Report-compressed.pdf">only 49%</a> of staff in venues were trained in-house to deal with sexual harassment or assault.</p>
<p>Our study suggests all security staff should be provided with bystander training to prevent, detect and address perpetrators’ behaviour, and to refer victim-survivors to relevant authorities. Too often, security staff have a reluctance to change routine practices, and many venues have a lack of female security staff. There is poor collaboration between security companies and music staff, and limited funding for grassroots venues to conduct this training. </p>
<p>Less than 10% of the women and non-binary people we spoke to had reached out for counselling support following an experience of sexual violence. More needs to be done to spread the awareness of phone counselling hotlines, such as The Support Act <a href="https://supportact.org.au/get-help/wellbeing-helpline/">Wellbeing Helpline</a> for people working in music or the arts.</p>
<p>There are international models we can look towards. The not-for-profit <a href="https://www.goodnightoutcampaign.org/info/">Good Night Out</a> began in Leeds, UK, in 2014. The organisation runs accredited sexual violence response training programs for licensed venues and live music events. Its workers put up campaign posters in venues and encourage trained staff to wear badges to alert people that help is available. The program was <a href="https://fullstop.org.au/training/for-licensed-premises/good-night-out">established in Melbourne</a> in 2021, and an evaluation of the program will be conducted in August this year. </p>
<p>Our report also suggested music venues and organisations should be achieving gender and ethnic diversity among their leadership and staff to be eligible for government funding.</p>
<p>Changes also need to happen beyond the music industry.</p>
<p>Changes in the school curriculum and how we talk about consent more broadly in society will also impact on music spaces. Movements like <a href="https://www.smh.com.au/national/hundreds-of-sydney-students-claim-they-were-sexually-assaulted-and-call-for-better-consent-education-20210219-p57449.html">Teach Us Consent</a> advocate for sex education in schools to include an understanding sexual violence is an unacceptable behaviour, and what it means to have consent.</p>
<p>A <a href="https://www.premier.vic.gov.au/affirmative-consent-model-now-law-victoria">2022 bill</a> in the Victorian parliament adopted an affirmative consent model to provide better protections for victim-survivors of sexual offences, shifting the scrutiny onto their perpetrators.</p>
<p>This bill will help break the code of silence and encourage women and non-binary people to speak out about their experiences of sexual violence. </p>
<p><em>If this article has raised issues for you, or if you’re concerned about someone you know, call 1800RESPECT on 1800 737 732. In immediate danger, call 000.</em></p>
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<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/camp-cope-leaves-the-australian-music-industry-forever-changed-by-their-fearless-feminist-activism-199518">Camp Cope leaves the Australian music industry forever changed by their fearless feminist activism</a>
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<img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/205399/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Andrea Jean Baker received funding from the Victorian State government and the City of Melbourne. </span></em></p>A new survey found sexual violence disempowers female music workers, deters non-binary communities from working in the industry, and discourages punters from going to gigs.Andrea Jean Baker, Senior Lecturer in Journalism, Monash UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2073102023-06-20T01:39:56Z2023-06-20T01:39:56ZWhat’s a fair price to pay for music? In Australia, musicians aren’t getting paid as much as overseas artists for songs played on the radio<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/532526/original/file-20230619-25-q6o53b.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C5607%2C3732&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption"></span> </figcaption></figure><p>The Australian recording industry recently announced a campaign called <a href="https://www.ppca.com.au/news/radio-fair-play">Radio Fair Play</a>. </p>
<p>The campaign argues “artists and rights holders aren’t getting paid fairly for songs played on radio”, in reference to the license fees radio stations pay for the use of songs in their broadcasts.</p>
<p>In Australia, sound recording license fees are collected by the Phonographic Performance Company of Australia (PPCA) who distributes the revenue as income to record labels and artists. <a href="https://www.ppca.com.au/about-us/radio-cap">PPCA claims</a> Australian radio pays between just 10 and 27% of the commercial rates paid elsewhere in the world and artists here are being considerably underpaid.</p>
<p>It seems like a simple argument - “pay artists fairly”. But there are more factors at play than just whether radio stations will pay higher fees. </p>
<p>For starters, standing in the way is a 55-year-old Australian law that currently protects commercial radio and the ABC from paying more. </p>
<h2>What are radio caps?</h2>
<p>Formal recognition of economic rights in sound recordings didn’t exist in Australia until the introduction of the Copyright Act in 1968. Prior to this, only songwriters received royalties when their music was played on the radio.</p>
<p>Parliamentary negotiations leading up to the Copyright Act were dominated by the broadcasters and record companies, and focused on two crucial points of contention: who do the broadcasters have to pay? And how much do the broadcasters have to pay?</p>
<p>The Labor opposition supported the legislation of sound recording rights for all parties - record labels, broadcasters and performers. However, the governing coalition was dramatically split in its support. While the Liberals were keen on the proposal, the Country Party held serious concerns that license fees would severely impact regional radio, a position that threatened to dismantle the coalition. </p>
<p>In the end, the Copyright Act 1968 included an economic right for sound recordings, but in order to keep the government intact and appease the broadcasters, limitations on license fees were also legislated.</p>
<p><div data-react-class="Tweet" data-react-props="{"tweetId":"1666318190584950788"}"></div></p>
<p>“Radio Caps” place an upper limit on annual license fees for the use of sound recordings, such as songs. Commercial stations are capped at no more than 1% of their gross revenue, while the ABC pays $0.005 (half a cent) multiplied by the total population of Australia. </p>
<p>PPCA argues these laws are unfair, “unique to sound recordings” and puts Australia in a position that is “out of step” with the rest of the world. </p>
<p>They have a point. The rate for sound recordings is currently set at 0.4%. In comparison, songwriting royalty rates for Australian commercial radio, which have no such statutory cap, are set at a much higher rate of up to 3.76%. </p>
<p>If the caps are scrapped, the market could determine what the music is worth and, effectively, the size of the revenue pool. Labels and artists expect their share of the pool, which is determined according to their proportion of airplay, to receive a significant boost. </p>
<p>Paying artists more for the use of their music on radio is a great concept, but the Radio Fair Play campaign cannot result solely in “better deals” for record companies and artists. It must be fair for all musicians, as well as the listeners, consumers and communities who rely on broadcast radio. </p>
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<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/australia-is-one-of-few-countries-that-doesnt-pay-session-musicians-ongoing-royalties-our-music-industry-suffers-as-a-result-185022">Australia is one of few countries that doesn't pay session musicians ongoing royalties. Our music industry suffers as a result</a>
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<h2>Is it as easy as removing the caps?</h2>
<p>PPCA have “fought for decades” to remove these caps. Their claims have been supported by a number of independent reviews, and in 2006 the Australian government announced the caps would be abolished - but this has never happened. </p>
<p>If PPCA want to be successful this time around, they will need to have broader support across not only the music industry, but the wider community as well.</p>
<p>This campaign must address the potential effects of higher license fees on regional radio, such as redundancies and closures. The demise of local regional print journalism has been well documented, and radio is one of few remaining media that offers communities a local voice.</p>
<p>There are a number of solutions that have already been proposed for the struggling regions, such as new media monopoly laws, government advertising subsidies, and startup funding for new communications technologies. </p>
<p>But concrete plans to support these communities need to be designed and implemented by industry and government <em>before</em> regional media receive another shattering blow in being forced to pay a higher proportion of their revenue in music licensing. </p>
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<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/regional-journalism-is-dying-advertising-subsidies-wont-help-181255">Regional journalism is dying: advertising subsidies won't help</a>
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<h2>More than just an ‘artist’ issue</h2>
<p>There is another issue for performers that needs to be addressed as well. New laws that aim to grow the royalty revenue pool should also remunerate musicians that are currently not being supported by license fees. </p>
<p>While the Copyright Act 1968 offered no economic rights to performers <em>at large</em>, there has since been global advancements in intellectual property rights and equitable remuneration. </p>
<p>From the late 90s, session musicians on sound recordings have received a share of broadcast license fees all around the world - except in Australia, where session musicians get no royalty payments at all.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/australia-is-one-of-few-countries-that-doesnt-pay-session-musicians-ongoing-royalties-our-music-industry-suffers-as-a-result-185022">Australia is one of few countries that doesn't pay session musicians ongoing royalties. Our music industry suffers as a result</a>
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<p>This issue is absent from the Radio Fair Play campaign. If the recording industry believes fixing one anomaly is important, they should also support fairness overall.</p>
<p>It will take a unified approach and some bold reform to ensure there is a whole-of-industry solution that covers all of the issues and equitably remunerates all of the players. Australia painted itself into a corner in 1968, and now there’s quite a lot of renovating to do.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/207310/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Rod Davies is a freelance musician and a member of MEAA/Musicians Australia, which is part of a coalition campaigning and working on behalf of musicians for equitable remuneration.</span></em></p>Australian radio pays between just 10 and 27% of the commercial rates paid elsewhere in the world – artists here are being considerably underpaid.Rod Davies, Lecturer in popular music and songwriting, Monash UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2060882023-05-30T20:07:53Z2023-05-30T20:07:53ZWhy isn’t Australian music charting on the ARIA charts?<p>The excitement generated by the 2023 Eurovision contest was palpable. Members of my family, like thousands of Australians, were awake at 5am on a Sunday to cheer on Australia’s Eurovision contenders, Perth band Voyager. Their song <a href="https://youtu.be/aqtu2GspT80">Promise</a> was the eighth Australian entry since we first competed in 2015. Seven of these entries have made the finals. </p>
<p>The <a href="https://www.smh.com.au/culture/music/sweden-wins-australia-ninth-in-thrilling-eurovision-final-showdown-20230512-p5d7v9.html">media coverage</a> and public engagement with Eurovision demonstrates how intensely interested we are in the international success of our musicians.</p>
<p>However, <a href="https://www.aria.com.au/industry/news/australian-music-celebrates-four-years-of-growth">recent comments</a> made by the Australian Recording Industry Association (ARIA) CEO, Annabelle Herd, reveal a jarring discrepancy between our support for Australian musicians at Eurovision and our actual listening and spending habits. </p>
<p>Even though we spent $609.6 million on recorded music in 2022 through direct sales and streaming, a 16-year high and more than $40 million higher than 2021, we tend to neglect the music of Australians in favour of overseas artists. </p>
<p>Herd stated: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>the lack of a single Australian album in the ARIA Albums Chart last week alone proves the need to develop an urgent strategy […] to ensure that the growing number of Australian music lovers can connect with Australian artists.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Though Kate Ceberano’s My Life is a Symphony has just this week entered the chart at number six, ARIA’s <a href="https://www.aria.com.au/charts/albums-chart/2023-05-22">top 50 album chart</a> demonstrates our preoccupation with the likes of huge non-Australian artists such as Taylor Swift, Post Malone, Harry Styles and others. </p>
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<h2>Cultural cringe</h2>
<p>Non-Indigenous Australians <a href="https://www.amazon.com.au/Currency-Companion-Music-Dance-Australia/dp/0958121311">have a history</a> of importing or “<a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/pdf/23512424.pdf?refreqid=excelsior%3A4272009b6d90aea4b0c2ee111916cc83&ab_segments=&origin=&initiator=&acceptTC=1">transplanting</a>” their musical culture. </p>
<p>From <a href="https://www.nla.gov.au/collections/guide-selected-collections/williamson-collection#:%7E:text=In%201904%20Williamson%20entered%20a,Tait%20was%20the%20general%20manager">Italian opera in the 1890s</a> to the <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/853189">Beatles in the 1960s</a> to Taylor Swift in the 2020s (who currently has eight albums in our top 50), our predilection for imported music is inarguable. </p>
<p>While there’s nothing wrong with cosmopolitan taste, and we should note ARIA does track the sales of Australian artists through <a href="https://www.aria.com.au/charts/">dedicated charts</a>, we must interrogate the patterns of music consumption that reveal a tendency to neglect our homegrown musicians. </p>
<p>The term “cultural cringe”, coined by AA Philips in his <a href="https://meanjin.com.au/essays/the-cultural-cringe-by-a-a-phillips/">seminal Meanjin article</a> of 1950, describes a “disease of the Australian mind” that assumes “domestic cultural product will be worse than the imported article”. </p>
<p>For much of the 20th century, overseas training or overseas acclaim was a pre-requisite for domestic acceptance of Australian artists, musicians and writers.</p>
<p>Pianist <a href="https://www.britannica.com/biography/Percy-Aldridge-Grainger">Percy Grainger</a>, considered an archetypal Australian musician, lived and worked in America for much of his life and is often remembered as an American composer. The experience of creatives like Germaine Greer, <a href="https://www.classical-music.com/features/articles/7-notable-masters-of-the-queens-kings-music/">Malcolm Williamson</a> and Clive James needing to leave our shores to pursue a career in the arts is echoed in the story of a millennial singer like <a href="https://themusic.com.au/features/australian-artists-finding-success-overseas-part-one-vassy/HEsEDjEwMzI/23-11-22">Vassy</a>. </p>
<p>In a 2022 interview, Vassy describes the frustrations that led her to leave Australia to pursue opportunities in America. She describes her then-record label as not being committed to Australian performers unless they evoked a specific type of “Australiana”. </p>
<p>“So it was either you look that part and you be that Australian thing that they want or they just push American acts, like, A-list acts.” </p>
<p>Is it possible that our love of Eurovision, and our collective desire for the international acclaim that would accompany a win, has its roots in the cultural cringe? That we’d cheer our musicians overseas, but inadequately support them at home, generates a vicious cycle that prevents Australian music thriving as it should. </p>
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<h2>Pirates and streaming</h2>
<p>There may be other reasons apart from our awkward cultural history that account for the underrepresentation of Australian music on the ARIA charts. </p>
<p>Two decades ago, digital disruption in the form of filesharing sites like Napster <a href="https://www.simonandschuster.com/books/Ripped/Greg-Kot/9781416547310">broke the business model</a> of the recording industry. While streaming subscriptions and the resurgence of vinyl now <a href="https://www.aria.com.au/industry/news/australian-music-celebrates-four-years-of-growth">underpin sales of recorded music</a>, the effects of disruption continue to be felt. </p>
<p>ARIA, for example, only began to <a href="https://www.aria.com.au/aria-charts-code-of-practice">include streaming</a> in its charts from 2014, with current arrangements updated as recently as March 2022 to include official content streams by logged-in YouTube users in the charts. </p>
<p>While the ARIA charts tell us a great deal about music consumption in Australia, they, like any survey, are not perfect. Musicians who independently release their music and monetise their work in non-traditional ways, such as via a following on social media, direct support through a platform like <a href="https://www.patreon.com/c/music">Patreon</a> or through merchandise sales, are less likely to have their output recognised in the ARIA charts. </p>
<p>Likewise, a consumer’s use of a VPN to access music via a streaming service in an international jurisdiction may render the economic activity that results impossible to track. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/neil-youngs-ultimatum-to-spotify-shows-streaming-platforms-are-now-a-battleground-where-artists-can-leverage-power-175732">Neil Young’s ultimatum to Spotify shows streaming platforms are now a battleground where artists can leverage power</a>
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<h2>Quotas and solutions</h2>
<p>The other significant impact of the changing digital landscape is the blunting of long-standing policies designed to support Australian music making. </p>
<p>For example, the <a href="https://www.cbaa.org.au/resource/codes-practice-%E2%80%93-code-5-australian-music">CBAA Code of Practice</a> requires most community radio stations to broadcast at least 25% Australian content. This requirement has over many decades fuelled a need for Australian music. Streaming services have no equivalent requirement and, as audiences increasingly migrate to these new platforms, this imperative for new Australian music wanes. </p>
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<p>The federal government has sought to <a href="https://www.arts.gov.au/sites/default/files/documents/national-culturalpolicy-8february2023.pdf">address some of these challenges</a> via its National Cultural Policy, titled Revive. It plans to introduce legislation later this year. Australia’s music industry will likely welcome this intervention, particularly if it builds capacity and creates opportunities for Australian musicians to thrive in Australia. </p>
<p>Such policy interventions are not without hazard: <a href="https://www.jmro.org.au/index.php/mca2/article/view/84/32">my research reveals</a> that when government uses cultural policy as a political tool it distorts and ultimately stifles creative practice. Listening to musicians, addressing their needs (such as navigating the eligibility requirements for inclusion in the ARIA charts) and helping connect them to Australian audiences are key. </p>
<p>In the meantime, we should all listen to some new Australian music. Let’s make our <a href="https://www.mso.com.au/performance/2023-kate-ceberano">Kate and the MSO</a> number one!</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/206088/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Timothy McKenry does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Recent coments by ARIA CEO Annabelle Herd reveal a jarring discrepancy between our support for Australian musicians and our actual listening and spending habits.Timothy McKenry, Professor of Music, Australian Catholic UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2004432023-02-24T01:11:35Z2023-02-24T01:11:35ZKing Gizzard and Sampa the Great abandoning Bluesfest highlights the power of artists to change the culture of the music industry<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/511880/original/file-20230223-28-5hz3np.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C4%2C3000%2C1989&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://pitchperfectpr.com/king-gizzard-the-lizard-wizard/">Jason Galea</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>On Monday, psychedelic rock band King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard announced they were <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/doublej/music-reads/music-news/king-gizzard-and-the-lizard-wizard-withdraw-bluesfest-2023-stick/101992766">withdrawing</a> from their scheduled headlining appearance at the Byron Bay Bluesfest in April. </p>
<p>On their social media they attributed this decision to Bluesfest “presenting content” that did not align with their values of being opposed to “misogyny, racism, transphobia and violence”. </p>
<p>Sampa the Great has since <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/doublej/music-reads/music-news/sampa-the-great-withdraws-bluesfest-2023/102008668">also withdrawn</a> from the festival.</p>
<p>While not stated directly by either artist, the widely held assumption is that these decisions were prompted by the announcement the band Sticky Fingers had been <a href="https://www.theage.com.au/culture/music/stop-living-in-the-past-bluesfest-director-backs-adding-sticky-fingers-to-lineup-20230215-p5ckpx.html">added to the line-up</a>. </p>
<p>Sticky Fingers have been a <a href="https://beat.com.au/if-sticky-fingers-kick-on-without-repercussions-what-does-that-say-about-us/">controversial group</a>, with accusations of <a href="https://www.vice.com/en/article/59j5ga/sticky-fingers-accusations-accountability-menomore-2018">misogynist</a>, <a href="https://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-4030910/Video-incident-Indigenous-band-Dispossessed-Dylan-Frost-months-Sticky-Fingers-split.html">racist</a> and <a href="https://www.vice.com/en/article/59qb7x/sticky-fingers-dylan-frost-harassment-accusation-pub-2018">transphobic</a> abuse having been levelled at lead singer Dylan Frost.</p>
<p>Bluesfest director Peter Noble <a href="https://musicfeeds.com.au/news/bluesfest-boss-issues-new-statement-following-sampa-the-great-withdrawal/">defended his decision</a> to include Sticky Fingers. He cited the length of time since the alleged offences and the singer’s mental health issues as reasons why they should be allowed to appear at the festival.</p>
<p>This response has echoes of <a href="https://themusicnetwork.com/bluesfests-peter-noble-listen-on-the-right-and-wrong-ways-to-deal-with-gender-imbalanced-lineups/">Noble’s reaction</a> to Bluesfest being called out in 2018 for a lineup that included only 15% women. </p>
<p>In both cases, his replies are marked by defensiveness and a refusal to admit there may be any issue to answer for. </p>
<h2>What’s going on?</h2>
<p>Understanding why many are frustrated by Noble’s responses requires a look at the context. The past few years have been something of a reckoning for the Australian music industry. </p>
<p>Women, LGBTIQ+ communities, First Nations people and people of colour have <a href="https://apo.org.au/node/130821">long been</a> underrepresented, excluded and subject to harassment and violence in the Australian music industry. These groups are routinely underrepresented in <a href="https://www.bookmorewomen.com/">festival line-ups</a>, radio airplay and as the recipients of <a href="https://ses.library.usyd.edu.au/handle/2123/21257">prestigious industry awards</a>. </p>
<p>White men disproportionately hold <a href="https://ses.library.usyd.edu.au/handle/2123/21257">positions of power</a> in the industry. </p>
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<p>The male-dominated nature of the industry has serious impacts. The <a href="https://www.bloomsburycollections.com/book/towards-gender-equality-in-the-music-industry-education-practice-and-strategies-for-change/ch7-setting-the-stage-for-sexual-assault-the-dynamics-of-gender-culture-space-and-sexual-violence-at-live-music-events">“boys club” culture</a> contributes towards the normalisation and occurrence of gender-based violence. </p>
<p>Women who have experienced sexism and violence reduce their participation or <a href="https://journal.equinoxpub.com/PB/article/view/18382">leave the industry</a>. This limits whose voices and creative work we hear. </p>
<p>We all lose when people from marginalised groups are actively excluded. </p>
<p>Women and others within the industry are increasingly unwilling to remain silent about the sexual harassment, violence and discrimination to which they are subject. </p>
<p>Artists such as <a href="https://theconversation.com/camp-cope-leaves-the-australian-music-industry-forever-changed-by-their-fearless-feminist-activism-199518">Camp Cope</a> and <a href="https://jaguarjonze.com/metoo/">Jaguar Jonze</a> have been instrumental in drawing attention to these issues.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/camp-cope-leaves-the-australian-music-industry-forever-changed-by-their-fearless-feminist-activism-199518">Camp Cope leaves the Australian music industry forever changed by their fearless feminist activism</a>
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<p>The activist Instagram account <a href="https://www.instagram.com/beneaththeglassceiling/?hl=en">Beneath the Glass Ceiling</a> routinely exposes incidents of sexual violence and harassment in the industry. Infamously, former Sony Australia boss <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/music/2021/oct/13/sacked-sony-music-boss-denis-handlin-stripped-of-honorary-award-in-wake-of-allegations-of-toxic-workplace">Dennis Handlin was fired</a> after a culture of endemic bullying was brought to light.</p>
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<p>In 2022 several key industry bodies commissioned a study looking at working conditions within music in Australia. <a href="https://musicindustryreview.com.au/">Raising Their Voices</a> showed widespread discrimination, bullying and exclusion within music spaces. It noted “harmful behaviours can be normalised across the music industry”.</p>
<p>To create a more healthy and inclusive environment, one of the report’s recommendations was to create a centralised body where industry workers could report incidents, and where accountability might be possible. </p>
<p>The recent cultural policy <a href="https://www.arts.gov.au/publications/national-cultural-policy-revive-place-every-story-story-every-place">Revive</a> has provided for a body along these lines. The <a href="https://theconversation.com/pay-safety-and-welfare-how-the-new-centre-for-arts-and-entertainment-workplaces-can-strengthen-the-arts-sector-198859">Centre for Arts and Entertainment Workplaces</a> will provide support to people in the arts who have experienced discrimination, harassment or bullying.</p>
<p>But there are considerable challenges to reporting and addressing harassment within an industry where getting work is often <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/film/2023/feb/20/film-scoring-hollywood-misconduct-abuse-harassment-metoo">dependent</a> on “who you know”. </p>
<p>Those who speak up risk being ostracised. </p>
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<span class="caption">Sampa The Great has also withdrawn from Bluesfest.</span>
<span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.highroadtouring.com/artists/sampa-the-great/promo-materials/">Travys Owen</a></span>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/pay-safety-and-welfare-how-the-new-centre-for-arts-and-entertainment-workplaces-can-strengthen-the-arts-sector-198859">Pay, safety and welfare: how the new Centre for Arts and Entertainment Workplaces can strengthen the arts sector</a>
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<h2>The show must go on?</h2>
<p>This is where the actions of King Gizzard and Sampa the Great are pivotal. Artists’ willingness to stand by their values is key to counteracting the normalisation of harmful behaviours noted by the Raising Their Voices report. </p>
<p>Taking a stance is important in keeping the discussion going around these issues. The withdrawal of these bands from performing consequently raises questions around the social licence of bands, festivals or organisations who repeatedly act as though harm minimisation and inclusiveness are not their problem. </p>
<p>It has been suggested – as it often is when artists take a stance – King Gizzard should not be political, but <a href="https://www.smh.com.au/culture/music/king-gizzard-s-bluesfest-protest-is-cancel-culture-gone-wrong-20230221-p5cm74.html">just be performers</a>. This simplistic argument ignores the way art is often drawn from politics. It also ignores the significant social and cultural capital some artists possess, placing them in a position of power and influence to generate change.</p>
<p>This is not to say there should never be forgiveness, or that people who have caused harm should be “cancelled” in perpetuity (though in some cases this might be appropriate). </p>
<p>However, as we have seen with other high-profile men accused of sexual and other violence, they are often welcomed back into public life without having been held to account and without meaningful steps to make reparations or to change their attitudes and behaviour. </p>
<p>The experiences of their victims are often sidelined in this process. This <a href="https://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/10304312.2018.1483009">perpetuates a culture</a> in which harmful actions are condoned and excused at the expense of the safety and wellbeing of others.</p>
<h2>Generating meaningful change</h2>
<p>Building on the work of the Music Industry Review, there is a need for a sustained dialogue about how we can ensure those who cause harm are appropriately held to account. How can people make amends for their actions? How do we know if it is safe for them to be welcomed back into the industry? </p>
<p>In the absence of meaningful processes of accountability, artists using their position of influence to take a stand against harmful behaviour is a key lever for generating change. </p>
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<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/is-sexual-abuse-and-exploitation-rife-in-the-music-industry-167852">Is sexual abuse and exploitation rife in the music industry?</a>
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<img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/200443/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Catherine Strong receives funding from the National Careers Institute, APRA and the VMDO. </span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Bianca Fileborn receives funding from the Australian Research Council, the City of Sydney, and the Victorian Department of Justice and Community Safety.</span></em></p>A sustained dialogue about abuse in the Australian music industry is necessary for change.Catherine Strong, Associate professor, Music Industry, RMIT UniversityBianca Fileborn, Senior Lecturer in Criminology, The University of MelbourneLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1995182023-02-09T01:20:30Z2023-02-09T01:20:30ZCamp Cope leaves the Australian music industry forever changed by their fearless feminist activism<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/509047/original/file-20230208-14-jfu51w.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C1198%2C797&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Run for Cover</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Australian indie-rock trio Camp Cope announced yesterday they are splitting up. They leave behind an industry forever changed by their fearless feminist activism, and a legacy of empowered young fans.</p>
<p>Over the past few years, the issue of the Australian music industry’s “chronic gender inequality” <a href="https://theconversation.com/harder-faster-louder-challenging-sexism-in-the-music-industry-58420">has gained prominence</a>. Public call-outs, grassroots initiatives and numerous reports show the <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/music/2022/sep/01/a-very-low-glass-ceiling-sexism-and-harassment-rife-in-australian-music-long-awaited-report-finds">significant disadvantage</a> women are faced with, on and off stage. </p>
<p>Sexual harassment, violence and discrimination are rife across the industry – for audiences and musicians alike. Its prevalence, according to academic Rosemary Hill, is “<a href="https://theconversation.com/is-sexual-abuse-and-exploitation-rife-in-the-music-industry-167852">a catastrophe for women’s musical participation</a>”.</p>
<p>This lack of representation is inextricably linked to broader issues of sexual harassment, abuse and discrimination. These inequalities are, of course, far greater for Aboriginal women, women of colour, and LGBTIQ+ and gender-diverse cohorts.</p>
<p>As the industry reckons with its #MeToo moment, Camp Cope, along with other musicians like <a href="https://www.smh.com.au/national/i-m-still-gagged-jaguar-jonze-on-the-cost-of-speaking-out-20220707-p5azw6.html">Jaguar Jonze</a>, have been at the forefront of hundreds of women tirelessly working for safer, more equitable conditions.</p>
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<p>Despite music scenes having a reputation for being progressive, inclusive and tolerant, they remain male-dominated and masculine-coded spaces, and women who do participate in these spaces, as musicians, creative workers or audiences, are faced with significant systemic risks.</p>
<p>The findings of the 2022 <a href="https://musicindustryreview.com.au/">Raising their Voices Report</a> are bleak, but not surprising: pay disparity, high rates of sexual harassment, harm and bullying, and a culture that facilitates abuse and protects perpetrators.</p>
<p>The report emphasised that “Entrenched industry norms, culture, systems and behaviours which disadvantage and discriminate against women underpin their low representation in the music industry…” and that “..Women’s overall lack of power and influence in the music industry has broad ramifications for their experiences and treatment” </p>
<p>It is this culture that Camp Cope have tirelessly stood up to (often to their own personal and professional detriment), and in so doing, helped change the trajectory of an Australian music industry that has for too long been male, pale, and stale.</p>
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<h2>Who are Camp Cope?</h2>
<p>Formed in 2015, Camp Cope is comprised of three women, Georgia “Maq” McDonald (guitar/vocals), Kelly-Dawn Hellmrich (bass) and Sarah “Thomo” Thompson (drums).</p>
<p>Their music is honest and heartfelt, with leading basslines and a distinctly Australian punk-rock twang. Nominated for a slew of awards, including the ARIA Best Rock Album in 2018, the group has been known as much for their outspoken resistance to sexism and discrimination in the industry as they have for their music. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/is-sexual-abuse-and-exploitation-rife-in-the-music-industry-167852">Is sexual abuse and exploitation rife in the music industry?</a>
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<p>Camp Cope made <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/triplej/news/julia-jacklin-shouts-out-camp-cope-falls-festival-gender-line-up/9306734">headlines</a> across the Australian music scene when they called out the popular Falls Festival, held across multiple locations on the East Coast of Australia, for the lack of women in the lineup while on stage. </p>
<p>From spearheading the <a href="https://www.smh.com.au/entertainment/celebrity/aussie-musicians-join-melbourne-band-camp-copes-ittakesone-campaign-to-fight-sexual-harassment-at-gigs-20160909-grcec5.html">#ItTakesOne campaign</a> for increased safety at gigs and festivals, and demanding equal representation on festival lineups, to publicly calling out sexism, Camp Cope has done significant work to fight entrenched <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/music/2018/mar/08/you-expect-us-not-to-call-you-out-c">sexism in the industry</a>, and broader society.</p>
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<p>At least, they have raised public awareness, which has helped to prioritise women’s safety and equal participation in <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/culture/2023/jan/30/australia-national-cultural-policy-revive-culture-federal-government">government cultural policy</a>, as well as in local music scenes. At most, they have equipped a generation of fans with the strength and vocabulary to do the same.</p>
<p>Following the unexpected announcement of the split, obituaries poured out on Twitter from industry peers and fans expressing sadness and celebrating the profound and lasting impact Camp Cope had on the industry and their lives. </p>
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<h2>They’re just a band though, right?</h2>
<p>Wrong. The impact of Camp Cope on their audience cannot be understated. My 2020 study on the impact of Camp Cope on young women’s idea and identity formation highlights the real and lasting significance on these participants’ lives. The response to Camp Cope’s split from fans on Twitter yesterday further demonstrates this. </p>
<p>Over the course of eight years and three albums, Camp Cope defined a feminist agenda for a generation of female music fans who seldom saw themselves, their stories and values articulated in the mainstream. </p>
<p>My research interviewed fans of Camp Cope on their experiential and emotional connection to the band. The findings show a real and lasting impact on young women’s understanding of themselves and their worlds. Through engaging with Camp Cope, fans forged and activated self and collective feminist identities, becoming empowered to challenge sexism in their everyday lives. </p>
<p>Camp Cope’s music imbued messages of rage, love and solidarity. Their message inspired fans to speak out against injustices, to be angry, to take up space, and to even start their own bands. </p>
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<p>Their song <a href="https://youtu.be/yOI8NGJ6SdI">The Opener</a> became a battle cry for fans. The scathing, irony-drenched song calling out self-proclaimed progressive men in the scene who reinforce inequality through everyday sexism and only booking women as the opening act – if at all. When Camp Cope shouted, their audience shouted back in unity. </p>
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<p>Encouragement and visibility are key to engaging and empowering other women to participate in music. Fans saw confidence, outspokenness and strength in Camp Cope and that helped them to become more confident, outspoken and strong in their own personal identities. Through shared emotional and experiential connections, fans also established collective identities, aligning themselves with Camp Cope’s feminist beliefs and feminism within the #MeToo era more broadly.</p>
<p>Beyond confidence and inspiration, Camp Cope represents a safe space for fans to heal from sexual harm. Songs like <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tQURwvZ6wGI">The Face of God</a> assure fans that “yes, that was abuse”, and that “sexual assault was never your fault”.</p>
<p>Camp Cope’s split may well leave a hole in the hearts of fans, but their legacy is an industry on notice and the promise that maybe, someday soon, it will be different.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/199518/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>The study of Camp Cope fans' idea and identity formation mentioned in this article was undertaken at The University of Adelaide, with Dr. Kim Barbour. </span></em></p>Australian feminist indie-rock outfit Camp Cope have been leaders at a critical juncture for gender equality in the music industry.Freya Langley, PhD Candidate, Griffith UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1979912023-01-17T22:54:50Z2023-01-17T22:54:50Z‘A voice like cigarettes rolled in honey’: celebrating Renée Geyer, Australia’s queen of soul<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/504824/original/file-20230117-19-qirdno.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C14%2C1654%2C1969&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">AAP</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Renée Geyer’s name is often in histories of Australian music. A pioneering artist, her iconic soul sound opened up the local conversation about what “sounding Australian” meant. Go-Betweens icon and industry legend <a href="https://static1.squarespace.com/static/57d55c0b15d5db80eadfc592/t/5d6414f2745a850001532db5/1566840112909/Australian+Women+in+Rock+and+Pop+Music+Book+%28Scan%29.pdf">Lindy Morrison simply said</a>: “Renée Geyer was an exception to the rule”. </p>
<p>Born Renée Rebecca Geyer in Melbourne in 1953, to migrant parents from Slovakia and Hungary, her mother was a Holocaust survivor. She began in bands Dry Red and Sun, and released her debut self-titled album at 20 years old. She appeared regularly on local television, radio and in print. Her confidence then, and for the rest of her life, was captivating, although she explained that it didn’t come easily and without sacrifice. </p>
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<p>Geyer’s work as a collaborator and interpreter of other people’s words was a fundamental part of her own artistry. For many, her interpretation of James Brown’s <a href="https://youtu.be/t7WJp7613EU">It’s a Man’s World</a> will remain just as, if not more moving, than the songwriter’s own. Other hits from the time included Heading in the Right Direction, Stares and Whispers and later Say I Love You.</p>
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<p>Over her career she released 24 albums, including collections of original songs, live albums and the odd tribute record or two. Into the 1970s, 80s, 90s and 2000s she worked in Australia and the US, singing with international greats like Sting and Joe Cocker, as well as the best of local rock, pop and soul royalty. </p>
<p>She was also fond of popping up in unusual places, such as standing in for PJ Harvey in a version of Henry Lee <a href="https://youtu.be/KcavXcnjpmc">for TV show Rockwiz</a>.</p>
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<p>In 2005 she worked with Magoo (producer for Regurgitator, Powderfinger and Silverchair) on Tonight. <a href="https://twitter.com/magooapplewood/status/1615200629315756033?s=12&t=ujoa_BEotlQj5oFBk3wzXw">Magoo said</a> “She put everything into every vocal performance (all of them in the control room right next to my head) [and] also had a great production mind”, pointing to track You Matter as an example of her keenness to continue to explore.</p>
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<h2>Cigarettes rolled in honey</h2>
<p>Geyer’s vocal style was a mixture of precision and raw grit – critic Andrew P Street described it as “<a href="https://twitter.com/AndrewPStreet/status/1615195154608160771">like cigarettes rolled in honey</a>”. There was the rawness of Janis Joplin with the lift of her beloved Aretha Franklin – leading the way for Australian artists to explore beyond the bounds of pop, rock, folk and country. </p>
<p><div data-react-class="Tweet" data-react-props="{"tweetId":"1615195154608160771"}"></div></p>
<p>Her approach was direct and earnest even if her persona between songs was not – Street continued to say:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>If there is a music journalist in Australia not currently reflecting on the time Renée Geyer told them something gloriously unprintable in an interview, can they really call themselves a music journalist? An incredible artist. An unbelievable voice. And goddamn was she a magnificent interviewee.</p>
</blockquote>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/504823/original/file-20230117-3073-u1cjp7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/504823/original/file-20230117-3073-u1cjp7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/504823/original/file-20230117-3073-u1cjp7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/504823/original/file-20230117-3073-u1cjp7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/504823/original/file-20230117-3073-u1cjp7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/504823/original/file-20230117-3073-u1cjp7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/504823/original/file-20230117-3073-u1cjp7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/504823/original/file-20230117-3073-u1cjp7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">Swing is the fifteenth and final studio album by Australian soul and R&B singer Renée Geyer. The album was released on 19 April 2013 and peaked at number 22.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">AAP</span></span>
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<p>I interviewed her in 2003 for the release of her 20th album, Tenderland, which was one of the most successful of her career. Her directness was refreshing – and yes, there was lots I couldn’t print – but she treated me no more ruthlessly than she did herself. Did she feel like 20 albums was a lot? Was she done? </p>
<blockquote>
<p>I’m just half way, Slim Dusty had 100 albums… I would challenge anyone to go through that catalogue and find no shit in there. Sorry, rest in peace and all that, but 100 albums, give me a break! I mean I’ve done 20 and there’s maybe four gems. I’m not going to tell you which ones, I mean they’re honest compared to other stuff that was around, but for my standards there’s a few beauties there, too. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>Geyer told me she was “good at conducting and bossing” when it came to music, saying, “I’ve got it all in my head, the chords in my head, but I don’t actually play.”</p>
<h2>A ‘difficult’ woman</h2>
<p>Geyer’s self-deprecating humour was delightfully disarming. It also was part of the contradiction that Paul Kelly summed up in the song he wrote for her, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kHqntS4yKn8">A Difficult Woman</a> (1994). She used the song’s title for her album that year, and later for biography, Confessions of a Difficult Woman (2000), which candidly told stories of a very rock and roll life. </p>
<p>The song and the concept followed her since then, but she <a href="https://themusic.com.au/news/australian-music-icon-renee-geyer-passes-away-aged-69/1wTDy8rNzM8/17-01-23">was also clear</a> that it wasn’t necessary a neutral term. “They never say ‘difficult man’. But the song was beautiful”, was her summation of it. Later Kelly would record it himself, but her versions, throughout the years, continued to soar. </p>
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<p>Her influence on Australian music was acknowledged by the ARIA Hall of Fame in 2005, the Music Victoria Hall of Fame in 2013, and the inaugural Lifetime Achievement Award at the Australian Women in Music Awards in 2018. </p>
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<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/pop-icon-olivia-newton-john-was-the-rare-performer-whose-career-flourished-through-different-phases-188428">Pop icon Olivia Newton-John was the rare performer whose career flourished through different phases</a>
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<p><a href="https://twitter.com/kateceberano/status/1615267046484496386?s=12&t=ujoa_BEotlQj5oFBk3wzXw">Kate Ceberano</a> called her “The diva, the brutal, the shapeshifter, the irreplaceable Renée”, and <a href="https://m.facebook.com/story.php?story_fbid=pfbid02dvUYqCyJSYP4bVdNC4nT2Uvy6Bb37QBCbSuM9EmVJM5TkvK14e3NYC85AYJ2gU27l&id=100044629204848&mibextid=qC1gEa">Deborah Conway</a> said “Australia’s Queen of Soul has made her final exit stage left […] She made me laugh, she pissed me off but she was never, ever boring, and she made my life the richer for knowing her.”</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/197991/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Liz Giuffre does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Renée Geyer, Australian jazz and soul singer, has died aged 69.Liz Giuffre, Senior Lecturer in Communication, University of Technology SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1930952022-11-10T19:01:15Z2022-11-10T19:01:15ZFriday essay: Under the Milky Way – how a ‘beautiful accident’ of a song was born and became an anthem<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/493973/original/file-20221107-18-qdj82y.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=26%2C17%2C2964%2C1971&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock (elements of this image furnished by NASA)</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Smiths Lake is a languid tidal inlet on the Australian east coast, flanked by gentle slopes of thick, eucalypt rainforest. Since time immemorial, this has been Worimi Aboriginal Country. Across a mile of shallow sandbars, warm seawater flows, twice a day. An eternal planetary rhythm fills and empties the lake.</p>
<p>In daylight hours, pied oyster-catchers wade in search of molluscs. At night, glissando Australian insects buzz and marsupials wobble though the undergrowth. It’s far enough from Sydney to escape metropolitan light pollution. Out on the lake are a billion phosphorescent reflections. Look up. The sky is crowded with stars.</p>
<p>Smiths Lake is where The Church’s Under the Milky Way was written. Steve Kilbey and his then partner, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pink_Champagne">Karin Jansson</a>, were visiting his mother, who lived across from the inlet. </p>
<p>“There were birds and flowers and snakes,” said Kilbey, “she had a big deck you could sit on and see the sea.” After dinner, he snuck outside and smoked a joint. In a cabin in the backyard, he noodled on an old piano, “slightly out of tune. Old childhood toys of my brothers sat on top.” </p>
<p>Kilbey started with an A-minor chord with a bass note an octave down; “being stoned I could hear a world of possibilities in that chord.” From nowhere came a sequence. “Gee the second chord sounds good … on the bass note is a f…ing F-sharp!” The remaining chords fell into sequence seamlessly. “The whole thing may have taken a minute. My chord progression fell out of the sky.”</p>
<p>Jansson heard it and offered encouragement. On the porch, under stars, they sketched out words. </p>
<blockquote>
<p>I said, ‘what about “sometimes when this…” and she said, ‘yeah’ that’s good.’ She said, ‘what about “destination,"’ and I said ‘yeah … "Despite your destination."’ We agreed on the lyrics within about three minutes.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>After that, Kilbey "didn’t think that much about it. After all, I wrote four or five songs a week. It was just one more.”</p>
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<h2>Inside the hit machine</h2>
<p>A year later, in 1987, The Church were ensconced at The Complex in Los Angeles, making the album Starfish. Nine songs had been rehearsed intensively. Another track floated around that manager Mike Lembo wanted recorded. Kilbey had a demo of the song that would become Milky Way on his home eight-track recorder, with little more than bass and acoustic guitar parts. It hadn’t been brought to songwriting sessions because of their more democratic, experimental approach.</p>
<p>“[Producers] Waddy (Wachtel) and Greg (Lanyani) didn’t like it,” remembered Kilbey, “so they said ‘you can go and do that yourself in the little studio in the middle of The Complex.’” </p>
<p>Kilbey thought the track would end up on a solo project or collaboration. His fellow band members Marty Willson-Piper and Peter Koppes “weren’t that interested in it either,” Kilbey recalls, though drummer Richard Ploog liked it a lot. Kilbey’s demo, recalls Koppes, “walked out of the door as a simple cassette … to be manipulated by the most sophisticated piece of machinery in the house.”</p>
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<span class="caption">Steve Kilbey, California, 1986.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Copyright (c) by Nancy J Price</span></span>
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<p>One of The Complex’s technical whizzes (who went by the name Awesome Welles) loaded the song into a workstation called a <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Synclavier">Synclavier</a>. An integrated synthesizer, sampler, and sequencer, the Synclavier was the “Rolls Royce” of music gear. It was outrageously expensive. The base system started at $150,000, before add-ons such as a $6,000 sampling card, $25,000 RAM, and $15,000 hard disk (with a then whopping capacity of 320Mb!). </p>
<p>The Synclavier revolutionised production at a time when megastars commanded large recording budgets and spent years in the studio. (One can hear it on Michael Jackson’s Thriller, Dire Straits’s Brothers in Arms, and Paul Simon’s Graceland.) With its sequencing power at their disposal, Kilbey and Welles “mapped out” the song.</p>
<p>“When it was returned to us,” remembers Willson-Piper, “they had constructed a skeleton that needed skin. It had sampled drums and cymbals, sequenced bass, and an odd backwards bagpipe solo in the instrumental section. But even in this form it had something magical about it.”</p>
<p>Session drummer Russ Kunkel was brought in to play the drum part, after Ploog struggled with the Synclavier’s sequencing. Vocals were added, and Willson-Piper and Koppes recorded multiple layers of guitars.</p>
<p>With overdubs wrapped, the song lurked in the background, the “black sheep” of the record, according to Kilbey. “Nobody really liked it that much. Not even me.”</p>
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<span class="caption">Clive Davis in 2007.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Wikimedia Commons</span></span>
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<p>Then Clive Davis (founder of Arista records), Lembo and Arista staff gathered at The Complex to hear Starfish in its entirety.</p>
<p>“We played them all our favourite tracks,” remembered Kilbey. “I thought Lost or Reptile could be singles, though I had a sinking feeling the album had no single.” Lembo and the Arista people “all nodded in agreement that this was a good album; they weren’t all that jazzed by it, but they certainly weren’t disappointed.”</p>
<p>Then, “through a patina of Californian pot smoke,” as Kilbey describes it, someone said, “Play ‘em Under the Milky Way.”</p>
<p>The song’s acoustic guitars started, and Kilbey’s voice crooned, “Sometimes when this place gets kind of empty.” </p>
<p>Then came bass, drums, synths – the song’s layers accumulating into strident choruses – followed by a wild instrumental. At its conclusion, “the room was silent,” says Kilbey. </p>
<blockquote>
<p>Our manager had a very strange look in his eye … ‘I think we can get this song on the radio,’ he said. It was as if you could see the dollar signs in his eyes. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>Davis simply said, “That song is a hit.” </p>
<blockquote>
<p>And then, each guy from each department at Arista shook my hand like I had just won the lottery… They said, ‘We’ll make this a hit!’ </p>
<p>The last guy out the door was a young A&R guy I knew, and I said to him ‘Is it really going to be a hit?’ And he said, ‘It will be now those guys have agreed it’s going to be a hit.’</p>
</blockquote>
<h2>The urban night</h2>
<p>Music lives and breathes within the spaces of its listening. For centuries, architects designed concert halls to improve orchestral acoustics, cathedrals to wrap choral voices in heavenly reverb. The booming bass and wild echoes of dub reggae were tailored for open-air Jamaican sound systems. Jazz can sound great on record, but in a club, with bodies in close proximity, the very same performance can be unforgettable.</p>
<p>It’s worth thinking about the album Starfish in this light. Starfish was best listened to at night, in a dimly lit room. But 1988, the year it was released, was at the cusp of technological shifts in music. Vinyl record sales peaked that year and then fell from 1989 onward, never to return to dominance. CDs were new, and cassettes commonplace. The age of Walkmans and Discmans had arisen. Many newcomers to The Church enjoyed Starfish through headphones while on a train or walking home at night. It was ideal for this: immersive and intimate music for the nocturnal urbane.</p>
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<p>And on Starfish, no track sounded better through headphones than Under the Milky Way. Its chiming 12-string chords and hushed vocals instantly transformed wherever listeners happened to be. Part of the song’s charm is how it unsettles the senses by re-rendering seemingly familiar landscapes in strange light. Banal suburban streets, an economy class seat, or the view from the nighttime bus window are all poignant with Milky Way in one’s ears.</p>
<p>Because of this, when I listen to the song, I’m drawn to think less about starry skies than urban dramas unfolding under the Milky Way tonight. The parallel is with Edward Hopper’s impressionistic paintings of city apartments and diners at night, and their “imaginative transformation of the familiar,” in the words of art critic, <a href="https://books.google.com.au/books/about/Edward_Hopper_s_New_York.html?id=aeDPB-ErKUQC&redir_esc=y">Avis Berman</a>. Within bedrooms and offices, train cars and bars, solitary figures ruminate on undisclosed matters. Personal upheavals are implied, but the details withheld.</p>
<p>In similar vein, Milky Way hints at drama but conceals vital clues. According to Kilbey, it was initially “kind of a jazz song … piano chords, smoky, I imagined myself sitting at the bar, everyone drinking, that was the place getting empty.” </p>
<p>Milky Way evoked a dislocated world of transits and transmissions, distance and desire. Its unsettling mix of emotions are what one senses in airport lounges and late-night hotel bars: a certain frisson but also oblique loneliness arising from the city’s fleeting encounters and multitude of temporarily intersecting, but anonymous, lives.</p>
<p>In conjuring such emotions, Milky Way also crystallised a popular culture fascination for the urban night. The most popular TV series at the time was Cheers – set in an evening downtown bar. It was the decade of countless erotic thrillers set at night in nameless condos. Musical confrères included Tom Waits’s Closing Time and Nighthawks at the Diner (the latter a literal referencing of the most famous Hopper painting); Sting’s Moon over Bourbon Street, and Iggy Pop’s Living on the Edge of the Night (on which Waddy Wachtel also played).</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/493975/original/file-20221107-11-jd8qq0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/493975/original/file-20221107-11-jd8qq0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/493975/original/file-20221107-11-jd8qq0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=327&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/493975/original/file-20221107-11-jd8qq0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=327&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/493975/original/file-20221107-11-jd8qq0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=327&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/493975/original/file-20221107-11-jd8qq0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=411&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/493975/original/file-20221107-11-jd8qq0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=411&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/493975/original/file-20221107-11-jd8qq0.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=411&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Nighthawks by Edward Hopper, 1942.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Wikimedia Commons</span></span>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/edward-hopper-the-artist-who-evoked-urban-loneliness-and-disappointment-with-beautiful-clarity-77636">Edward Hopper: the artist who evoked urban loneliness and disappointment with beautiful clarity</a>
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<p>Under a starry sky, the lure of something unnameable – the tingle of itchy feet, the scent of curiosity – leads you somewhere “despite your destination”. Rather than a love song, or pining for love, the singer dwells with a “loveless fascination” as “their breath fades with the light.” </p>
<p>Milky Way combines the wistfulness of stargazing with the dissociations of urban life. Words touch emotions, but as with intimacy in the vast metropolis, cerebral meanings remain just out of grasp. It’s an alluring case of what Willson-Piper called “the subjects hidden in the shadows of Kilbey’s words.”</p>
<p>Kilbey repeatedly said in interviews that Milky Way “is not about anything.” Like all his songs, “<a href="https://www.songfacts.com/facts/the-church/under-the-milky-way">it’s a blank, abstract canvas for people to lose themselves in</a>.” Still, fans forever quizzed him about its meaning. “There’s no wrong – that’s the thing,” said Kilbey when interviewed about the song three decades later:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>If someone says, ‘To me, Under the Milky Way is about the death of my budgerigar, and that’s what gets me through,’ I go, ‘Okay, then that’s what it is.’ If someone says, ‘I think it means the Australian sky at night,’ I go, ‘Good on ya.’ If someone asks, ‘Is that about Milky Way Bar in Amsterdam where people smoke hash?’ I say, ‘Definitely.’</p>
<p>Somewhere, a small voice inside me would say, ‘That isn’t what I had in mind when I was writing it,’ but songs are supposed to be open-ended invitations for you to create your own adventure.</p>
</blockquote>
<h2>A need, a gnawing longing</h2>
<p>Several compositional nuances enhance the mystery of Milky Way. It’s one of the best examples of Kilbey’s voice – vulnerable, but with unique inflections – captured on record. Softly sung in a lower register, performing it live must have been difficult against the guitar amplifiers. But on record there is space to convey vocal texture.</p>
<p>Much of the song’s charm can be credited to its underlying chords – the piano noodlings that descended into Kilbey’s hands at Smiths Lake. They <a href="https://www.popmatters.com/church-under-the-milky-way">have been described</a> as “questioning, dark, and mysterious — evocative of its starry night title.” </p>
<p>The three notes of the chorus melody “look-ing-for” (E, C, A) form an F-major-seventh arpeggio. “You know I always play F-major-seventh,” once quipped Kilbey, acknowledging its omnipresence.</p>
<p>It evokes what the French call <em>tristesse</em> (also the name of a Church song from the album Heyday): a sadness and melancholy, a gnawing longing. The song’s sense of seduction comes from a single fugitive note, that unexpected F-sharp. It’s played on bass, in the middle of each verse’s ponderous opening line, underneath prominent words: “Sometimes when this <em>place</em> gets kind of empty”; “And it’s <em>some</em>-thing quite peculiar.” </p>
<p>“That’s so important, that magic little F-sharp,” said Kilbey. “It makes all the difference in the world. It doesn’t do what you think it’s going to do. The F-sharp was there on the piano when I wrote it. When I hear it played on the piano, against the A-suspended-fourth, it doesn’t sound that radical, but when you transpose it to two different instruments, then for some reason the magic happens.”</p>
<p>It’s the kind of melancholy jazz note that a piano or fretless bass player might unearth – but one that scarcely registers with guitarists, being difficult to reach while playing an A-suspended-fourth chord at that point in the song. Here it adds an intoxicating allure – suggesting oblique angles and unusual vantage points.</p>
<p>“When it hits that F-sharp, it does something to people,” said Kilbey. “I can feel it up on stage. Strangely enough, I had never heard anyone else do it, up until then. You’d have thought all the intervals would have been used and everyone would have known them. It was just there on the piano when I wrote it. I got lucky with that.”</p>
<p>As for the backward bagpipe solo, there was a 16-bar middle section on Kilbey’s original demo, in which he stuck “these most obvious of chords,” intending to later add “something ambient or electronic … something really strange. It wasn’t gonna be a Church song after all.” Later, at The Complex, a “backwards African bagpipe” effect was inserted as a placeholder, using the Synclavier’s banks of sounds.</p>
<p>Koppes was then encouraged to create a solo using an e-bow – a gadget guitarists use to mimic the sound of a violin bow on strings – which he combined with wah-wah effects. The bagpipes were kept when the producers, band, and management listened back. Disruptive and bizarre, the bagpipes somehow fitted, suggesting circumstances that are twisted and tense. A production quirk gifted the song a memorable climax.</p>
<p>Koppes’s solo instead became the finale to the song (though fragments were retained in the middle-eight and can be heard, lower in the mix, beside the bagpipes). The song’s closing passage, he said, “had a few different takes that Waddy edited for the final compile.” </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/493983/original/file-20221107-20-63eoxx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/493983/original/file-20221107-20-63eoxx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/493983/original/file-20221107-20-63eoxx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/493983/original/file-20221107-20-63eoxx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/493983/original/file-20221107-20-63eoxx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=450&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/493983/original/file-20221107-20-63eoxx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/493983/original/file-20221107-20-63eoxx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/493983/original/file-20221107-20-63eoxx.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=566&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">Waddy Wachtel in 2009.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Wikimedia Commons</span></span>
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<p>Waddy’s choice included another fugitive note “that was not supposed to be in the actual scale.” But it “was the correct note from <a href="https://hellomusictheory.com/learn/dorian-mode/">the Dorian mode</a>” partially occupying Kilbey’s chord progression. “Maybe therein is part of the magic underlying the song,” said Koppes, “a mercurial key change in there somewhere.”</p>
<p>In Wachtel’s view, “it came down to this mix where there were so many faders on it … Suddenly, the song became this beautiful piece of music … It really worked. It was captivating, haunting.”</p>
<h2>An enduring classic</h2>
<p>Under the Milky Way and Starfish were released simultaneously on February 15, 1988. It took a little while for the world to notice. The single was popular first in Australia, where the band had a following, and on US college radio stations. Momentum grew as Arista’s marketing went into overdrive. “No expense was spared to promote Starfish,” remembers Willson-Piper. This was, after all, “Clive’s signing.”</p>
<p>For Milky Way, a video allegedly costing US$100,000 was made. Filmed in an LA studio, “mirror balls glitter and the sidereal light show spreads bright diamonds over the band’s bemused faces” while, <a href="https://martywillson-piper.com/starfish-2/">Willson-Piper recalls</a>, “the director’s daughter roamed around New York with a picture frame.”</p>
<p>MTV placed it on high rotation. Then mainstream radio picked it up in the big US cities. Unlike the charts nowadays – in which singles and albums tend to peak in their debut week – it took Under the Milky Way nearly two months to enter the Billboard Hot 100, at no 91 on April 9. Only then did it steadily grow. The next week: 78. Then 70, 64, 56, 50, 43, 37. It peaked at 24 on June 18, also reaching no 2 on Billboard’s mainstream rock chart. </p>
<p>The song stayed on the charts for a total of four months. Widespread airplay in the US led to exposure in Europe and South America. There were similar chart trajectories in Australia, New Zealand, Italy, Germany, and Spain. Even the UK, a market notoriously difficult to crack, showed interest. “Everyone wanted The Church on their TV show all over the world,” said Ploog, “every country wanted us to come and play.” The Church finally had a hit.</p>
<p>Its success coincided with other Australian forays into global charts. In 1988, INXS had five US top ten singles from Kick. Icehouse had two US top 20 hits from Man of Colours, and Midnight Oil two from Diesel and Dust. In the UK, Kylie Minogue’s debut spawned four singles in the year-end top 20, including the highest-selling single of 1988. It was as close to an Australian invasion as there would ever be.</p>
<p>Yet musically, The Church had little in common with their Aussie compatriots. More influential was a surge of success among other “indie” bands. There is a <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/news/2021-03-06/how-1991-saw-the-music-industry-turned-upside-down/13148150">widely held view</a> that alternative music “broke through” to the mainstream in 1991, with the release of Nirvana’s Nevermind, and the onset of grunge. Actually, it was more of a building storm. And if a pivotal phase must be singled out, 1987–8 is a contender. </p>
<p>“A new world was opening up for bands of our ilk,” explained Willson-Piper, “and the alternative scene was beginning to take hold in America.” The Church were “much more in tune with our English contemporaries such as Echo and the Bunnymen and Psychedelic Furs – bands who were steeped in mood and mystery who had enigmatic lead singers.” </p>
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<p>As a global aesthetic category of “alternative” loomed, a growing international audience tired of stadium rock leaned evermore left-of-center and embraced The Church as well.</p>
<p>“We had no idea at the time of how this song would single-handedly write us into the history books,” reflects Willson-Piper. </p>
<p>“Over the years, there’s been some revisionism over that song,” believes Kilbey. “Most people working on it at the time considered it the weakest song on the record; it was the public and Arista that made the damn thing such a hit.”</p>
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<p>Some band members hated Milky Way for a while. If they played it early in a live set, fair-weather audiences scattered shortly thereafter. Kilbey objected to what he saw as undue affection for what was one among hundreds of his songs, a track that an overbearing production team had, in his view, rendered “flat, lifeless and sterile.”</p>
<p>For music critics and flash-in-the-pan fans, everything the band recorded afterward was compared against it. Nevertheless, it did open a new vein of music in their career – softer songs without raucous guitar solos, poignant impressions for late-night contemplation. </p>
<p>Shades reappear on Paradox and Swan Lake (from 1992’s Priest=Aura) and June (from 2003’s Forget Yourself). The song’s jazzy late night bar scene returned on Kilbey solo records and collaborations. On Keeper from 2001’s <a href="https://stevekilbey.bandcamp.com/album/dabble">Dabble</a>, the “Waitress with the short hair is stoned/She drifts amongst the tables,” while on Geneva 4am from <a href="https://stevekilbey.bandcamp.com/album/jack-frost">Jack Frost</a> (the wonderful 1991 collaboration with Grant McLennan from The Go-Betweens), “air hostesses are drinking at the bar/ I heard somebody say, I wish I was in America.”</p>
<p>Eventually, Milky Way seeped into the collective consciousness, becoming a standard. Janine Israel, <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/culture/australia-culture-blog/2014/jul/15/the-church-under-the-milky-way-an-accidental-australian-anthem">revisiting it in 2014 for The Guardian</a>, described it as “a song that feels as though it has always existed.”</p>
<p>“It’s a song that has its own life,” says Willson-Piper. “It’s bigger than the band, a song that people who don’t even know the band, know.” Steeped by nostalgia, it became one of those songs people say marked an era.</p>
<p>In Australia especially, Milky Way became canonical – an unofficial “alternative” national anthem (implying the southern cross constellation on the national flag), alongside Wide Open Road by The Triffids and Cattle and Cane by The Go-Betweens.</p>
<p>The band were asked to perform it at the 2006 Melbourne Commonwealth Games Opening Ceremony, and in a 2008 national newspaper poll, Milky Way was <a href="https://www.theaustralian.com.au/subscribe/news/1/?sourceCode=TAWEB_WRE170_a_GGL&dest=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.theaustralian.com.au%2Fweekend-australian-magazine%2Ftop-of-the-pops--19882008%2Fnews-story%2Fcd8feb84d3b990438a8b7526eabea218&memtype=anonymous&mode=premium&v21=dynamic-groupa-control-noscore&V21spcbehaviour=append">voted the best song of the past 20 years</a> (receiving twice the votes of the second-place entry).</p>
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<p>“It’s a song for all seasons and a song for all occasions,” says Kilbey. “I got lucky. I wrote one of those. The Beatles wrote a lot more.”</p>
<p>“Brides continue to walk down the aisle to it,” observed Israel, “The dying request it at their funerals … Kilbey has lost count of the number of people who’ve told him they lost their virginity to it.”</p>
<p>He has also lost count of the cover versions. The fan website Shadow Cabinet lists all known covers of Church songs; three-quarters are of Milky Way. They include versions by The Killers, Sia, Josh Pyke, Grant-Lee Phillips, and Say Lou Lou (a duo formed by Kilbey and Jansson’s twin daughters, Miranda and Elektra).</p>
<p>“It does confirm my belief that one of the greatest tools when I write is ambiguity,” says Kilbey. “The Killers and Tim Minchin can do a version and Jimmy Little, a guy from a completely different age group and culture, can do a version.”</p>
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<p>Following Little’s cover, it also became an Aboriginal campfire classic and companion to First Nations astronomy, in which the Milky Way and its constellations are spirit beings guiding the way to distant places. Kids in American inner-city public schools sing it in choir. </p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Public School 22, Staten Island, NY, perform Under the Milky Way.</span></figcaption>
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<p>On YouTube, there are endless amateur covers. “Blow me down with a feather,” says Kilbey, “but everyone and their grandma’s hyaena has done a version! They get the f…ing words wrong,” he jibes, and “they almost always get the chords wrong, they leave out bits.” But “who f…ing cares, It’s that kinda song!”</p>
<p>A beautiful accident, “Milky Way changed everything in our lives,” concluded Kilbey. It propelled their career into an enduring second phase with greater musical confidence.</p>
<p><em>This is an edited extract from <a href="https://www.bloomsbury.com/au/churchs-starfish-9781501387012/">The Church’s Starfish</a>, by Chris Gibson (Bloomsbury).</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/193095/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Chris Gibson receives funding from the Australian Research Council. </span></em></p>It has become an Aboriginal campfire classic. Kids in American inner-city public schools sing it in choir. Chris Gibson unpacks the mystery and enduring appeal of The Church’s Under the Milky Way.Chris Gibson, Professor of Geography, University of WollongongLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1884462022-08-09T07:10:53Z2022-08-09T07:10:53ZThree lessons Olivia Newton-John taught me about music – and life<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/478228/original/file-20220809-12-o4j68c.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=39%2C0%2C5213%2C3504&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Photo by Roger Allston/Daily Express/Hulton Archive/Getty Images</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>My default mental image of Olivia Newton-John is from the mid-1970s: long, flowing floral dresses; long, centre-parted light brown hair; big inquisitive eyes; and, when called for, an irresistible smile perfect for the cover of TV Week. </p>
<p>It seemed like the counterculture had passed her by. </p>
<p>But even in the heights of my hippie and punk-inspired (imagined, toothless) rejections of society and a perceived mainstream, I respected Olivia, a figure so ubiquitous in popular culture during my first 20 years on the planet it feels natural to call her by her first name. </p>
<p>There was something about her voice, her way with a song. Through her phrasing and timbre, there was always a personal appeal to her singing. </p>
<p>Like heatstroke in December-through-February, Olivia was part of the Australian landscape. The country felt a little less hostile for her being in it - or beamed into it from the northern hemisphere, while we claimed her as “ours”. </p>
<p>There was a big sister who understood and sympathised. </p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/pop-icon-olivia-newton-john-was-the-rare-performer-whose-career-flourished-through-different-phases-188428">Pop icon Olivia Newton-John was the rare performer whose career flourished through different phases</a>
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<h2>1. What she taught me about murder</h2>
<p>Despite all this, Olivia did contribute to a certain loss of innocence. </p>
<p>Some of us are unlucky enough to encounter death personally as children; for the rest it will be a song or a TV show, a passing remark or a news item. </p>
<p>Newton-John’s recording of the folk ballad Banks of the Ohio was released in 1971. It concerns the protagonist luring their loved one down to the river to stab them through the heart. </p>
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<p>I held a knife against his breast <br>
As into my arms he pressed<br>
He cried: My love! Don’t you murder me<br>
I’m not prepared for eternity.</p>
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<p>I can’t think of an earlier exposure to the idea of death, let alone murder. I associate it with the tinny sound of a portable AM radio. I have the honeyed tones of ONJ forever linked to the visceral realisation one human being could wilfully kill another. </p>
<p>Heavy metal and hip hop are the traditional punching bags of parents worried about harmful content. But people let their guards down around ONJ.</p>
<h2>2. What she taught me through a cover band</h2>
<p>Shaggin’ Wagon, a cover band of mine instigated around 1993, did what it said on the label: rocked the hell out of songs from the 1970s. </p>
<p>We combined relatively obscure minor chart hits – say, Silver Lady by David Soul, or Ebony Eyes by Bob Welch – with what we thought of as a classic lineage of power pop by the likes of Big Star, The Soft Boys, The dB’s, The Sweet and Abba. </p>
<p>There was always a smattering of hard rock – Kiss, Alice Cooper – and Australian artists like The Numbers, Models and Dragon. Though the repertoire was always changing, there were a few big crowd pleasers to bring the house down. </p>
<p>One of mine, as part-time singer, was Hopelessly Devoted to You. What started as half a joke I took to with gusto. It is a great song, with a fantastic key change from A major in the verses to F major in the chorus via a devastating G minor chord. </p>
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<p>“There’s nowhere to hide”, wallows the protagonist on that pitiful chord, harmonically so removed from the plaintive longing of comfortable A major we’ve swooned through thus far. </p>
<p>I started to search for other Olivia songs. I picked up a 45 of A Little More Love and realised it was a kind of masterpiece; like Hopelessly it was composed by longtime Newton-John collaborator John Farrar. </p>
<p>It is another beautifully structured song, somewhat labyrinthine. Even now I find it a thrill to play on the guitar. </p>
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<p>Despite my party trick of (usually) being able to hit the high F at the end of Hopelessly, sustaining the upper octave required for the choruses of A Little More Love was beyond me. </p>
<p>The attempt further educated me about the technical demands Olivia shrugged off. The range is so wide that no matter how I transposed it, I could not pull off both low verses and high choruses. </p>
<p>I already knew she was good – and I’d never claim to be anywhere near ONJ’s league – but this was further proof being learned by my body.</p>
<h2>3. What she taught me about the girl-next-door</h2>
<p>Olivia wasn’t entirely convinced about Physical. She loved the song but wondered: could she get away with it? </p>
<p>Tired of the flirtation and game-playing, the protagonist wants to get down to it: “There’s nothin’ left to talk about unless it’s horizontally”. </p>
<p>The record was banned <a href="https://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-9972499/Olivia-Newton-John-thought-Physical-raunchy-release.html">in Utah</a> and <a href="https://books.google.com.au/books?id=kCQEAAAAMBAJ&pg=PA5&redir_esc=y#v=onepage&q&f=false">South Africa</a> due to its explicit content (!). The video further fanned the flames, with its closing “gay scene” (two guys leaving the gym holding hands). </p>
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<p>Every bit of controversy just further hyped what was a superlative pop record. Physical topped the US charts for 10 weeks in 1981 and was one of the biggest songs of the decade. And if Physical wasn’t enough, the follow up single was Make a Move On Me.</p>
<p>You’d be forgiven for sensing a theme. </p>
<p>Physical, the album, is about more than a seasoned pop star trying on a slightly more risqué persona. None of the six images of Newton-John on the cover feature her looking at the camera, or even with her eyes open. </p>
<p>She does not challenge the camera or voyeur with her direct gaze, and so may be seen to be offering herself as an object to be consumed; the assumption along this line of reasoning is she avails herself of the male gaze. </p>
<p>I find it more compelling to consider her lost in her body. The viewer, the whole world outside her physical sensation, is irrelevant.</p>
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<p>Despite the fact the music remains eminently accessible, she is not looking to her audience for approval. </p>
<p>Physical is the definitive statement of independence – from country music radio, from her pre-1978 image as girl-next-door, from a certain level of conservatism in her audience. </p>
<p>She even cut her hair.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/188446/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>John Encarnacao does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>There was something about her voice, her way with a song. But there were lessons to be learned from her music, too.John Encarnacao, Musician, lecturer, Western Sydney UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1884282022-08-09T02:45:58Z2022-08-09T02:45:58ZPop icon Olivia Newton-John was the rare performer whose career flourished through different phases<p>Olivia Newton-John was a versatile artist with an appeal that spanned generations, and who played an important role in claiming a space for Australian popular culture on the world stage. </p>
<p>She was the rare performer whose career flourished through different phases, and who found success exploring many facets of her talent.</p>
<p>Born in Cambridge in 1948, Newton-John moved to Melbourne at age 6 (becoming one of a myriad of non-Australian celebrities wholeheartedly claimed by this country). </p>
<p>In her teens she started to build up her profile on the local performing circuits, also appearing on pop music television program The Go!! Show. </p>
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<p>In the 1960s, Australian musical acts saw moving to the UK as a vital part of their career progression. Newton-John became part of the steady stream of expats pursuing their music in “the mother country” after winning a talent competition that provided her with tickets. </p>
<p>When her friend Pat Carroll joined her, the two found success touring as a pop duo, before visa troubles meant Carroll had to return to Australia. </p>
<p>This led to new opportunities for Newton-John as a solo artist. Her first album If Not For You (1971) was a success in the UK and Australia, establishing her as a household name in those countries – and leading to opportunities such as a performance at Eurovision representing the UK in 1974 (she lost to ABBA).</p>
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<p>Her break in the US market came as she found a niche in the country music genre. Country/pop crossover songs such as Let Me Be There were huge hits, and in 1972 she won a Grammy for Best Country Female – the first of four Grammys she would win across her career. </p>
<p>Her move to the US in the mid-1970s was accompanied by a string of number one hits in that country, establishing her as an international superstar. </p>
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<h2>Life on the silver screen</h2>
<p>Her star continued to rise with the release of the musical Grease in 1978. </p>
<p>Sandy established her as a genuinely iconic pop culture figure. </p>
<p>Grease was a huge box-office success, and produced a multi-million copy selling soundtrack. Tracks such as You’re the One That I Want and Summer Loving were not only hits in their own right at the time but have become embedded in our cultural memory, transcending generations with their appeal. </p>
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<p>Grease was the peak of her movie career. Attempts to re-create the on-screen magic between herself and co-star John Travolta in Two of a Kind and the fantastical Xanadu (a personal childhood favourite) failed to gain traction with audiences or critics. </p>
<p>But her contributions to the soundtracks of these films – including Magic and Twist of Fate – still charted highly as her musical career stayed strong. </p>
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<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/conversing-with-the-divine-why-we-still-need-our-muses-37051">Conversing with the divine – why we still need our muses</a>
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<h2>Away from the spotlight</h2>
<p>In the early 1980s she was seen as part of the “<a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/lifestyle/1982/07/31/australian-invasion/e05b181c-c886-46fa-ad9c-04ea7c036bb3/">Australian invasion</a>”, a period where Oz culture was particularly prominent on the international stage through acts such as Air Supply and the Little River Band. </p>
<p>Newton-John leaned into the moment. In 1983, she launched her <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2-k9lEdCvGg">Koala Blue boutique</a> selling Australian fashion and cultural items, in collaboration with her previous singing partner Pat Carroll. The boutique lasted a little over a decade, during which time Newton-John had a family and put less focus on her music career.</p>
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<p>A planned comeback in 1992 had to be put on hold when Newton-John was diagnosed with breast cancer shortly before beginning her tour. </p>
<p>Her journey with the disease inspired her to take up advocacy and fundraising work in this area. The <a href="https://www.onjcancercentre.org/">Olivia Newton-John Cancer Wellness and Research Centre</a> fundraises in various ways, including through events such as the annual Wellness Walk. </p>
<p>The return of Newton-John’s cancer in 2017, which would eventually lead to her death, also spelled the end of her touring career.</p>
<h2>A lasting legacy</h2>
<p>Newton-John leaves a legacy as a sweet girl-next-door type with a sublime voice, who embraced the country that claimed her as its own, but who also at times showed a more risqué side, such as in Sandy’s leather jumpsuit, or the cheeky video to the unapologetically sexual Physical.</p>
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<p>She has already been recognised through awards and honours. </p>
<p>She has been inducted into the <a href="https://www.aria.com.au/hall-of-fame/">ARIA Hall of Fame</a>. In 2020 she was appointed a <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/news/2019-12-28/olivia-newton-john-elton-john-make-queen-new-year-honours-list/11830554">Dame</a> in the Queen’s New Year honours list. She has also been a continuing part of the cultural conversation through appearances on pop culture staples such as Drag Race. </p>
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<p>She remained down-to-earth and friendly, regularly turning up to events like the Wellness Walks to chat to participants and encourage them on. </p>
<p>Like many Australians, ONJ has been part of the soundtrack to my life – from arranging my own little performances to Xanadu in kindergarten, to singing along to the Grease megamix at school discos, to discovering her earlier work through my research much later in life – and many have benefitted from her non-musical work, too. </p>
<p>She will be missed but never forgotten.</p>
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<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/the-australian-music-vault-moves-the-canon-beyond-pub-rock-89361">The Australian Music Vault moves the canon beyond pub rock</a>
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<img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/188428/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Catherine Strong does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Olivia Newton-John leaves a legacy as a sweet girl-next-door type with a sublime voice, who embraced the country that claimed her as its own.Catherine Strong, Associate professor, Music Industry, RMIT UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1883432022-08-06T23:27:13Z2022-08-06T23:27:13ZVale Judith Durham, the cuddly Aussie ‘girl-next-door’ whose soaring voice found international fame<p>Judith Durham, one of Australia’s most recognisable voices, has passed away at 79. </p>
<p>An icon of the Australian music industry as lead singer for The Seekers and a solo artist, hers was an enduring female voice in an industry still dominated by men. Georgy Girl, A World of Our Own and The Carnival Is Over are just a few of the songs that will always ring best with her vocals.</p>
<p>Her artistry and approach was an alternative to the swinging 60s in popular music. There were no gimmicks to her art – just a soaring voice delivered with precision. </p>
<p>Born Judith Mavis Cock in the Melbourne suburb of Essendon in 1943, she studied classical piano at the University of Melbourne Conservatorium. Through connections at the university and in the local scene, she continued as a gifted musician and developed a following in the jazz community. </p>
<p>Using her mother’s maiden name she released her first EP, <a href="http://www.judithdurham.com/about-judith/biography">Judy Durham</a>, with Frank Traynor’s Jazz Preachers. The liner notes introduced her as “the most promising and talented vocalist today”. She was 19.</p>
<p>Around this time Durham also began an office job where she met Athol Guy. After a quick introduction, Durham was invited to play with Guy, Keith Potger and Bruce Woodley at a local coffee shop. </p>
<p>From here, The Seekers were born. </p>
<p>For a short time Durham recorded with both Frank Traynor and The Seekers for W&G Records, providing, as jazz historian Bruce Johnson described in <a href="https://books.google.com.au/books/about/The_Oxford_Companion_to_Australian_Jazz.html?id=l5EYAAAAIAAJ&redir_esc=y">The Oxford Companion to Australian Jazz</a>, an important link between jazz, folk and what would become pop mainstream.</p>
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<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/the-australian-music-vault-moves-the-canon-beyond-pub-rock-89361">The Australian Music Vault moves the canon beyond pub rock</a>
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<h2>The Seekers</h2>
<p>Originally considered a folk and gospel group, The Seekers sound soon became distinct – in A World of Our Own, as their 1965 song declared. </p>
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<p>Their debut album, Introducing the Seekers, was released in 1963. In 1964, the group travelled to the UK. </p>
<p>Soon after arriving, The Seekers recorded the single I Know I’ll Never Find Another You at Abbey Road Studios. When it was released in 1965 it made them the first Australian act to gain <a href="https://www.billboard.com/music/music-news/the-seekers-feted-with-australian-honor-judith-durham-on-the-mend-1565070/">number one in the UK</a>. </p>
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<p>When The Seekers’ impact was examined by the National Film and Sound Archive, curator Jenny Gall quoted another Australian popular music legend, Lillian Roxon, who <a href="https://www.nfsa.gov.au/collection/curated/ill-never-find-another-you-seekers">described the band</a> as “one cuddly girl-next-door type […] and three sober cats who looked like bank tellers”. </p>
<p>Like journalist Roxon, Durham was a pioneering woman making it in and for Australian music in the epic pop culture centres of the US and UK in the booming 1960s. </p>
<p>Although apparently unassuming, she was not just “the girl next door”, but a fundamental talent who worked hard for her achievements. </p>
<h2>International fame</h2>
<p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KjoSLPRkspI">Durham said</a> the band had originally only planned to go overseas for “an adventure […] with no idea we would stay in England and become popstars”. </p>
<p>Intentionally or not, they became some of the biggest artists in the world during the 1960s. When they won the 1965 <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/NME_Awards">NME award</a> for Best New Group they beat The Rolling Stones and The Beatles. </p>
<p>In the US they earned similar attention. Georgy Girl became the number one single in the US in 1967, beating Tom Jones, The Supremes and The Monkees. </p>
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<p>The band were named Australians of the Year in 1967. In 1968 Durham respectfully called it quits. </p>
<p>A goodbye concert, Farewell the Seekers, was broadcast live on the BBC. It was watched by <a href="https://www.theseekers.com.au/about-us/the-60s">more than</a> 10 million people. Their inevitable “best of” album appeared on the British charts for 125 weeks.</p>
<p>In the 1970s Durham continued as a solo artist, often recording standards and covers. </p>
<p>She returned to jazz as part of the <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Hot_Jazz_Duo">Hot Jazz Duo</a> in 1978 with husband Ron Edgeworth. </p>
<p>The pair continued to work together in the years to come on a variety of projects until he died of motor neurone disease in 1994. </p>
<p>Since that time Durham has been a patron of the Motor Neurone Disease Association of Australia and continued to fundraise for the organisation. It was one of many charities she supported. </p>
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<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/why-is-there-so-little-space-for-women-in-jazz-music-79181">Why is there so little space for women in jazz music?</a>
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<h2>Musical storytelling</h2>
<p>She returned to The Seekers periodically for anniversary tours, as well as continuing to record her own work and with others. </p>
<p>From jazz to folk to classical and even contemporary pop as a cameo on silverchair’s B-side English Garden, even after a stroke in 2013 she continued to work. </p>
<p>Her last release, the single <a href="http://www.judithdurham.com/latest-news">All in a day’s work</a> with Lance Lawrence in 2020, was yet another display of a love of musical storytelling.</p>
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<p>In an industry that often demands specific types of sparkle in women especially, she was physically small with a voice that loomed large. </p>
<p>A constant in so many households of a certain age, there was nothing quite like hearing Turn Turn Turn, Morningtown Ride or The Carnival is Over on an old radio or well loved turntable. </p>
<p>When I was lucky enough to finally see her live a few years ago it was like we were all little kids singing along for the sheer joy. Her enthusiasm and skill, even in her later years, radiated off the stage and out of the speakers. </p>
<p>May she rest well at the never ending carnival in the sky.</p>
<iframe width="100%" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/eJSER2hFqKM" title="YouTube video player" frameborder="0" allow="accelerometer; autoplay; clipboard-write; encrypted-media; gyroscope; picture-in-picture" allowfullscreen=""></iframe><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/188343/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Liz Giuffre does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Judith Durham was lead singer of The Seekers and a solo artist. One of Australia’s most recognisable voices, she has passed away at 79.Liz Giuffre, Senior Lecturer in Communication, University of Technology SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1850222022-06-27T05:03:34Z2022-06-27T05:03:34ZAustralia is one of few countries that doesn’t pay session musicians ongoing royalties. Our music industry suffers as a result<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/471016/original/file-20220627-12-gis7l7.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C7348%2C4912&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Most of the music we listen to is made by session musicians. These guns for hire are experts in their field, much sought after and often bring a unique sound – that extra thing that helps to make the recording what it is.</p>
<p>Whether we’re at home or in our cars, at the gym, the shops, a cafe or a pub, recorded performances form the soundtrack to our lives. This soundtrack includes music made by hired freelance instrumentalists and singers whose contributions are vital to the appeal and quality of those recordings.</p>
<p>While we get to enjoy the end product seemingly free of charge, all music that is broadcast or communicated to a listener is licensed by the owner of that recording and a fee is paid for that licence. Collection agencies such as <a href="https://www.ppca.com.au/music-licensing/">PPCA</a> collect these licences and disperse royalties to the rights holders of the registered recordings.</p>
<h2>Does Australia value musicians?</h2>
<p>Historically, Australian session musicians have had no economic claim to their recorded performances beyond a basic session fee – an unregulated fee that in real terms, has been going backwards for decades.</p>
<p>While many other countries support the rights of performers to ongoing royalties, Australia is one of a handful of developed economies that does not. This has denied our musicians access to important income streams at home and abroad, placed a limit on our trade with other countries and positioned us as an outlier.</p>
<p>We are seen as a country that does not value musicians the way they are valued elsewhere in the world, a perception that needs to change if we want to provide some incentive for the next generation to keep making music.</p>
<p>So, how did it get to this?</p>
<p>In 1996 the World Intellectual Property Organisation (WIPO) drafted the <a href="https://wipolex.wipo.int/en/text/295578">WIPO Performances and Phonograms Treaty</a>, which granted performers economic rights for their recorded performances and “equitable remuneration” when these performances were monetised.</p>
<p>Since then, free trade agreements, such as the one between Australia and the United States in 2004, have required that parties sign up to the treaty, which our government did in 2007. Unfortunately, then Foreign Affairs Minister Alexander Downer <a href="https://www.wipo.int/treaties/en/notifications/wppt/treaty_wppt_67.html">deliberately excluded Article 15.1</a> from the agreement, leaving Australian musicians without the same rights as those enjoyed by musicians in other parts of the world.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/471030/original/file-20220627-24-kp9hhe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/471030/original/file-20220627-24-kp9hhe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/471030/original/file-20220627-24-kp9hhe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/471030/original/file-20220627-24-kp9hhe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/471030/original/file-20220627-24-kp9hhe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=400&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/471030/original/file-20220627-24-kp9hhe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/471030/original/file-20220627-24-kp9hhe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/471030/original/file-20220627-24-kp9hhe.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=503&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
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<span class="caption">While many other countries support the rights of performers to ongoing royalties, Australia is one of a handful of developed economies that does not.</span>
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<p>For example, in the UK, US, most of Europe, as well as Mexico, Brazil, Canada and Japan, performers are assigned a percentage of the licence revenue. </p>
<p>According to Peter Thoms, board member of the UK collection agency PPL, </p>
<blockquote>
<p>[…] in the UK, PPL royalties are split 50/50 with the labels and performers. A featured artist, who will be contracted to the label, gets a bigger performer share but session players also share in this revenue. Players who have been active on many recordings receive significant amounts annually. This helps make session playing as a vocation more viable and is a fair recognition of their contribution.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>However, when the same recordings are then broadcast in Australia, these musicians are not entitled to any performance royalties. This has led to countries like the UK reciprocating our approach and no longer paying session musicians or artists on Australian recordings when they are broadcast in the UK.</p>
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<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/neil-youngs-ultimatum-to-spotify-shows-streaming-platforms-are-now-a-battleground-where-artists-can-leverage-power-175732">Neil Young’s ultimatum to Spotify shows streaming platforms are now a battleground where artists can leverage power</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>The Australian musician brain drain</h2>
<p>The extra twist is that Australian artists with international appeal are now frequently recording outside Australia to enable them to qualify for European royalties, which are paid on a <a href="https://www.ppluk.com/international-collections/international-agreements/">qualifying territory</a> basis. </p>
<p>As Australia is no longer a qualifying territory there is motivation for Australian artists to record in the UK and elsewhere to ensure they can claim equitable remuneration in the big overseas markets.</p>
<p>The WIPO Treaty aimed to “provide adequate solutions to the questions raised by economic, social, cultural and technological developments”, all of which have evolved enormously since 1996. If Australia is to keep up with these changes, it must stop lagging behind and adopt Article 15.1. </p>
<p>This has the potential to increase productivity in the recording economy, including revenue derived from export, and expand a sector that is currently heavily reliant on live music. Increasing passive income streams would also help to grow and sustain the careers of young musicians and support performers through future crises.</p>
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<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/running-up-that-hill-how-stranger-things-and-tiktok-pushed-kate-bushs-1985-pop-classic-back-to-the-top-of-the-charts-184443">Running Up That Hill: How Stranger Things and TikTok pushed Kate Bush’s 1985 pop classic back to the top of the charts</a>
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</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>What can we do to fix this problem?</h2>
<p>The current <a href="https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/uk-australia-fta-chapter-15-intellectual-property/chapter-15-intellectual-property-web-version">free trade agreement</a> between Australia and the UK provides us with a political opening for this conversation. The agreement calls for a discussion about measures to ensure “adequate” remuneration for performers and producers of recordings. If we truly value our musicians, adequate must be equitable.</p>
<p>All performers, classical and contemporary, as well as record producers should be having this conversation right now, engaging with other stakeholders and raising awareness.</p>
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<span class="caption">Increasing passive income streams would help to grow and sustain the careers of young musicians.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Shutterstock</span></span>
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<p>If the Australian government and recording industry will acknowledge the prevailing conditions for musicians globally and adopt the principle of equitable remuneration, we can begin rebuilding the structures that support payments to performers at home and overseas. </p>
<p>By valuing our musicians more we will add value to the sector, with better economic regulation and new systems connecting all Australian musicians to the larger markets.</p>
<p>So next time you hear music playing, think of the session musicians and producers whose skills helped to make that song a hit - the drummer on X, the trombone player on Y, or the vocalist on that annoying advertisement that’s been running for 20 years – and ask someone close by, why is it that Australian musicians are denied equitable remuneration that exists in so many other parts of the world?</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/185022/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Rod Davies is a freelance musician and a member of MEAA/Musicians Australia, which is part of a coalition campaigning and working on behalf of musicians for equitable remuneration</span></em></p>Australia is seen as a country that does not value musicians the way they are valued elsewhere in the world.Rod Davies, Lecturer in popular music and songwriting, Monash UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1810592022-04-12T01:44:32Z2022-04-12T01:44:32Z‘A gentleman with the mad soul of an Irish convict poet’: remembering Chris Bailey, and the blazing comet that was The Saints<p>Inala in the early 70s was bleak. A Brisbane suburb of wide dusty streets, treeless and bland. A planned community, meant to grow over time. Austerity, accented by the cheap houses – weatherboard, red brick, concrete – stifled the suburb like a blanket on a hot February night. </p>
<p>It was boring. Beyond boring. The only concession to communal childhood joy was the pool, and the crazy concrete skate rink. But if you wanted a creative outlet, you needed to search elsewhere. </p>
<p>Ivor Hay, (future Saints drummer), was heading to the picture theatre in Sherwood one Saturday night in early 1971:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>and I saw Jeffrey [Wegener – another Saints drummer] with these two longhairs, Chris [Bailey] and Ed [Kuepper]. They were off to a birthday party in Corinda and asked me along. That was our first night.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Bailey was raised by his mum, Bridget, in a house alive with siblings – mostly girls, who looked after the kid. He got away with a lot. </p>
<p>“None of us had a lot of money,” Hay tells me.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Both Chris and I were raised by single mums in reasonably sized families. Chris’ mum was pretty feisty, with this Belfast accent which was just fantastic. They all looked after ‘Christopher’, he could do all sorts of things and they would accommodate him. His mum would have a go at him about the noise, but we’d just go to his bedroom and rehearse and bugger everybody else in the house!</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Kuepper taught Hay to play the guitar: Stones and Beatles and Hendrix. Hay passed the knowledge down to Bailey, who was keen to learn. Neither Kuepper nor Bailey learned to drive, so Hay became the driver in those wide suburbs where driving and cars were everything. </p>
<p>There was politics in Bailey’s house – his sister Margaret chained herself to the school gates to protest uniform policy – but this pervaded the town. The conservative government had no time for the young, and the police force did their best to make life difficult. </p>
<p>But there was a sense that these young men were making something new. As Hay says:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>We used to sing <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Internationale">The Internationale</a> at parties. I don’t know if we were revolutionaries, but we had that sense that something was happening. [With the band] we were doing something that we thought was going to change something. Chris was particularly good at pushing things, at being anti-everything.</p>
</blockquote>
<h2>Out of Inala</h2>
<p>To escape the suburb was to head north to the railway line. It was the lifeline to the centre of Brisbane – record stores, bookshops and other forms of life. </p>
<p>Kuepper remembers going into the city with Bailey.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>We had intended to steal a record, and we went into Myers […] both wearing army disposal overcoats […] these two long haired guys walking into the record department with these overcoats […] surprisingly enough, we were successful!</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Like the railway line, Ipswich Road joins Brisbane to the old coal town of Ipswich. It slices through these western suburbs, carrying hoons in muscle cars and streams of commuters, the occasional screaming cop car or ambulance.</p>
<p>On Thursday nights, the boys used to sit at the Oxley Hotel, overlooking Ipswich Road, “just sit up there having beers, we wouldn’t have been much more than 17 or 18 at that time. Chatting about all sorts of stuff,” says Hay.</p>
<blockquote>
<p>Chris and Ed were comic collectors and Stan Lee was the hero […] there were political discussions, philosophical discussions. Those guys could talk underwater.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>They talked and played and sang. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X5YP_tsPzmg&t=905s">And Bailey had the voice</a>. It was a force, not just loud and tuneful, but full of snarl and spit. </p>
<p>Soon they had songs, and in 1976 scraped the money together to record and release their first single on their own Fatal Records label. <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MpMwMDqOprc">(I’m) Stranded</a> took Bailey out of Inala, out of Brisbane and into the world. </p>
<p>He never looked back. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/457542/original/file-20220411-12-v7z5om.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/457542/original/file-20220411-12-v7z5om.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/457542/original/file-20220411-12-v7z5om.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=720&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/457542/original/file-20220411-12-v7z5om.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=720&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/457542/original/file-20220411-12-v7z5om.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=720&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/457542/original/file-20220411-12-v7z5om.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=905&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/457542/original/file-20220411-12-v7z5om.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=905&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/457542/original/file-20220411-12-v7z5om.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=905&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The Saints (Barry Francis, Ivor Hay, Janine Hall, Bruce Callaway, Chris Bailey) at The Hero of Waterloo, Sydney. 1980.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Picture by Judi Dransfield Kuepper</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<h2>A changed city</h2>
<p>The Saints released three albums in as many years – (I’m) Stranded, Eternally Yours and Prehistoric Sounds – before Kuepper and Hay returned from the UK to Australia, leaving Bailey to his own devices. </p>
<p>Bailey remained in Europe, releasing a cluster of solo albums and many Saints records over the next 40 years. He wrote some achingly beautiful songs. It is a testament to his talents as a songwriter that Bruce Springsteen <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hJ4a_tgJp4I">recorded a version</a> of Bailey’s Just Like Fire Would in 2014.</p>
<p>There’s no doubt that Bailey and The Saints changed Brisbane forever. People around the world who love music know Brisbane exists because of The Saints, The Go-Betweens and bands like them.</p>
<p>Peter Milton Walsh (The Apartments) was one of many who benefited from The Saints legacy: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>They blazed through our young lives like comets. Showed so many what was possible – that you could write your way out of town.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>“Without The Saints,” Mark Callaghan of The Riptides/Gang Gajang told me, “we probably wouldn’t have started. ” </p>
<blockquote>
<p>They just made it all seem doable. It was like, ‘Well, they’re from Brisbane!’ So we started our first band, and at our first gig we covered (I’m) Stranded! We even took a photo of the abandoned house in Petrie Terrace with (I’m) Stranded painted on the wall. But it never crossed our minds to stand in front of this. It would be sacrilege, you know? And we were trying to work out a way that we could get it off the wall intact, because we recognised it was a historical document.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Chris Bailey isn’t the first of our creative children to leave this life behind and move on into memory. With their passing, like the returning comet, the past is freshly illuminated, allowing us to look back at our young lives. Back when the future was broad in front of us, urged on by voices like Bailey’s to open our eyes and see the world.</p>
<p>And Bailey’s was a unique voice. Kenny Gormley (The Cruel Sea) remembers him singing <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yYA5WdP47Y0">Ghost Ships</a>:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>But ah, I’ll never ever forget seeing Chris pick that shanty, alone at sea in a crowded room, holding us sway, wet face drunk and shining, quiet and stilled in storm, cracked voiced with closed eye and open heart. And that was Bailey, a gentleman with the mad soul of an Irish convict poet.“ </p>
</blockquote>
<figure>
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</figure><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/181059/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>John Willsteed would like to thank Ivor Hay, Mark Callaghan and Courtney Pedersen, for talking to him for this piece, and Ed Kuepper, Peter Milton Walsh and Kenny Gormley for their words.</span></em></p>John Willsteed talks to Ed Kuepper, Peter Milton Walsh and Kenny Gormley about the man who would change Brisbane music forever.John Willsteed, Senior Lecturer, School of Creative Practice, Queensland University of TechnologyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1702002021-10-19T04:02:25Z2021-10-19T04:02:25ZEmma is hanging up the yellow skivvy: how the ‘first girl Wiggle’ created a powerful legacy<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/427116/original/file-20211019-19-wol94k.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C284%2C1365%2C1491&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">The Wiggles</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>When Emma Watkins took over as “The Yellow Wiggle” in 2012 there were huge headlines. Her casting was a seismic shift for those who grew up loving her male predecessors (Greg Page, and then briefly Sam Moran), but also a challenge to the status quo. As <a href="https://www.forbes.com/sites/joshuagans/2012/05/17/the-wiggles-are-no-longer-ready-to-wiggle/?sh=61d083dd330c">Forbes proclaimed</a>: “the Wiggles are dead. Long live the Wiggles.”</p>
<p>For over 20 years, The Wiggles was headlined by four men. With the first female Wiggle, “the girl with the bow in her hair” and “Emma Ballerina”, the cult of Emma Wiggle became a huge part of Australian (and international) playrooms: <a href="https://taustralia.com.au/the-business-of-being-emma-wiggle/">50% of current Wiggles merchandise sales</a> are attributed to her alone. </p>
<p>In her nine years as the Yellow Wiggle, Emma became an obvious favourite and point of difference in the band. As she hangs up the yellow skivvy, it is worth reflecting on just how important her casting was at the time – and what her legacy means for the band going forward.</p>
<h2>Early childhood role models</h2>
<p>When The Wiggles started in 1991, it was a massive statement to have four men lead as early childhood role models, musicians, artists and teachers. </p>
<p>The original Wiggles proved Australian men could exist without needing to be in close proximity to a crocodile or sporting field – they could dance, play, and invite their audiences to come along just for the pure joy of it all. </p>
<p>That’s not to say the going was always easy. According to original Wiggle Murray Cook, the group’s iconic “Wiggle fingers” move was actually a deliberate decision made to show where their <a href="https://www.kidspot.com.au/lifestyle/entertainment/the-sad-reason-the-wiggles-created-their-famous-dance-move/news-story/ec1133c0de831576f7e38c2b1f9ad59c">hands were at all times</a> while working with children.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/shows-for-little-people-why-seeing-live-music-early-matters-22003">Shows for little people: why seeing live music early matters</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>As musicians, songwriters, performers and innovators, The Wiggles have been hugely successful. </p>
<p>In Australia, they are <a href="https://www.thewiggles.com/awards">multi ARIA and APRA award winners</a>, and the original Wiggles Anthony Field, Greg Page, Murray Cook and Jeff Fatt have been awarded the <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/news/2010-01-26/wiggles-floored-by-australia-day-honours/308590#:%7E:text=Four%20original%20members%20of%20The,and%20humbled%20by%20the%20award.">Order of Australia</a> and <a href="https://www.mq.edu.au/macquariematters/the-wiggles-then-and-now/">honorary doctorates from Macquarie University</a>. In January, the group hit <a href="https://www.facebook.com/thewiggles/posts/1-billion-streams-thank-you-to-our-wiggly-fans-all-around-the-world-for-listenin/10159372799037018/">one billion</a> music streams across streaming services. For years, <a href="https://www.sbs.com.au/news/ac-dc-edge-out-wiggles-as-top-performers">AC/DC and The Wiggles</a> vied for the top of the BRW Top 50 Entertainers rich list. </p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/427130/original/file-20211019-15-1r5w66.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="The four original Wiggles." src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/427130/original/file-20211019-15-1r5w66.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/427130/original/file-20211019-15-1r5w66.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=387&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/427130/original/file-20211019-15-1r5w66.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=387&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/427130/original/file-20211019-15-1r5w66.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=387&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/427130/original/file-20211019-15-1r5w66.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=486&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/427130/original/file-20211019-15-1r5w66.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=486&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/427130/original/file-20211019-15-1r5w66.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=486&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">For years, the battle for top of the entertainers’ ‘rich list’ has been between The Wiggles and AC/DC.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">The Wiggles</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>In the early 2000s, The Wiggles won the <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/lifestyle/2004/08/20/the-wiggles-movers-and-shakers/7de47e1c-7d8a-46af-9bd6-cf58bde3de97/">hearts of America too</a> via The Disney Channel, selling out 12 consecutive shows at Madison Square Garden. They were so well known (and loved) that Tina Fey’s 30 Rock made a hilarious (but not safe for kids!) parody of them, “<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xxp6xbe2CaI">The Waggles</a>”.</p>
<p>When most of the original line up retired and Emma, Lachly and Simon came on board in 2012, it was proof the skivvies and songs could live on.</p>
<h2>The first ‘girl’ Wiggle</h2>
<p>Emma has always made the Yellow Wiggle position her own: bringing something new to the role. From the start, her performances with the otherwise male-dominated group were highly accomplished. A skilled dancer, her focus was often on movement first and sound second – this allowed different ways for audiences to engage. </p>
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<p>While all the group dressed up, her flowing skirt and huge bows were clear points of difference. But it was never just the girls doing ballet: the whole extended cast joined in a range of styles and genres from Irish dancing to hip hop. All audiences were invited to participate in these extended styles of movement.</p>
<p>When “purple wiggle” (and former husband) Lachy Gillespie appeared on Instagram wearing an Emma bow he proudly declared “Boys can be Emma”.</p>
<p><div data-react-class="InstagramEmbed" data-react-props="{"url":"https://www.instagram.com/p/Bxi7kNvB8B7","accessToken":"127105130696839|b4b75090c9688d81dfd245afe6052f20"}"></div></p>
<p>More important than her costumes was Watkins’ advocacy for Auslan and other inclusive practices. Anyone who has ever seen the show, or her self-titled spin off, can at least sign “E, M, M, A” in Auslan. </p>
<h2>Innovations</h2>
<p>The Wiggles have entertained generations of Australian children and their families. They are not just “children’s music”: The Wiggles belong to everyone. This is perhaps most true in the other news from today, that the original line up, the “<a href="https://www.abc.net.au/triplej/news/musicnews/the-og-wiggles-announce-2022-tour-dz-deathrays-polish-club/13592562">OG Wiggles</a>”, will be performing again in another series of 18+ shows. </p>
<p>The band is now a truly cross-generational line up: with founder Anthony Field still writing and performing in his late 50s; <a href="https://www.kidspot.com.au/lifestyle/entertainment/lachy-wiggle-on-being-a-dad-to-twins-my-life-as-a-dad-is-not-what-i-expected/news-story/d63dd585a1b3356dabbd8d753fd91600">Lachy</a> and <a href="https://www.kidspot.com.au/lifestyle/entertainment/red-wiggle-simon-pryce-and-wife-welcome-baby/news-story/ebce7f092ff2d3a39f4bb091acd9c5a2">Simon</a> each very new parents; and Watkins’ replacement 16-year-old Tsehay Hawkins, a wonderful dancer and performer who has already appeared with the group as part of their earlier broadening this year into an eight-piece main cast for “Fruit Salad TV”.</p>
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<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/427128/original/file-20211019-27-x5ek72.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="Tsehay Hawkins with Dorothy Wags and Henry" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/427128/original/file-20211019-27-x5ek72.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/427128/original/file-20211019-27-x5ek72.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=507&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/427128/original/file-20211019-27-x5ek72.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=507&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/427128/original/file-20211019-27-x5ek72.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=507&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/427128/original/file-20211019-27-x5ek72.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=637&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/427128/original/file-20211019-27-x5ek72.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=637&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/427128/original/file-20211019-27-x5ek72.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=637&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The new Yellow Wiggle is 16-year-old Tsehay Hawkins.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">The Wiggles</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>The cast of eight also reflects a changing and increasingly culturally diverse Australia. While politician Matt Canavan criticised the expansion as The Wiggles “<a href="https://junkee.com/matt-canavan-wiggles-woke/306256">going woke</a>”, for many it was proof that <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/tv-and-radio/2021/aug/25/the-wiggles-going-woke-is-a-win-win-more-role-models-for-us-a-bigger-market-for-them">representation matters not just for children</a>, but for the adults (and artists) they become. </p>
<p>There is no question that positive and diverse role models influence audiences of all ages, but <a href="https://theconversation.com/why-its-so-important-for-kids-to-see-diverse-tv-and-movie-characters-92576">especially those of pre-school age</a>.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/why-its-so-important-for-kids-to-see-diverse-tv-and-movie-characters-92576">Why it's so important for kids to see diverse TV and movie characters</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Onto the next generation</h2>
<p>As a parent, I can’t wait to see how The Wiggles continue to grow, as the next Wiggle girls appear on screen wearing pants, riding skateboards and leading the songs.</p>
<p>So, Emma Wiggle: thanks for everything. Thanks for literally being up with us while everyone else is asleep (either with a baby who is up very late or a toddler very early). And thanks not just for the little kids – but for the comfort you and the other Wiggles continue to give to us bigger kids too.</p>
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<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Liz Giuffre does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>50% of Wiggles merchandise sales are attributed to Emma alone. Here’s what she meant to audiences – and what happens next.Liz Giuffre, Senior Lecturer in Communication, University of Technology SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1667582021-09-02T04:15:39Z2021-09-02T04:15:39Z‘A singular vision’: new film tells the touching story of musician and Triffids founder David McComb<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/419009/original/file-20210902-16-4abwhj.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=85%2C154%2C11219%2C7153&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">The Triffids photographed in 1987.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Andrew Catlin</span></span></figcaption></figure><p><em>Love in Bright Landscapes: The story of David McComb of The Triffids, directed by Jonathan Alley</em></p>
<p>David McComb’s lyrics embed narratives of love and loss within the vastness of the Western Australian landscape. “The sky was big and empty, my chest filled to explode, I yelled my insides out at the sun, at the wide-open road.” </p>
<p>It’s a song “full of air,” explains Paul Kelly. The lyrics of McComb, who founded legendary band The Triffids with his friend Alsy MacDonald and brother Robert in 1978, evoke a palpable sense of place. The group attracted enthusiastic audiences at festivals, garnering critical acclaim as part of the Australian indie band invasion of Britain in the early 1980s. </p>
<p>“You don’t just hear these songs,” says Kelly in Jonathan Alley’s extraordinary documentary Love in Bright Landscapes? “You see them, feel and smell them.” </p>
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<p>By the late 1980s, The Triffids were filling stadia all over Europe, performing songs such as Wide Open Road, Save What You Can and Bury Me Deep in Your Love. However, this didn’t guarantee commercial success. In 1989, they disbanded, leaving a legacy of tender, lyrical songs and memorable performances. </p>
<p>The band’s successes and frustrations, McComb’s ascendancy as songwriter and performer, his physical decline, and his early death in 1999, aged 36, are beautifully told in this film.</p>
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<p>Alley has structured his documentary like one of McComb’s songs. The unfurling narrative is driven by an urgent sense of purpose and inspired by McComb’s “magpie aesthetic,” where everything makes a connection.</p>
<p>From his early life (described by those who loved and worked with him), an image emerges of a sensitive boy from a privileged background with high achieving parents. His mother Athel confesses he was “… different from the others; his life was singular”. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/419006/original/file-20210902-25-1u3n66s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/419006/original/file-20210902-25-1u3n66s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/419006/original/file-20210902-25-1u3n66s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=474&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/419006/original/file-20210902-25-1u3n66s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=474&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/419006/original/file-20210902-25-1u3n66s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=474&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/419006/original/file-20210902-25-1u3n66s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=595&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/419006/original/file-20210902-25-1u3n66s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=595&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/419006/original/file-20210902-25-1u3n66s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=595&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Young David with rabbits.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Label distribution</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>David met his best mate MacDonald in the 1970s, when he was at Christ Church Grammar School and Alsey was a student at Hollywood High School. Coincidentally, I was Senior Art Master at Christ Church at the time. Art was a means of escape, a way to make sense and break free. The inquiring, intelligent McComb brothers (David had three siblings) trooped through my classes. As McComb said in 1998, the stricter the school, “the better rock and roll music it can produce”. </p>
<p>As punk spread from London to Seattle and Claremont, David and drummer MacDonald formed a band called Dalsy, making their own albums on cassette. Dalsy morphed into The Triffids in 1978, drawing on the DIY energy that seems to coalesce around the western edge of continents.</p>
<p>In the documentary <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0695629/">Hype</a>, for instance, which chronicles the rise of the grunge scene in Seattle, the lack of mainstream infrastructure is described as liberating, making it possible for young musicians to imagine recording their own music, writing their own magazines, and distributing their work. In Perth, like Seattle, doing it yourself was the only way to get something happening. </p>
<h2>A creative cauldron</h2>
<p>As a result, these young musicians and entrepreneurs were free to break new ground and stir it up. “David was the original Punk, not Johnny Lydon,” says Alley, “… everything was up for grabs, he made no distinction between high and low culture”. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-punks-legacy-40-years-on-60633">Friday essay: punk's legacy, 40 years on</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>From the creative cauldron of Perth in the 70s emerged Hoodoo Gurus frontman Dave Faulkner, and bands like <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Manikins">the Manikins</a>, Kim Salmon and the Surrealists and The Triffids.</p>
<p>Despite McComb’s conviction that “nothing happens here, nothing gets done, but you get to like it,” The Triffids did make great music and performed some terrific gigs before leaving, first for Sydney, then London.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/BB1OKbc8fZ4?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
</figure>
<p>There they found the success that had eluded them. In 1984, they recorded a session with John Peel on BBC radio. By 1985 they were on the cover of New Musical Express. They were on the cusp of global success, playing major festivals and signed by Island records.</p>
<p>Through Alley’s scrapbook of home videos, photographs, and interviews, we hear how it all slowly unravelled. It’s a sad story of a driven musician whose creativity was the bulwark keeping his demons at bay. Fuelled by a regime of drugs, he <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/radionational/programs/earshot/beautiful-waste3a-the-poetry-of-david-mccomb-and-the-triffids/6274488">died of a heart attack </a>on February 2 1999. The conflict that informed his best work was internal. </p>
<figure class="align-center zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/419007/original/file-20210902-27-zrifq1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/419007/original/file-20210902-27-zrifq1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/419007/original/file-20210902-27-zrifq1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=402&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/419007/original/file-20210902-27-zrifq1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=402&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/419007/original/file-20210902-27-zrifq1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=402&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/419007/original/file-20210902-27-zrifq1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=506&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/419007/original/file-20210902-27-zrifq1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=506&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/419007/original/file-20210902-27-zrifq1.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=506&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">David McComb and vocalist Will Akers photographed in 1998.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Denise Nestor</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>“I woke to discover an inferior replica of myself,” wrote McComb in a diary note; “avoid madness” in another. This inner tension with his dark side was a catalyst for his songs but as Alley explains “… for David, his best self was his creative self.” </p>
<p>McComb joined the galaxy of rock and roll stars whose short lives continue to inspire generations. Still, albums like <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Born_Sandy_Devotional">Born Sandy Devotional</a> and songs like Wide Open Road remain potent markers in our cultural life.</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/419011/original/file-20210902-27-6dnggs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/419011/original/file-20210902-27-6dnggs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/419011/original/file-20210902-27-6dnggs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=750&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/419011/original/file-20210902-27-6dnggs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=750&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/419011/original/file-20210902-27-6dnggs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=750&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/419011/original/file-20210902-27-6dnggs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=943&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/419011/original/file-20210902-27-6dnggs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=943&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/419011/original/file-20210902-27-6dnggs.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=943&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">Laure Prouvost, Lick in The Past, 2016, installation view at the Perth Institute of.
Contemporary Arts.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Bo Wong</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>For curator Annika Kristensen, McComb’s album title Love in Bright Landscapes — borrowed from the Spanish poet Rafael Alberti but made his own — is a lens through which to explore the social, political and cultural landscapes of Perth and Los Angeles. </p>
<p>Coincidentally on show currently at Perth Institute of Contemporary Art, the 14 artists from both cities she has selected locate stories of love, hope, desperation, and despair under the vast canopy of a shared open sky.</p>
<p>McComb, whose love stories inflected with pain, humour, and wistful longing bleed into imagery of expansive WA landscapes, would have been delighted.</p>
<p><em><a href="https://www.loveinbrightlandscapes.com/">Love in Bright Landscapes</a> will premiere at Luna Leederville in Perth on September 9.</em></p>
<p><em>Love in Bright Landscapes, curated by Annika Kristensen, <a href="https://pica.org.au/show/love-in-bright-landscapes/">is at Perth Institute of Contemporary Art,</a> until October 10</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/166758/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Ted Snell does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Perth band The Triffids were indie pioneers, and their charismatic vocalist David McComb, who died at 36, wrote lyrics imbued with the Western Australian landscape. A new film charts his story.Ted Snell, Honorary Professor, Edith Cowan UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1612662021-06-08T20:06:52Z2021-06-08T20:06:52ZSomething really beautiful — dipping into Ed Kuepper’s golden past<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/404694/original/file-20210607-23-xay3ux.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=38%2C172%2C4033%2C2650&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Ed Kuepper, right, performing with The Aints! in 2018.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Perry Duffin/AAP</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Ed Kuepper has been making groundbreaking music for nearly 50 years. As a member of The Saints, and after the release of their first single <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MpMwMDqOprc">(I’m) Stranded</a> in 1976, he was flung from Brisbane’s suburban wasteland into the pre-punk mayhem of London. </p>
<p>(I’m) Stranded was reviewed in Sounds magazine as “Single of this and every week”, and The Saints signed to EMI. Kuepper’s journey as a serious songwriter had begun.</p>
<figure>
<iframe width="440" height="260" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/MpMwMDqOprc?wmode=transparent&start=0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen=""></iframe>
</figure>
<p>Three separate albums of Kuepper’s music have just been released on vinyl, gathered under the title The Exploding Universe of Ed Kuepper. There are two compilations — one of his work with post-Saints band Laughing Clowns (1979-1985), another of singles from his life as a solo artist (1986-1996) — as well as a recent live recording of The Aints!, Kuepper’s vehicle for performing old Saints material as well as new work.</p>
<figure class="align-left zoomable">
<a href="https://images.theconversation.com/files/404695/original/file-20210607-27-121uimv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=1000&fit=clip"><img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/404695/original/file-20210607-27-121uimv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/404695/original/file-20210607-27-121uimv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=969&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/404695/original/file-20210607-27-121uimv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=969&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/404695/original/file-20210607-27-121uimv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=969&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/404695/original/file-20210607-27-121uimv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=1218&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/404695/original/file-20210607-27-121uimv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=1218&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/404695/original/file-20210607-27-121uimv.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=754&h=1218&fit=crop&dpr=3 2262w" sizes="(min-width: 1466px) 754px, (max-width: 599px) 100vw, (min-width: 600px) 600px, 237px"></a>
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">The young Kuepper.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">AAP/supplied</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Three very different albums, but all ringing clearly with his voice and his vision.</p>
<p>The Laughing Clowns compilation — Golden Days When Giants Walked The Earth — beautifully evokes the energy and inventiveness of this critically acclaimed band. </p>
<p>Kuepper returned from London in the late 1970s with his family, and a desire to make something new. Back in Brisbane visiting his parents, and at a party in his honour, he was surprised by the presence of drummer Jeffrey Wegener and sax-man Bob Farrell. These two had come up from Melbourne with friend Ben Wallace-Crabbe and the inkling of a band was formed. </p>
<p>Kuepper had known Jeff at school, and Bob was around in the early days of The Saints, a band whose sound was based on a loose, 50s rock and roll feel. He wanted his next band to carry this vibe but looking more to 60s jazz. He remembers,</p>
<blockquote>
<p>One of the big influences was actually a fairly unusual Tony Bennett album, <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A0dU_8haj8M">The Beat of My Heart</a>, where he had two or three drummers playing. I was interested in where things could go, rhythmically, and to pull the guitar back a bit.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>The astonishing Clowns songs on Golden Days are all wrapped around the spine of Wegener’s drums and Kuepper’s guitar. The rhythms veer and slide, with changing time signatures; songs full of swing and sway, while melodies are juggled between voice, bass, piano and the saxophones of Farrell and later, Louise Elliot. </p>
<p>Kuepper thinks the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a8vy9_RJPSo&list=RDa8vy9_RJPSo&start_radio=1">band</a>, for all its influences and many lineup changes, had a consistent sound; it “emerged fully formed on the first recording — I can’t think of too many other rock and roll groups that were like that”.</p>
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</figure>
<p>But nothing good lasts forever, and after one final tour with various band members falling prey to lifestyle choices while Kuepper valiantly tried to hold it all together, he collapsed Laughing Clowns in the last days of 1984. </p>
<h2>Cultural treasure</h2>
<p>The second album in Exploding World gathers the singles from Kuepper’s solo work from 1986-1996. In 1989, on an August afternoon a month after my ejection from The Go-Betweens, I auditioned for his backing band, The Yard Goes On Forever. It was scary, I didn’t get the job, and I went out that night and got totally plastered. It’s entirely possible that I was under-prepared.</p>
<p>The singles, all 39 of them, show more shifts in Kuepper’s approach. Some elements remain, the brass sections and shuffly rhythms, but many others are new. </p>
<p>These are pop songs, catchy and melodic. The lyrics embrace the simplicity and purity of close relationships; his voice settles into his maturing creative life; and he takes the 12-string acoustic and places it in the centre of his sound, marrying it with choirs of women’s voices.</p>
<p>There are synths and sequencers and 60s fairground brass and Mellotrons. I have favourites, to be sure, from the couple of shows where I’ve played bass with Kuepper (at the Brisbane City Hall in 2009, and for Brisbane Festival in 2010). <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=15rvfIfgxvs">The Way I Made You Feel</a> has all the slinky allure of a Prince track, while Everything I’ve Got Belongs To You is as good a love song as you can find. </p>
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<p>But there is so much breadth here, such style: try La-Di-Doh, or Real Wild Life or <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NOtOSMq7dAQ">Fireman Joe</a> with its echoes of Max Merritt and Small Faces. There is a deep seam of wealth here, cultural treasure for all to share. </p>
<h2>Judy’s presence</h2>
<p>Fifteen years ago, in the evening of the day of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Grant_McLennan">Grant McLennan’s funeral</a>, I ended up at a table at a restaurant at Brisbane’s Powerhouse. I found myself sitting opposite Kuepper and his wife Judy Dransfield. They were lovely company in the last chapter of this difficult, heightened day. I realised I barely knew Ed, but I liked him. And Jude. </p>
<p>About a year after that dinner, I enjoyed an afternoon playing banjo under their house in the Brisbane suburbs. Sitting upstairs later with Jude; cups of tea and biscuits. The banjo was for a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3WVPqvaQE70">track</a> on Jean Lee and the Yellow Dog, a family project. Says Kuepper:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>We collaborated quite strongly on that album, where [Jude] wrote all the lyrics. Prior to that she’d done photography, and art and stuff like that, but [Jean Lee] was a really interesting thing — a good thing to have done.</p>
</blockquote>
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</figure>
<p>Judy Dransfield’s distinctive artwork for his record covers, her photographs and her presence are all intrinsic to what we know of Kuepper.</p>
<p>The third album — The Aints! Live — captures the <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sagE9Sr4kR8">band</a> (including Peter Oxley from The Sunnyboys and Paul Larsen, from Celibate Rifles) before recording their 2018 studio album The Church of Simultaneous Existence. They have that loose rock and roll feel Kuepper loves, wrapped up in energy and thunder.</p>
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<p>Five years ago, as part of a fairly shambling, ongoing attempt to do something about Brisbane’s cultural heritage, I applied to the state government for money to commemorate the 40th anniversary of the release of (I’m) Stranded. We won the grant, and a <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/news/2017-12-06/brisbane-mural-honours-musical-legacy-of-the-saints/9230768">mural</a> was commissioned. </p>
<p>More importantly, there was money to stage a live show with The Aints!, where songs from 40 years earlier were revived and hammered out, within a hundred metres of The Saints’ old practice room. </p>
<p>Kuepper seemed pleased with the attention, though it’s sometimes hard to tell …</p>
<p><em>Ed Kuepper and Jim White have embarked on a <a href="https://edkuepper.com/home#dates">national tour</a>. They will perform at the Sydney Opera House on June 13.</em></p>
<p><em>Quotes in this story are from the author’s chat with Kuepper in mid-May.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/161266/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>I have played bass with Ed Kuepper, but only vary rarely. </span></em></p>From legendary punk band The Saints to a current tour with drummer Jim White, Ed Kuepper has been making music for almost 50 years.John Willsteed, Senior Lecturer, School of Creative Practice, Queensland University of TechnologyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1595332021-04-23T04:36:24Z2021-04-23T04:36:24ZAll my loving: Young Talent Time still glows, 50 years since first airing on Australian TV<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/396681/original/file-20210423-22-fhj0hz.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=30%2C206%2C2873%2C2764&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://photos-cdn.aap.com.au/Image/20060831000015089030?path=/aap_dev2/imagearc/2006/11-18/4a/9c/79/aapimage-5c9dzyqrj1y1fhquw9ue_layout.jpg">AAP/Ten</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>This weekend marks 50 years since the television premiere of <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0243097/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1">Young Talent Time</a> — a pastel-coloured, saccharine-sweet mix of talent competition, pop music tribute show and star factory.</p>
<p>Accordingly, the National Film and Sound Archive (NSFA) has <a href="https://www.nfsa.gov.au/collection/curated/young-talent-time-50th-anniversary">curated a digital tribute to the program</a> that is in turns nostalgic and cringe-worthy. There is also a <a href="https://www.adelaidefestivalcentre.com.au/events/young-talent-time-50th-anniversary-reunion-special/">50th anniversary stage show</a> in the works. </p>
<p>Young Talent Time (YTT) first aired April 24, 1971 and ran for 18 years. It was launched at a time when music television was still dominated by local performers doing covers of (or even just lip synching) hits from the American and British hit parades. </p>
<p>YTT was Saturday evening viewing for a generation of families. It helped shape not only its young stars but also viewers’ musical tastes.</p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Doing the Neutron dance and partying like it was 1999 (even though it was much earlier than that.)</span></figcaption>
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<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/rewind-repeat-tvs-fame-machine-is-oh-so-retro-19155">Rewind, repeat: TV's fame machine is oh-so retro</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>The real thing</h2>
<p>Produced and created by Johnny Young, YTT was a play on his surname as well as the faces on screen. Young was a record producer, composer and pop star who had already appeared on music television as a young (sorry) performer and host of <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt3877794/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1">The Go Show</a> and <a href="https://televisionau.com/search/label/club-seventeen">Club Seventeen</a>. </p>
<p>He had a sweet face and voice, and was exactly what the teenagers of the day wanted, while still being clean-cut enough to avoid worrying their parents.</p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Young Johnny.</span></figcaption>
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<p>Perhaps Young’s biggest claim to fame (pre-YTT) was writing <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wylEB-P76nA">The Real Thing</a>, Russell Morris’ hit song that still stands as the sound of a psychedelic generation and movement. The song is also remarkable for Young’s collaboration with another television icon, track producer and future Countdown host <a href="https://www.profiletalent.com.au/talent/molly-meldrum/">Ian “Molly” Meldrum</a>.</p>
<p>Unlike <a href="https://www.countdownmemories.com/beginning_index.html">Countdown</a> (which hit screens a few years later) or <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0343240/fullcredits">Bandstand</a>, YTT wasn’t necessarily about the stars of today but the stars of tomorrow. The idea drew some inspiration from <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0047757/?ref_=nv_sr_srsg_5">The Mickey Mouse Club</a> on US television and extended off screen with Johnny Young Talent Schools popping up (and <a href="https://www.facebook.com/johnnyyoungtalentschool/">still operating</a>) around the country. </p>
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<p>Sure, there were other talent quests around, but YTT was more of a celebration rather than a cut-throat competition. </p>
<p>The “musical family” feeling was built into each episode with its regular all-in finale singalong of The Beatles’ <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TSpiwK5fig0">All My Loving</a>. The host, who today goes by <a href="https://tvtonight.com.au/2021/04/young-talent-time-50-we-were-perfect-programming.html">John Young</a>, recalls, “People used to tune in, just to see that”, tempting us to imagine a whole nation apparently tuned in for wholesome entertainment. It was always followed by Young’s smiley send-off: “Goodnight Australia!” </p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">‘Remember I’ll always be true.’ Featuring tiny Tina Arena.</span></figcaption>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/countdown-just-nostalgia-or-still-breaking-new-ground-83963">Countdown - just nostalgia, or still breaking new ground?</a>
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<h2>Learning to love local talent</h2>
<p>Beyond the bright young things, catchy tunes and shiny sets were significant developments in the Australian entertainment industry. The show’s long run served as a bridge between old and new forms of music television. </p>
<p>When YTT began, radio was still king and <a href="https://www.jstor.org/stable/853189?seq=1">Australian artists</a> were largely dependent on international markets and trends to make their way. With the odd exception (like Young himself), the Australian music industry still prioritised songs and artists that had “made it” overseas.</p>
<p>By the end of YTT’s run, the tide was starting to turn. Local artists and audiences wanted to see and hear more of their own performing their own work. </p>
<p>The biggest stars from the show, including Debra Byrne, Danni Minogue (and sister Kylie Minogue who appeared as an occasional YTT sibling guest) and Tina Arena, all went on to have careers presenting work in their own distinctive voices. </p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Dannii Minogue and Bevan Addinsall are resplendent in a sunshiney Footloose cover.</span></figcaption>
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<p>There was a limited <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt2553426/?ref_=fn_al_tt_2">2012 YTT reboot</a> hosted by Rob Mills, but it didn’t really take. Music television today like <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/triplej/news/musicnews/find-out-whos-playing-season-3-the-set-abc-tv/13292442">The Set</a>, which will start its new season on YYT’s anniversary, is dominated by original work by a diverse range of Australian artists. </p>
<p>Past viewers have often wondered: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p285V-15hys">where the YTT stars are now</a>? Some of its stars have <a href="https://www.news.com.au/entertainment/music/the-voice-australia-young-talent-time-star-joey-dee-auditions/news-story/71ea29f13653c441c62dbb5e5572a778">returned to television talent quests</a> to try their luck. Others have had the good grace to laugh at their younger selves (hello, <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/doublej/music-reads/features/beven-the-musical-oral-history/11890902">Bevan the Musical</a>). </p>
<p>But how many snapshots into the lives of “ordinary Australians” remain captured in the YTT archive? For every Tina, Danni, Bevan or Vince, there were thousands of kids in the audience at home or in the studio cheering them on and connecting through music. </p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">A cast of impossibly fresh faces, nailing the hits of the day.</span></figcaption>
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<p>The <a href="https://www.nfsa.gov.au/collection/curated/young-talent-time-50th-anniversary">NFSA celebration</a> is understandably chock full of Minogues and mini-epic feats of costuming, choreography and pizzazz. But somewhere in storage there might be the many audition tapes, one-off appearances, studio audience snippets and letters to the stars. Not to mention the DIY shows in backyards, bedrooms and playgrounds around the country, perhaps captured on cassette or VHS. What could we learn from those wonderful pieces? </p>
<p>Young Talent Time was significant for its national reach and accessibility — a way for audiences, especially young audiences, to connect through music. While there were many flashes in the pan that fizzled, others have continued to burn bright. The joy for the audience (then and now) is the glow of having a go. </p>
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<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/michael-gudinski-how-a-titan-of-the-industry-shaped-australian-music-for-five-decades-156290">Michael Gudinski: how a titan of the industry shaped Australian music for five decades</a>
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<img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/159533/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Liz Giuffre does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Where are they now? It’s half a century since Young Talent Times aired on Australian television. It changed its young stars and audiences.Liz Giuffre, Senior Lecturer in Communication, University of Technology SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1562902021-03-02T05:04:43Z2021-03-02T05:04:43ZMichael Gudinski: how a titan of the industry shaped Australian music for five decades<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/387137/original/file-20210302-15-14fvbkl.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=20%2C28%2C2631%2C1622&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Julian Smith/AAP</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>In the book <a href="https://www.abebooks.com/9780732264321/25-Years-Mushroom-Records-Warner-0732264324/plp">25 years of Mushroom Records</a>, published in 1998, Michael Gudinski described himself as “Chairman, Mushroom Group of Companies and music fan”. </p>
<p>There could be no better description of Gudinski, an icon of the Australian popular music industry, who <a href="https://themusic.com.au/news/michael-gudinski-passes-away/UbBJRURHRkk/02-03-21/?utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Breaking%20News%20020321&utm_content=Breaking%20News%20020321%20CID_23713c91239098f27bfbe5b288016c79&utm_source=Daily%20SPA&utm_term=The%20Mushroom%20Group%20Founder%20and%20Executive%20Chairman%20passed%20away%20on%20Monday">has died at the age of 68</a>.</p>
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<span class="caption">An undated image of Gudinski.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Frontier Touring/AAP</span></span>
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<p>His name is synonymous with the biggest artists in Australia for good reason. Gudinski founded Mushroom Records in 1972. One of its first “big bangs” was a triple album, live recording of the Sunbury Festival. Next came Frontier Touring (founded in 1979) and what would eventually become the <a href="https://mushroomgroup.com/">Mushroom Group</a>.</p>
<p>Two of Gudinski’s biggest artists from the 1970s, Skyhooks and Split Enz, provided the definitive soundtrack to Australian life at the time. </p>
<p>Skyhooks had a string of hits including the era defining <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1C26VOdXan4">Livin’ in the 70s</a>, while some of the original <a href="https://www.rnz.co.nz/national/programmes/music101/audio/2018785329/interview-neil-liam-and-elroy-finn">Split Enz members are still making new music</a> (now with kids and grandkids in tow).</p>
<p>There was no one “sound” Gudinski supported. Instead, a diversity of Australian talent came under his wing: from Archie Roach to Kylie Minogue, Jimmy Barnes to Hunters and Collectors, Deborah Conway to Yothu Yindi. Gudinski received an ARIA “Special Achievement Award” in 1992, and an Order of Australia in 2006.</p>
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<p>After the news of his death, artists from around the world paid tribute to Gudinski, from Jimmy Barnes and the Foo Fighters, to Bruce Springsteen, Amy Shark and Marcia Hines. </p>
<p>Victorian Premier Daniel Andrews said Gudinski was “a wonderful Victorian, a great Australian, a very good friend of mine”. Federal Opposition Leader Anthony Albanese said he was shocked and saddened by the news.</p>
<p>Kylie Minogue, one of so many who got their start with him, tweeted: “My heart is broken and I can’t believe he is gone.”</p>
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<p>A music promoter, a record label boss, a music publisher, and a screen producer, Gudinski had a particular love of music television in Australia, beginning in the 1970s with <a href="https://www.smh.com.au/culture/tv-and-radio/music-production-maestro-michael-gudinski-moves-into-tv-20200722-h1pisa.html">Night Moves</a> (which aired from 1976 to 1984). Although most of the original footage of this pioneering music show is now lost, Gudinksi is noted as the show’s “creator” in Tony Harrison’s <a href="https://www.bookdepository.com/Australian-Film-Television-Companion-Tony-Harrison/9780975102367">The Australian Film and TV Companion</a>.</p>
<h2>‘A bold and beautiful idea’</h2>
<p>Most recently, Gudinski worked in collaboration with the ABC for its lockdown triumph <a href="https://iview.abc.net.au/show/sound">The Sound</a>, which aired between July and December 2020. The show featured performances from new artists such as Gordi and <a href="https://miiesha.com/">Miiesha</a> next to established ones such as Minogue and Midnight Oil, as well as “vault” clips from the archives and new tribute collaborations. </p>
<p>As ABC executive producer for The Sound, Janet Gaeta told The Conversation,</p>
<blockquote>
<p>It’s a measure of Michael’s love of music and musicians, that when COVID shut down the world, Michael came to the ABC with a bold and beautiful idea; to have Australian artists perform live in empty venues. What eventuated was some of the most hauntingly beautiful performances that sustained and reminded us, in those dark times, of the power and beauty of music.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Gudinski also lead industry charity initiatives such as 2009’s Sound Relief, a multi-city event to support victims of the Victorian bushfires and Queensland floods. Featuring acts such as Coldplay and Midnight Oil performing at both the SCG and MCG, it was broadcast across several networks.</p>
<p>Last year Gudinski developed <a href="https://musicfromthehomefront.com.au/#about">Music From the Home Front</a>, a COVID-era celebration that brought together artists and audiences in isolation, staged across a socially distanced ANZAC day.</p>
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<p>Gudinski leaves behind a multi-generational local music empire (his son Matt is <a href="https://mushroomgroup.com/matt-gudinski/">executive director of The Mushroom Group</a>). This includes his most recent venture, <a href="https://www.billboard.com/articles/news/9408557/mushroom-group-chairman-michael-gudinski-launches-new-label-reclusive-records/">Reclusive Records</a>, a label supporting young Australian music talent. </p>
<p>Working to promote Australian music history as well as its future, Gudinski was executive producer for the award winning mini-series <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt4158318/">Molly</a> in 2016, for which actor Samuel Johnson won a Logie. (In the show, a young Gudinski was played by Aaron Glenane). It featured music from both past and present Mushroom artists.</p>
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<span class="caption">Samuel Johnson, with the Silver Logie for Best Actor in Channel Seven’s Molly, and Michael Gudinski at the 2017 Logie Awards.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Joe Castro/AAP</span></span>
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<p>In 2009, the real Meldrum and Gudinski appeared on <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt1491390/">a 1970s themed episode of the ABC’s Spicks and Specks</a>. The pair playfully bickered throughout the episode, with host Adam Hills teasing them in a final quiz question.</p>
<p>“Who was the most important man in Australian music in the 1970s?” asked Hills.</p>
<p>In reply, Gudinski took to his feet, while Meldrum turned away in mock disgust. The audience and hosts cheered at the achievements of both men. </p>
<p>Although more punters may have recognised Molly’s face and his wonderful ramblings, few could deny Gudinski’s influence during that time and since.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/156290/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Liz Giuffre does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Record label chief, promoter, TV producer, Michael Gudinski’s career stretched from Skyhooks to signing Kylie Minogue to charity feats and nurturing today’s talent on TV music shows such as the ABC’s The Sound.Liz Giuffre, Senior Lecturer in Communication, University of Technology SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1471792020-09-30T07:19:24Z2020-09-30T07:19:24ZHelen Reddy’s music made women feel invincible<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/360674/original/file-20200930-18-geq26v.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=5%2C237%2C1272%2C1460&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Wikimedia Commons</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>“Show business”, Helen Reddy once <a href="http://www.womenaustralia.info/leaders/biogs/WLE0713b.htm">said</a>, “was the only business that allowed you to earn the same salary as a man and to keep your name”.</p>
<p>The singer and actress best known for her trailblazing feminist anthem I Am Woman <a href="https://www.abc.net.au/news/2020-09-30/helen-reddy-dies-in-los-angeles-aged-78/12716886?nw=0">has died in Los Angeles, aged 78</a>. She was one of the most famous Australians in the world during the 1970s, and an icon of women’s liberation. </p>
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<p>Born in Melbourne in 1941 to vaudeville performers Max Reddy and Stella Lamond, Reddy learned to sing, dance and play piano as a child. By her late teens, she was performing in her father’s touring show. </p>
<p>At 20, she married the musician Kenneth Weate. The marriage was brief and, after it was over, she and her daughter Traci moved to Sydney. </p>
<p>Ambitious and keen to try her luck in the United States, in 1966 she entered and won a singing competition. A trip to the US and a recording contract were her prize. Arriving in New York with three-year-old Traci, the promised contract evaporated. Reddy performed in clubs in the US and Canada to stay afloat. </p>
<p>She had the good fortune, however, to meet the expat Australian journalist Lilian Roxon (author of the groundbreaking <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/4819278-rock-encyclopedia">Rock Encyclopedia</a>) who organised a rent party for Reddy on her birthday. There, she met her second husband (and manager) Jeff Wald. They married shortly after, moving to Los Angeles in 1968. </p>
<h2>Persistence</h2>
<p>Reddy and Wald initially encountered resistance from the music industry when trying to build her career. But their persistence paid off: in 1970 she recorded a cover of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i12PWD9EQvE">I Don’t Know How to Love Him</a> from the musical Jesus Christ Superstar. The song made it to number 13 in the US charts and number one in Australia.</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/i-am-woman-review-helen-reddy-biopic-captures-the-power-and-excitement-of-womens-liberation-143344">I Am Woman review: Helen Reddy biopic captures the power and excitement of women's liberation</a>
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<p>After moving to Los Angeles, Reddy became involved in the women’s movement. As she recalled in her 2005 memoir, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1596429.The_Woman_I_Am">The Woman I Am</a>, her growing interest in women’s liberation drove her to try to find songs that expressed her pride in being female. </p>
<p>Unable to find one, she “finally realised I was going to have to write the song myself”. While Ray Burton wrote the music, the lyrics to I Am Woman were Reddy’s. </p>
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<span class="caption">Helen Reddy wins a Grammy Award for the best female song of the year in 1973.</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">AP</span></span>
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<p>“I am strong, I am invincible,” encapsulates its powerful message of female empowerment. The song found its audience as the women’s liberation movement took off across the world. It went to number one on the US charts in October 1972, and number two on the Australian charts in 1973. </p>
<p>The song made Reddy a star, and a celebrity feminist: one of a small group of women, including Gloria Steinem and Germaine Greer, whose high profile and media savvy helped communicate feminist ideas to wide audiences. </p>
<p>The song became the official theme song of International Women’s Year in 1975. It has been a feature of feminist protests and celebrations ever since. </p>
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<h2>‘She makes everything possible’</h2>
<p>While I Am Woman made Reddy famous, her Grammy acceptance speech in 1973 made her notorious: thanking “God, because she makes everything possible”.</p>
<p>Her win was said by Brisbane’s Courier Mail at the time to have “sent a thrill through the bra-less bosoms of Women’s Liberationists around the world.” </p>
<p>Reddy followed I Am Woman with a string of pop hits over the following five years including Delta Dawn and Ain’t No Way to Treat a Lady.</p>
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<p>She built a successful career in television, film and theatre, with roles in <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0071110/">Airport 1975</a> (1974) and <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0076538/?ref_=fn_al_tt_2">Pete’s Dragon</a> (1977), guest appearances in TV series including <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0075529/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1">The Love Boat</a> (1977–87) and <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0077008/?ref_=fn_al_tt_2">Fantasy Island </a> (1977–84), and even had her own variety program, <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0069590/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1">The Helen Reddy Show</a> in 1973. She was awarded a star on the Hollywood walk of fame the following year.</p>
<p>She performed until the early 2000s, released her memoir in 2005, and was inducted into the ARIA Hall of Fame in 2006. </p>
<p>While she kept a lower profile in the last years of her life, she appeared in the 2017 Women’s March in the US. A biopic directed by Unjoo Moon, <a href="https://theconversation.com/i-am-woman-review-helen-reddy-biopic-captures-the-power-and-excitement-of-womens-liberation-143344">I Am Woman</a>, was released on Stan just last month.</p>
<p>Alice Cooper famously dismissed Reddy as the “<a href="https://www.theguardian.com/music/musicblog/2016/feb/02/cult-heroes-helen-reddy-i-am-woman-angie-baby-delta-dawn">queen of housewife rock</a>” in the 1970s. I doubt Helen Reddy saw this as the insult Cooper perhaps intended it to be. </p>
<p>In a male-dominated music industry, and a sexist society where women were routinely discriminated against, Reddy’s music made women feel strong and invincible.</p>
<p>When I <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/08164640701361774">researched</a> the impact I Am Woman had on Australian women, many said the song had helped them through tough times and changed the way they thought about themselves. </p>
<p>One woman, who had endured a long, violent marriage, <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/08164640701361774">told me</a>:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>I think I Am Woman was a life saver for me, as to play it was my little bit of rebellion. I am sure that it would have been the same for many other women. </p>
</blockquote>
<p>There could be no greater tribute to this extraordinary, trailblazing feminist than that.</p>
<p><div data-react-class="Tweet" data-react-props="{"tweetId":"1311135824700940289"}"></div></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/147179/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Michelle Arrow receives funding from the Australian Research Council.</span></em></p>The icon of women’s liberation has died in Los Angeles, aged 78. Her music shaped a generation of women.Michelle Arrow, Professor of History, Macquarie UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1433502020-08-06T05:29:20Z2020-08-06T05:29:20ZPaul Kelly biography traces his journey but not his work with young artists today<p><em>Review: Paul Kelly: The Man, the Music and Life in Between (Hatchette)</em></p>
<p>Stuart Coupe’s new biography of Paul Kelly takes many known elements of Kelly’s story and rouses them again. <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/54493580-paul-kelly?from_search=true&from_srp=true&qid=nmIn1Qx8Tz&rank=1">Paul Kelly: The Man, the Music and Life in Between</a> reads the way a Kelly cover version sounds: familiar, but also a bit disorienting. </p>
<p>Old school music fans might go to the liner notes first – in this case the back cover and acknowledgements. Both detail the insights Coupe has drawn from others: hundreds of interviews, including Kelly himself and over 80 people thanked in the acknowledgements. </p>
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<p>It’s a who’s who of Australian music from the last few decades – Archie Roach, Kasey Chambers, Kev Carmody, Vika and Linda Bull and Neil Finn – but not too many younger voices. Coupe’s emphasis is on how Kelly became, rather than who he is today.</p>
<p>The impressive interview list provides the choir that sings this cover version. Each person adds an extra layer: a solo to recall a key memory of Kelly as a band member, collaborator, business partner.</p>
<p>As Kelly’s former manager, Coupe also chimes in with his own testimony.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/listening-to-songs-of-leonard-cohen-singing-sadness-to-sadness-in-these-anxious-times-142661">Listening to Songs of Leonard Cohen: singing sadness to sadness in these anxious times</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>If I could start today again</h2>
<p>Large parts of Kelly’s early career have been lost to time, with records not added to the master log. </p>
<p>Particular casualties are his first two albums with The Dots, Talk (1981) and Manila (1982). Coupe’s interviews do however explore singles like Billy Baxter and Alive and Well, which have been left out of subsequent Kelly histories, including <a href="https://open.spotify.com/album/2kmbLohyHyFyeIb684f6rA">best of compilations</a> and Kelly’s 2018 <a href="https://www.penguin.com.au/books/how-to-make-gravy-9780143795995#:%7E:text=A%20memoir%20in%20a%20hundred,rights%20to%20cricket%20and%20cooking.">autobiography</a>.</p>
<p>As Kelly explains it: </p>
<blockquote>
<p>When I gained control of my work in the late nineties I simply chose not to make them available anymore. It wasn’t the fault of the bands on those records. It was me.</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Studio recordings of this time are now hard to come by (as Coupe and his colleagues lament), though a few iconic <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0250846/">Countdown</a> snippets linger on.</p>
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<p>The 1982 Countdown performance of Alive and Well captures the perspectives of some of Coupe’s interviewees. Kelly is working in collaboration, but also keen to draw the spotlight for himself. He is rake thin. Is this youth’s blessed metabolism, or the drug use many remember throughout the book?</p>
<p>The Paul Kelly he became in terms of sound and songwriting is here, but some of the interviews in Coupe’s book make the wobble of his head and unsteadiness of his gait hard to ignore. </p>
<h2>Look so fine, feel so low</h2>
<p>References to Kelly’s use of heroin in the past appear repeatedly in the biography. Fans will be curious to know how drugs influenced Kelly’s actual music, however Coupe doesn’t focus on Kelly’s writing process in this way. Some details are there, but nothing as forensic as Kelly has already offered himself in terms of craft and context. Instead, Coupe focuses on the machinations of the music industry.</p>
<p>As a songwriter, Kelly’s value was seen early. Accounts by Mushroom Records alumni and other associates from the early 1980s, show how his writing talent was privileged despite his unsteady performance style. </p>
<p>Still, Kelly’s songs were so popular so quickly that there was money to be made. Although many of the musicians in the book were left by the wayside as Kelly moved from project to project, his publisher continued to benefit. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/death-beauty-and-poetry-come-together-in-ancient-rain-66986">Death, beauty and poetry come together in Ancient Rain</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Deeper water</h2>
<p>The biography brings readers to the present day, including the 2019 <a href="https://musicfeeds.com.au/gig/paul-kellys-making-gravy-the-domain-sydney-14-12-19/">How To Make Gravy concert in the Domain</a> in Sydney and his 2020 album releases (<a href="https://www.nme.com/en_au/news/music/paul-kelly-releases-surprise-new-album-forty-days-2685021#:%7E:text=Paul%20Kelly%20has%20released%20a,he's%20performed%20while%20in%20quarantine.">one in lockdown, and with Paul Grabowsky</a>). </p>
<p>However, it would have been nice to see Coupe explore Kelly’s continued association with youth broadcaster Triple J and the newer artists and audiences who find him via contemporary collaborations. </p>
<p>Kelly’s 2016 collaboration with AB Original and Dan Sultan for Triple J’s Like A Version remains as much a step up for Kelly as it does for the younger musicians. </p>
<p>A reworking of Dumb Things, Kelly’s anthem (and his art) is sampled into a new context. Its energy is breathtaking. </p>
<p>How many teenagers discovered Kelly for the first time after this? </p>
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<p>As well, the 2019 collaboration with Dan Sultan on Every Day My Mother’s Voice shows the fundamental connection Kelly continues to make with new audiences and artists – only vaguely referenced as “the Adam Goodes song” by Paul Luscombe in Coupe’s book. </p>
<p>While of, course, there had to be an end to Coupe’s address book, a bit more on these more recent and younger collaborators would strengthen this story and tell us more about where Kelly is going, not just where he has been.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/why-scott-morrisons-white-male-music-playlists-matter-106522">Why Scott Morrison's white, male music playlists matter</a>
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</em>
</p>
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<img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/143350/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Liz Giuffre does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>Paul Kelly’s former manager draws on hundreds of interviews for his biography of the singer.Liz Giuffre, Senior Lecturer in Communication, University of Technology SydneyLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1408402020-06-17T20:05:26Z2020-06-17T20:05:26ZA long way to the top: Australian musicians balance multiple roles to make their careers work<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/342019/original/file-20200616-65921-clq3mi.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=51%2C8%2C5760%2C3819&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Danny Howe/Unsplash</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Over the past three years, our <a href="https://makingmusicwork.com.au/">Making Music Work</a> project has mapped the creative, social, cultural, and economic realities of a music career in Australia. </p>
<p>We surveyed nearly 600 musicians to understand their working lives, creative goals, career paths and economic circumstances. We also conducted interviews with 11 diverse musicians to explore their careers in more depth.</p>
<p>Our study shows the vast majority of Australian musicians undertake a portfolio career which encompasses concurrent and often impermanent roles. This is not a new phenomenon but in recent decades there have been <a href="https://doi.org/10.1080/14613808.2019.1598348">major shifts</a> in how music is made, paid for and consumed. </p>
<p>Now, the impact of COVID-19 on the funding and policy landscape has dramatically affected how musicians develop and sustain their careers – or not.</p>
<h2>Balancing acts</h2>
<p>Musicians told us they stay in the music industry because of their love and passion for music, which is central to their identity. Far from the “starving artist” myth, they combine music and non-music work in highly entrepreneurial ways. Surveyed before the current crisis, almost half (49%) the musicians in our study held two or more concurrent paid roles. </p>
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<p>We found 560 different job titles, the most common being instrumental musician (25%) and private music teacher (10%). Musicians worked in music-related jobs as disparate as composers, sound technicians and community arts workers, and non-music jobs including sales assistants, journalists and librarians.</p>
<p>We spoke to musicians from 18 years old to 65 and above. Almost 70% had worked in music for more than 10 years, with nearly one in three of them practising as professional musicians for more than 20 years. This gives an indication of how committed Australian musicians are to the industry and sustaining their music careers and creative practice over time. </p>
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<p>While most musicians we studied are committed to the profession, 12% said that they were thinking about leaving. </p>
<p>The most common reasons for leaving the music industry were financial stress, lack of income and caring responsibilities – all of which have since been exacerbated by the pandemic.</p>
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<h2>A live industry</h2>
<p>Performance is the most common paid activity for musicians, with two-thirds of musicians deriving at least some of their income from performance fees. </p>
<p>Live performances are also crucial for peer networking and career development. Peer networks are mostly built and maintained through events, and are key to musicians’ building and renewing skills, developing new creative collaborations and securing jobs.</p>
<p>Given live music was <a href="https://theconversation.com/there-is-no-easy-path-out-of-coronavirus-for-live-classical-music-138207">immediately</a> impacted by the COVID-19 restrictions and will be slow to return, the capacity of musicians to maintain their careers has been severely limited. </p>
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<p>Federal, state and local governments have initiated a range of targeted grants and subsidies to help support the sector and its workforce. However, lobby groups and representative bodies have called for significantly more funding. </p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-the-politics-of-dancing-and-thinking-about-cultural-values-beyond-dollars-139839">Friday essay: the politics of dancing and thinking about cultural values beyond dollars</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<p>On 10 June, music rights organisation APRA AMCOS published an <a href="https://docs.google.com/document/d/1AtT3Gdy8aHkhP_MZmDJcg3YW7sujyj5veF8qX8MYk2w/edit">open letter</a> with more than 1,000 industry signatories imploring the Australian government to consider <a href="https://liveperformance.com.au/wp-content/uploads/2020/06/LPA-MR-345-million-plan-to-restart-and-rebuild-live-performance-industry-4-June-2020-1.pdf">a suite of proposals</a>. </p>
<p>In making their case, the signatories assert:</p>
<blockquote>
<p>[w]e contribute $16 billion to the economy and we are an asset that is a lynchpin for the tourism and hospitality sectors and a powerful driver of metropolitan and regional economies and export to the world.</p>
</blockquote>
<h2>The employment puzzle</h2>
<p>Musicians are predominantly self-employed or are employed on temporary contracts, leaving them ineligible for the current JobKeeper scheme. </p>
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<p>Only half of musicians receive all of their income from music-related work, and the most common sources of music-related income are performance fees, music teaching and grants. The average income from all work was $41,257, with a median income of $30,576. </p>
<p>While the Australian government has permitted <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/australia-news/2020/apr/23/early-release-super-coronavirus-when-access-superannuation-how-impact-your-money">early release</a> of superannuation in response to COVID-19, our study has shown that musicians have limited access to this and other employment-related benefits. </p>
<p>Less than one-third of our survey participants reported employer-based superannuation contributions, and only 7% had access to a health plan or private health insurance scheme.</p>
<hr>
<p>
<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/the-government-says-artists-should-be-able-to-access-jobkeeper-payments-its-not-that-simple-138530">The government says artists should be able to access JobKeeper payments. It's not that simple</a>
</strong>
</em>
</p>
<hr>
<h2>Cause for hope</h2>
<p>In spite of the challenges, Australian musicians have shown tremendous creativity and resilience in adapting their work to online environments during the pandemic. </p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Emily Smart on how the internet affords opportunities to collaborate.</span></figcaption>
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<p>Musicians’ resilience is unsurprising given how creatively and financially nimble they have to be when negotiating music and non-music roles. To successfully engage across a variety of markets, genres and performance sites, musicians deploy diverse and agile skill sets. If they were to receive similar support as other sectors of the economy in this current crisis, they would be well placed to survive and thrive into the future.</p>
<p>Throughout our research, Australian musicians generously shared their expertise. They recognise the crucial role of peer networks to develop creative practices, sustain livelihoods and nurture the sector. This creative generosity will be central to the industry’s recovery from COVID-19.</p>
<p><em>Scott Harrison, Vanessa Tomlinson and Paul Draper also contributed to this research.</em></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/140840/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Brydie-Leigh Bartleet has received funding from the Australia Research Council under the Linkage scheme for the research cited in this article.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Ben Green was employed as a Research Assistant on the Australia Research Council Linkage Project on which this article draws. Ben is a member of APRA AMCOS.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Christina Ballico was employed as a Research Fellow on the Australia Research Council Linkage Project on which this article draws.</span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Dawn Bennett receives funding from the Australian Research Council, Commonwealth Government Department of Education and Training, Western Australian Government and National Centre for Student Equity in Higher Education. </span></em></p><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Ruth Bridgstock receives funding from the Australian Research Council and Graduate Careers Australia.</span></em></p>Australian musicians make it work by balancing music and non-music jobs, self-employment, contracts, and a love for the art.Brydie-Leigh Bartleet, Professor and Director, Queensland Conservatorium Research Centre, Griffith University, Griffith UniversityBen Green, Postdoctoral resident adjunct, Griffith Centre for Social and Cultural Research, Griffith UniversityChristina Ballico, Adjunct research fellow, Griffith UniversityDawn Bennett, Professor of Higher Education, Curtin UniversityRuth Bridgstock, Director of Curriculum and Teaching Transformation, Professor of Learning Futures, Griffith UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.