tag:theconversation.com,2011:/us/topics/music-tv-7504/articlesMusic TV – The Conversation2023-10-02T19:11:40Ztag:theconversation.com,2011:article/2138962023-10-02T19:11:40Z2023-10-02T19:11:40ZThe rise and ‘whimper-not-a-bang’ fall of Australia’s trailblazing rock press<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/550221/original/file-20230926-17-uy2ape.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&rect=0%2C0%2C4000%2C1994&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption"></span> </figcaption></figure><p>People under 30 don’t need to care about – or even understand – this. But there really was a time when exposure to culture was mediated by curators who had far too much power over what we all saw, heard or experienced. </p>
<p>In the era before social media and widespread internet access, artists had no direct connection to their fanbases, and required whole distinct manifestations of media to communicate news of their activities, directions and products. </p>
<p>We had a film press, a television press, a literary press – and a music press. </p>
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<p><em>Review: Full Coverage – Samuel J. Fell (Monash University Press)</em></p>
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<p>I needed to read Samuel J. Fell’s <a href="https://publishing.monash.edu/product/full-coverage/">Full Coverage</a>, the first (and surely only) ever history of Australia’s rock press, for selfish reasons: I consider my tastes and values to have been significantly shaped by the phenomenon. </p>
<p>Over 300 pages, Fell surveys the development of local rock music coverage in (mainly national) magazines, stopping to inspect some of the eccentric and/or dedicated writers, editors and publishers who made the greatest impact along the way.</p>
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<p>My first music writing was published in Vox, the short-lived tabloid “muzpaper”, in 1980 – and I flitted at the edges for more than a decade afterwards. </p>
<p>In a “journalism” career I was lucky enough to bail from a few years before the internet began to bite, I was more involved in teenage (largely, pop-oriented) colour magazines than in the out-and-out rock press in Australia. Nonetheless, I would read rock publications voraciously and I never passed up the opportunity to contribute.</p>
<p>There are a lot of people named in this book I have met, befriended or worked for, in my ten or more years working in publishing in Sydney in the 1980s. In that regard, Fell’s narrative has a strange, dreamlike quality for me. </p>
<p>Reading Full Coverage, I learned some interesting background and connections between particular writers, editors and publishers – I gained a new historical understanding of the field. There were also things that Fell failed (or perhaps chose not) to include. </p>
<h2>Molly, Lily and Go-Set</h2>
<p>After some courageous short-lived forays, the Australian music press started in earnest in 1966 with the Melbourne-based Go-Set. Set up by university students, whose only prior experience was Monash University’s paper, Go-Set quickly filled a need for information and connection among pop fans. </p>
<p>Enthusiastic writers like Lily Brett, Ian (Molly) Meldrum, Johnny Young and Douglas Panther conveyed the inside story of the lives of musicians and celebrities, while maintaining a particular accessibility for their “teens and twenties” readers. </p>
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<p>Meldrum’s famous tale of being told by <a href="https://theconversation.com/john-lennons-imagine-at-50-a-deceptively-simple-ballad-a-lasting-emblem-of-hope-167444">John Lennon</a> that the Beatles were breaking up (Meldrum didn’t quite take it in, and it wasn’t until someone at Go-Set listened to the interview tape he sent back from London that the story “broke”) isn’t in this book. </p>
<p>But Brett’s testimony of the global pop stars – <a href="https://theconversation.com/on-the-50th-anniversary-of-her-death-janis-joplin-still-ignites-147097">Janis Joplin</a>, the Mamas and the Papas, <a href="https://theconversation.com/50-years-ago-jimi-hendrixs-woodstock-anthem-expressed-the-hopes-and-fears-of-a-nation-120717">Jimi Hendrix</a> – she talked to one-to-one gives us a sense of the importance the magazine held for its readership. </p>
<p>Go-Set’s publisher, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phillip_Frazer">Philip Frazer</a>, went on, in a haphazard way, to bring a Rolling Stone franchise to Australia. </p>
<p>“Stone”, as Fell and his informants insist on calling it, has been running locally ever since. In its early days, it coexisted with some key 1970s and 1980s tabloids, namely <a href="https://collections.artscentremelbourne.com.au/#browse=enarratives.1834">Juke</a> and <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rock_Australia_Magazine">Rock Australia Magazine</a>, popularly known as RAM. </p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">Go-Set Four Corners.</span></figcaption>
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<p>In the early 1990s, a substantial part of the Rolling Stone staff, including Toby Creswell and Lesa-Belle Furhagen, broke with its publisher Philip Keir and set up their own magazine, <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Juice_(Australian_magazine)">Juice</a>. Accounts vary among players about what led to the split. </p>
<p>Oddly, Fell muses on Juice’s similarity to the American <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spin_(magazine)">Spin</a> for many pages, before he notes that a proportion of its editorial was directly licensed from that publication. This was the case to the degree that the Spin logo was on the cover of early issues!</p>
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Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/molly-is-lacking-as-a-tv-show-but-millions-including-me-are-hooked-54471">Molly is lacking as a TV show but millions, including me, are hooked</a>
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<h2>Street papers: ‘uniquely Australian’</h2>
<p>The next format to crash down all assumptions about best music journalism models were the “street papers”, which Fell suggests were a uniquely Australian creation. Their extensive advertising revenue from venues, record companies and related industries allowed these publications to be provided at no cost. </p>
<p>The street paper killed RAM and Juke, not by being anywhere near as good, but far, far cheaper. The finale of Full Coverage is the whimper-not-a-bang decline of music-based print media in the face of social media, mercifully hastened by the pillow-on-the-face of Covid. </p>
<p>Fell loves the “street papers”, and one gets the sense he would happily have written about them alone. He does concede a lot less time went into them editorially, compared to those that cost money – like Juke or RAM (or Vox!). </p>
<p>But he doesn’t spend a lot of time on the obvious additional truth that the street papers’ editorial positions tended to be driven by the advertising dollar, which meant negativity was almost always absent from reviews. Indeed, advertising was really the only way to guarantee a feature or review. </p>
<p>I am reminded of a time when the editor of a street paper I occasionally wrote for declared a special issue, in which all writers would be permitted to opine freely on anything they wanted. The plan was later abandoned.</p>
<p>Fell explains a lot in this broad history, though he too often takes his informants at their word, and uses their words as his basis, I suspect, to construct his narrative. </p>
<p>He probably had no choice, given the unavailability of archives. Most of the publishers I worked for had no respect at all for legislation requiring copies of all published material to be presented to the relevant state library and the NLA. </p>
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<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/how-a-pot-smoking-acid-gobbling-smart-arse-became-the-producer-behind-some-of-australias-greatest-music-205744">How a 'pot-smoking, acid-gobbling smart-arse' became the producer behind some of Australia's greatest music</a>
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<h2>Undeniable soap operas</h2>
<p>He was surely dissuaded, probably by word-count considerations – but perhaps also by lawyers – from getting his hands dirty in the ins-and-outs of the personalities and behaviours of the individuals he’s writing about. What’s the word for respecting an author’s restraint, while wishing there was just a bit more goss within their pages? </p>
<p>Of course, there were many links between the producers of music magazines and the people they wrote about. By links, I don’t just mean romantic or domestic entanglements, though I do mean that, of course. There are also great, undeniable soap operas. </p>
<p>A public spat between <a href="https://theconversation.com/speaking-with-steve-kilbey-lead-singer-of-the-church-34751">Steve Kilbey</a> of The Church and music journalist <a href="https://theconversation.com/gudinski-by-stuart-coupe-is-a-fast-and-wild-tale-of-australias-music-industry-43838">Stuart Coupe</a> in the early 1980s springs to mind. </p>
<p>It would appear that Kilbey and Coupe spent a long time talking for a feature, during which Kilbey made some broad claims about his own genius. Coupe recorded the conversation and published some choice elements in RAM – to some derision from readers. (Though let’s be clear: Kilbey at his best is pretty good!) But no doubt there were hundreds more conflicts – some manufactured, others heartfelt – between artist and reporter/critic. </p>
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<em>
<strong>
Read more:
<a href="https://theconversation.com/friday-essay-under-the-milky-way-how-a-beautiful-accident-of-a-song-was-born-and-became-an-anthem-193095">Friday essay: Under the Milky Way – how a 'beautiful accident' of a song was born and became an anthem</a>
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<p>Similarly, Fell either doesn’t know or doesn’t care about the connection between the music press and TV, which was strong. Channel 0/10 shows, such as <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Uptight_(TV_series)">Uptight</a> in the late 1960s, featured content and tie-ins with the “teens and twenties” magazine Go-Set. </p>
<p>Michael Gudinski’s failed foray with the early 1970s paper <a href="http://www.milesago.com/press/daily-planet.htm">(Daily) Planet</a> was repeated with a TV show, WROK, a decade later – in both cases, Gudinski failed to understand the difference between advertising and journalism. Nor does Fell mention <a href="https://youtu.be/cFS06jMlIio?si=v83a33rsgDKh_p56">the tragically hilarious “burial” of Go-Set</a> following its demise, broadcast on the ABC kids’ show Flashez in the mid-1970s.</p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">The ‘burial’ of Go Set, staged by Stephen McLean, Daryl Nugent and photographer Philip Morris in 1974.</span></figcaption>
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<p>Then there are careers like that of radio announcer, pop singer and jockey <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donnie_Sutherland">Donnie Sutherland</a>. Fell remarks on Sutherland’s induction into the world of Go-Set, but doesn’t mention his subsequent 12-year career as host of Sounds on Channel 7 – which is how most readers would remember him. </p>
<p>Fell also touches on Countdown magazine briefly, as a tie-in between Australia’s best known and (still) best loved TV pop show. But he hardly mentions the magazine’s content: Countdown used its biggest advantage – that the show was incredibly popular and any magazine called Countdown was going to sell – to go outside musical coverage and engage with its readers’ lives, opinions and politics. </p>
<p>More generally, it needs to be noted that, of course, context can get out of control. Personally, though, I could have handled the sacrifice of some of the half-remembered accounts of ins and outs of owners and editors, in return for more discussion of the publications’ content and impact. </p>
<p>No doubt Fell has a life, and lives can easily be frittered away reading old music magazines. But discussion, for instance, of <a href="https://jennyvalentish.com/2014/08/jenny-interviews-jen-jewel-brown/">Jen Jewel Brown</a>’s piece for the early 1970s Daily Planet on the tribulations of being a woman writing about music would have revealed plenty. </p>
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<figcaption><span class="caption">AC/DC interviewed by Molly Meldrum on Countdown.</span></figcaption>
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<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>
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<h2>Smash Hits and Rolling Stone</h2>
<p>Back to the topic of Countdown: Fell pays its competitor, Australian <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Smash_Hits">Smash Hits</a>, minimal notice. I worked for this magazine (primarily as features editor) between 1984 and 1991. While most definitely a music magazine, it really isn’t in Fell’s terrain. Its readers ranged from the very young to the mid-teens – they were more into “pop” than “rock”. </p>
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<p>But I do believe to suggest Smash Hits was “struggling” in the mid-to-late 1980s, as Fell does, is a misrepresentation: it had its ups and downs, but it was the national market leader in music magazines for at least ten years after its launch in 1984, outselling all others. In short, it was the leading music magazine of its era, and someone is feeding Fell misinformation. </p>
<p>That it sold the most is not an argument for the magazine’s quality, of course, though it had its moments. I mention this because it speaks once again to the problem with dependence on oral history: given the long-ago demise or sell-off of various publishers, historical sales figures are largely unattainable and subject to the vagaries of memory. Fell didn’t talk to anyone from (or even really about) Australian Smash Hits. </p>
<p>Which only leaves the elephant in the room. </p>
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<p>Rolling Stone has, of course, a 50-year history in Australia. Whereas Australian Smash Hits was often criticised for including content from its British parent, the first decade of Rolling Stone in this country was typically little more than a distillation of old cut-and-pastes from the American magazine. (Fell alludes to this, but doesn’t mind.) </p>
<p>Rolling Stone was often a shambles, and Fell appropriately gives the most space to its best era, under Kathy Bail’s editorship, when a few great moments – the Paul Keating cover most of all – brought it dangerously close to relevance. </p>
<p>Fell discusses the defection of key players, which led to Bail’s recruitment by publisher Philip Keir. And he gives credit to Keir and Bail for recognising the importance the internet was going to play in media, moving towards the 21st century. </p>
<h2>‘I thought it was sci-fi nonsense’</h2>
<p>No one could have imagined the changes afoot, of course, but I take my hat off to Keir for seeing it more clearly than most of us. I spent time with him for a few weeks in the mid-1990s while he employed me to work up another publication for his stable – and he availed me of his knowledge of, and passion for, the possibilities of online publishing. </p>
<p>I was impressed that he believed it, but I thought it was sci-fi nonsense. In less than ten years, as you know, the whole landscape of print media was lacerated. </p>
<p>Of course, there is still a music press: look at the preposterously overblown global influence of <a href="https://pitchfork.com/">Pitchfork</a>, for instance. In Australia, the music press only takes print form in the most boutique of varieties, <a href="https://efficientspace.bandcamp.com/merch/enthusiasms-issue-02-issue-03-bundle">like Melbourne magazine Efficient Space</a>. A whole social realm, a way of understanding a culture, is gone. Is that bad? </p>
<p>Ironically, online resources can help us understand whether it is or not – for instance, the University of Wollongong’s repository of the best 1970s-80s rock magazine of them all, Adelaide’s <a href="https://archivesonline.uow.edu.au/nodes/view/3493/">Roadrunner</a>. </p>
<p>If Fell’s book doesn’t entirely convey why Australian rock journalism was worth the candle, the six years of Donald Robertson’s witty, passionate, innovative paper just might.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/213896/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>David Nichols 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>David Nichols was a music journalist for more than a decade, starting in 1980. Samuel J. Fell’s new history of Australian rock writing takes him down memory lane.David Nichols, Professor of Urban Planning, The University of MelbourneLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/1725332021-12-03T11:35:13Z2021-12-03T11:35:13ZThe Beatles: Get Back and the magic of seeing chords become anthems<p>Filmed in January 1969, the documentary “Let It Be” follows The Beatles rehearsing and recording songs for their 12th studio album of the same name. It also includes footage of the legendary rooftop concert by the group, which would be their last public performance together. </p>
<p>Reaction to the <a href="https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-features/original-let-it-be-movie-michael-lindsay-hogg-peter-jackson-get-back-1250561/">film</a> was lukewarm at the time. The British Film Institue’s Monthly Film Bulletin regarded it as “rather tedious” and the response to the accompanying album fared no better. Writing in the New Musical Express, journalist <a href="https://worldhistoryproject.org/1970/5/8/the-beatles-release-let-it-be">Alan Smith said</a> the record would stand as a “cheapskate epitaph, a cardboard tombstone, a sad and tatty end” to a glittering and epoch-defining musical career.</p>
<p>But now a new documentary series by director Peter Jackson has re-imagined the film in three lengthy and detailed segments. Thanks to an array of fresh footage, Jackson’s film sheds new light on this period and the band. </p>
<h2>Pop music on film</h2>
<p>Pre-publicity for the Get Back project emphasised the work that had gone into restoring the original footage. </p>
<p>The kinds of painstaking technical processes that WingNut (Jackson’s production company) deployed are typical of remastered films and music. These techniques are a key way of marketing the repackaging of old material. With a run-time of eight hours, the huge scope of Get Back is in-keeping with the contemporary penchant for extremely <a href="https://www.focusfeatures.com/the-sparks-brothers">long films</a>, indulgent director’s cuts and expanded LP box sets featuring multiple versions of songs.</p>
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<p>In all these fields, “more” is equated with “best”. However, with Get Back, the initially impressive gloss of the restoration project soon fades as the real fascination lies in the raw and intimate footage of the original project. </p>
<p>We can view Let It Be as a continuation of the fine tradition of cinema verité – documentaries that sought to represent the truth as objectively as possible. With music documentaries, this tradition began with DA Pennebaker’s 1967 Bob Dylan film <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tRV-Kou9yh4">Don’t Look Back</a> followed by Maysles brothers’ <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ax_q6vp5FqU">Gimme Shelter</a> and Michael Wadleigh’s <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cTsq3eacP3E">Woodstock</a> (both 1970). </p>
<p>In Get Back, the whistle-stop preamble that Jackson provides, the labelling of every song played (no matter how ephemeral) and the contextual historical information which frames the group for a modern audience are all nice touches. But it is the raw excitement of the original footage that makes the film really soar.</p>
<h2>A happier bunch</h2>
<p>That’s because this version of the story also sheds new light on what was initially remembered as a depressing watch – the Beatles bickering and stuttering their way to a final rupture. As he watched the hours of film footage, Jackson witnessed a more positive and warmer picture of the group emerging. This is reflected in the previously unseen sequences where the group laugh and lark about and where good humour and encouragement, rather than arguments, shape the mood. </p>
<p>The Let It Be album project (also originally titled Get Back) emerged in early 1969 out of the ashes of the recently released “<a href="https://www.rollingstone.com/music/music-news/review-the-beatles-white-album-186863/">White Album</a>”. As writers <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Beatles:_An_Illustrated_Record">Roy Carr and Tony Tyler</a> noted, the White Album “indicated the passing of the Beatles as a group…on this LP they act as each other’s session men”. </p>
<p>This idea of the Beatles fading as a coherent unit and writing more as individuals is something I also explore in <a href="https://headpress.com/product/the-beatles-white-album/">my own book</a> on the LP. But it would seem that the desire with the original Get Back was to return to a more communal way of creating songs, jamming and improvising towards a final version that was unencumbered by recording studio trickery. </p>
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<p>The magical evolution of a song from a few chords and snatches of lyrics to a complex arrangement is one of the most fascinating aspects of Get Back. The song “Get Back” itself is a prime example. Developing out of Paul McCartney strumming a few chords on his bass, the song’s journey in the film culminates in a triumphant full-blown version in the famous rooftop sequence that closes both films. For Beatles obsessives and less devoted bystanders alike, the chance to eavesdrop on how pop songs are actually made – a normally secretive and mysterious process – is revelatory.</p>
<p>Get Back, while split into three episodes, is eight hours long, which might be daunting for many viewers. While it would have been nice to see this documentary on the big screen, streaming has afforded Jackson this length. I think this was a deliberate choice by Jackson to fully immerse the viewer in the slow grind of producing great pop songs.</p>
<p>The famous rooftop concert, viewed from any angle, is truly magnificent, a “shining hour of absolute extreme excitement” as the Beatles own press officer <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/books/2018/apr/04/as-time-goes-by-derek-taylor-beatles-review">Derek Taylor</a> put it. Publicists tend to exaggerate but in this case the description is spot on, the mundane nature of the performance (especially after all the big talk about concerts in Arabian deserts and ocean liners) demonstrating that often it is the simple things that can mean so much.</p>
<p>The purpose of the album was to allow the Beatles to “get back” to their deep roots as a performing band. As this dream faded it became “let it be” – an expression of resignation and closure. Now, with Jackson’s version, “Get Back” means something different again; a return to the original project but also to the Beatles and their legacy, which, well into the 21st century and with the help of this film, still seems firmly assured.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/172533/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Mark Goodall 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>Get Back shines a light on the love that still existed between the Fab Four.Mark Goodall, Senior Lecturer Film and Media, University of BradfordLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/854932017-10-17T09:04:38Z2017-10-17T09:04:38ZThe music video is a zombie – it may look dead but it’s just been re-animated<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/189578/original/file-20171010-17697-5j5059.png?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Taylor Swift's Look What You Made Me Do</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCANLZYMidaCbLQFWXBC95Jg">TaylorSwift/Vevo</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Watching the <a href="https://theconversation.com/how-taylor-swift-became-a-femme-fatale-with-a-little-help-from-sylvia-plath-83993">rotting zombified corpse</a> of Taylor Swift claw her way out of a grave, one could be forgiven for thinking that the music video hasn’t come very far since Michael Jackson’s Thriller in 1983. But the world in which Taylor’s zombies drag their feet is totally different to the TV realm that Jackson dominated. The growth of the internet and social media has seen the power of MTV wane. But instead of curling up and dying, the music video has evolved and embraced online platforms like the undead embrace the apocalypse.</p>
<p>Swift’s Look What You Made Me Do does indeed conjure up <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/film/2017/aug/31/john-landis-on-the-making-of-michael-jacksons-thriller-i-was-adamant-he-couldnt-look-too-hideous">Thriller</a> but it also betrays exactly how much change has taken place since <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0000484/">John Landis</a> turned Jackson’s titular album track into an ambitious 14-minute promo, referencing both <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0089907/">The Return of the Living Dead</a> and his own American Werewolf in London.</p>
<p><a href="http://www.rollingstone.com/music/news/12-thrilling-facts-about-michael-jacksons-thriller-20131029">Thriller</a> notably won in three categories at the first ever MTV Video Music Awards in 1984. In 2017, the VMAs (as the awards show is commonly abbreviated) continued the recent trend of falling viewing numbers with its lowest ratings yet.</p>
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<p>How long MTV will maintain its commitment to the VMAs remains to be seen but the channel itself – launched in 1981 as a platform for a relatively new promotional tool – has already significantly reduced its music programming. Instead, building on the success of early docu-soaps like <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0103520/">The Real World</a> and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0306370/">The Osbournes</a> (once offering only occasional respite from back-to-back videos interspersed with music news from its VJs), reality TV offerings have now become MTV mainstays.</p>
<h2>The video’s gone viral</h2>
<p>By contrast the natural home for Look What You Made Me Do is now found online. Although rather than being downgraded by MTV’s indifference, the sharing power associated with the likes of YouTube can ensure more exposure than its playlisting on cable TV ever could. As Gina Arnold discusses in <a href="https://www.bloomsbury.com/uk/musicvideo-9781501313929/">Music/Video</a>, viral hits such as <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9bZkp7q19f0">Gangnam Style</a> are indebted to the platform. </p>
<p>And while MTV might have introduced the early work of auteurs such as <a href="http://www.mtv.com/news/1946372/david-finchers-80s-music-videos/">David Fincher</a>, <a href="http://www.mtv.com/news/2581222/spike-jonze-videos-beastie-boys-bjor/">Spike Jonze</a>, <a href="https://www.redbull.com/us-en/7-best-michel-gondry-directed-music-videos">Michel Gondry</a>, Anton Corbijn, Mark Romanek, Chris Cunningham and Jonathan Glazer to an audience, it is again YouTube (plus similar video sharing sites including Vimeo) that will offer a space for new talent pushing the boundaries of music video’s audio-visual dialogue.</p>
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<p>The move away from the MTV playlist means that video producers no longer need to create content to meet that demand and are able to make videos directly for their fans. This has led to some weird and wonderful oddities, catering to very specific markets with examples including the recent <a href="https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCNZxkCLMDGrYDaqSkaGn5iw">Arca videos</a> and their exploration of male sexuality and male vulnerability.</p>
<p>Technological advancements have allowed new contributors making interesting videos that were once the preserve of big budget mavericks <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm0192260/">like Cunningham</a> with clients such a Bjork. Now “unofficial” videos and newer stars – such as <a href="https://vimeo.com/unicornparis">Unicorn</a> and <a href="http://philippaprice.com/">Philippa Price</a> – vie for attention online while pushing the format into new territory.</p>
<p>Technology and changes in the industry has meant video making has become much more interesting, egalitarian and less restricted by label bosses who were previously producing content that was destined almost exclusively for MTV. Now that the music video no longer remains coupled to the financial base of major music labels, a diffuse and more complex audiovisual landscape is emerging. Artists such as FKA twigs, for example, shift from using this very visible platform for music product to <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fh772V1KyXk">participating in adverts</a> for brands like Nike, while still presenting her music in ways that appear to confirm her authenticity as an artist.</p>
<p>But the music video also remains a vehicle for the presentation of commercialised celebrity culture and stereotypical ideas regarding gender and sexuality. Many women in mainstream popular music have had to address their visual representations and ultimately accept mass objectification in exchange for success. Ariana’s Grande’s playing into the age old “virgin/whore” trope in <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9WbCfHutDSE">Dangerous Woman</a> provides a case in point. While Robin Thicke’s <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/music/2013/nov/13/blurred-lines-most-controversial-song-decade">controversial Blurred Lines</a> is another extreme example of male objectification of women. In a welcome shift of cultural mood, the backlash against this video was so extreme, that Thicke’s career has never fully recovered. </p>
<p>But although sexual objectification is commonplace in music videos, more recently it may well provide the space to challenge these representations. Artists are using music video in a range of ways, as platforms to bolster their personas, comment upon celebrity culture, and air their political views. Popular female artists present their views regarding body image issues and their implied power relations through various means in their music videos. Beyoncé, Lady Gaga, Rihanna and <a href="https://www.theguardian.com/music/musicblog/2014/jul/25/nicki-minaj-anaconda-cover-too-sexy-instagram">Nicki Minaj</a> have all used various tactics to directly comment on, and often challenge, contemporary discourse surrounding body image.</p>
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<p>Much of what makes FKA Twig’s work interesting is the varied and complex self-representations projected through her <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bYU3j-22360">music videos</a>. Her commitment to exploring how technology can be manipulated and used to manipulate the female form presents work that can be read as feminist without overtly labelling it as such. Her work speaks to the complexity of contemporary celebrity and digital cultures where her femininity and feminism are often difficult and contradictory.</p>
<p>It is safe to say that music video has not only survived the demise of MTV as its primary outlet, but has transformed and shifted into a more complex and diffuse form that offers a space for expression, creativity, nostalgia, political commentary as well as the presentation of commercially packaged pop – a la Taylor Swift. It is evolving alongside other visual technologies and is now situated somewhere in the messy and interesting space between art and commerce. It seems the format is not quite dead and buried after all.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/85493/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>The authors do not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and have disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.</span></em></p>MTV may not be the power house it used to be but the music video is flourishing online.Kirsty Fairclough, Senior Lecturer in Media and Performance, University of SalfordDaniel Cookney, Lecturer in Graphic Design, University of SalfordLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/851322017-10-04T09:18:59Z2017-10-04T09:18:59ZWomen in sound: addressing the music industry’s gender gap<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/188644/original/file-20171003-14213-qk7o8s.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">
</span> <span class="attribution"><a class="source" href="https://www.shutterstock.com/image-photo/selective-focus-woman-dj-mixes-track-680385043?src=_xQ1FriyUx9p8_JakVLjgA-1-52"> Shutterstock/MRNattanonKanchak</a></span></figcaption></figure><p>Women are severely underrepresented in the fields of sound and music technology. This <a href="https://jobs.newscientist.com/article/the-stem-gender-gap-where-are-the-women-equivalent-of-steve-jobs/">downward trend</a> of women’s participation is reflected across the science and technology subject areas. My research has shown that we need to start addressing the problem as early as possible by inspiring girls at secondary school. That’s where a little box of tricks comes in. </p>
<p>In 2015, the organisation <a href="http://wiswos.com">Women in Sound Women on Sound</a> was established at Lancaster University as a space to showcase women’s contribution to computer music (the use of computer technology to compose and perform music), the sonic arts and sound studies. Since then, the network has collaborated with people from across the world to try and find innovative new ways to bridge the industry’s gender gap. What has emerged is that the move away from technology begins early in secondary school education. But at a series of workshops, teenage girls told us that they feel inspired when they see women working so confidently with technology. </p>
<p>In September, the network launched <a href="http://www.lancaster.ac.uk/teachers/school-university-research-engagement/research-in-a-box/activating-women-in-sound-in-a-box/">Activating Women in Sound in a Box</a> – a physical and virtual toolkit to change how we teach young people about technology, music and sound. In the box are CDs by female composers of modern music, tools to build your own electronic instrument, and books such as <a href="https://www.dukeupress.edu/pink-noises">Pink Noises</a>: Women on Electronic Music and Sound by Tara Rodgers.</p>
<p>Students can learn about inspirational women like <a href="http://daphneoram.org/">Daphne Oram</a> – one of the central figures in the development of British experimental electronic music – and <a href="http://www.delia-derbyshire.org/">Delia Derbyshire</a>. Oram declined a place at the Royal College of Music to become a “music balancer” at the BBC and became the co-founder and first director of the BBC Radiophonic Workshop. She is credited with the invention of a new form of sound synthesis called “Oramics” – one of the earliest forms of electronic sound synthesis. Derbyshire has been called “the unsung heroine of British electronic music” and is behind <a href="https://www.bbc.co.uk/music/artists/530068ef-0762-4969-871c-0c2c11e0c105">iconic music</a> like the Dr Who theme.</p>
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<h2>An online toolbox</h2>
<p>The network also developed an online box, with <a href="http://wiswos.com/assets/php/tutorial1.php">video tutorials</a> by women who work in live sound engineering, electronics, sound design and composition. These women have created tutorials that look at women’s historic contribution to music technology, live coding and sound engineering. The website has an interactive space where you can find links to publications by women on everything from sound and society to <a href="https://www.punk77.co.uk/punkettes/features.htm">women in punk</a>. The box is a resource for teachers to use alongside the current curriculum that will put women in the frame when it comes to teaching music technology, engineering and computer coding. </p>
<p>Over the past decade, there have been a number of attempts to redress the growing exclusion of women from music technology industries. Groups like the <a href="https://yorkshiresoundwomen.com">Yorkshire Sound Women’s Network</a> and websites like the <a href="http://hernoise.org">Her Noise</a> archive and the <a href="http://deliaderbyshireday.com/dd-archive/">Delia Derbyshire Archive</a> were created to highlight women’s historic and contemporary contribution to music technology. </p>
<p>There have also been a number of <a href="https://www.cambridge.org/core/journals/organised-sound/article/from-sitespecific-to-siteresponsive-sound-art-performances-as-participatory-milieu/F51D9A9D2FFD7D2CC9EC6A07DF1D7AA7">research projects</a> and organisations developed to <a href="https://womensaudiomission.org">create spaces</a> of learning and inclusivity in order to get girls thinking about careers in music engineering and computer music. Each organisation and activity is attempting to do what the education system seems to be failing at: getting girls interested in any combination of STEAM – Science, Technology, Engineering, Arts and Maths – subjects for future careers. </p>
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<h2>The gender gap</h2>
<p>Georgina Born and Kyle Devine highlighted the “highly (male) <a href="http://www.tandfonline.com/doi/full/10.1080/07494467.2016.1177255">gendered digital music field</a>” in which approximately 90% of music technology students are currently white males. The outcome is that the creative field becomes dominated by male practitioners, male lecturers and male authors. This means young girls don’t have role models or people they see as representing them. But just because women don’t always attend music technology programs, aren’t always visible at music events and sometimes don’t even appear on the curriculum, does not mean they’re not there. </p>
<p>The box is one way to put women, who work in, and have contributed to the music technology industry – and other sound related areas – back into education. It makes women visible to all students. The box is a resource that teachers can use throughout the year, not just a one-off project. The WISWOS network will continue to add more material to the box, including video tutorials and online learning tools as feedback comes in from schools. In this way, seeing women teaching you about any area of technology won’t be a rare event, it might even become part of the norm in education.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/85132/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<p class="fine-print"><em><span>Linda O Keeffe 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 is a gender gap in the music and sound industry. Inspiring young girls about careers in these fields has never been more important.Linda O Keeffe, Lecturer in Sound in the Arts, Lancaster UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/816892017-07-31T23:15:07Z2017-07-31T23:15:07ZWhy are there so few women screen composers?<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/180162/original/file-20170728-18839-1jhl76r.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Lisa Gerrard performing in Budapest, 2012. She is one of Australia's few successful female composers for screen.</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">Balazs Mohai/EPA</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Just 13% of those composing music for screen are women, according to membership figures from APRA AMCOS, the organisation that looks after <a href="http://apraamcos.com.au/about-us/faqs/general-faqs/">copyright for songwriters, composers and music publishers in Australia</a>. </p>
<p>Female screen composers sit at the intersection of two industries – music and film - that have both been recognised as <a href="https://www.screenaustralia.gov.au/sa/new-directions/gender-matters">being</a> <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/triplej/programs/hack/by-the-numbers-the-gender-gap-in-the-australian-music-industry/8328952">male-dominated</a>. To better understand the pathways and barriers for women in this field, and why women in music are underrepresented more generally, APRA AMCOS commissioned research in this area early this year (conducted by myself and Fabian Cannizzo), which has just been released. </p>
<p>Using surveys completed by 159 screen composers and in-depth interviews with 28 of them, our research found there was a gulf between men and women in their understanding of gender issues in the industry. (All participants in the research identified as either male or female). For instance, 67% of women participants agreed with the statement that “gender discrimination is common in the industry”, compared with only 32% of men.</p>
<p>In interviews, women talked about the screen composing industry as being a “boys’ club”. They perceived this as operating in many different ways, from male-dominated networks that proved almost impossible to break into, to studio cultures that were covertly or overtly misogynistic, through to actual sexual harassment. </p>
<p>Men, on the other hand, were more likely to talk about the industry as being a “meritocracy”, where the only factor that mattered was talent. In responses to the survey, some men were openly antagonistic towards the idea that questions should even be asked about gender issues in the first place. At the same time, the men who could see there was a problem often had difficulty articulating exactly what it was or what the effects were.</p>
<p>Men and women agreed that a meritocracy was an ideal goal to work towards, but men’s understanding of women’s experiences – and therefore the ways in which they might be contributing to women’s marginalisation – was limited. </p>
<p>Numerous other factors emerged as barriers to women in screen composing. Many of these have been identified as issues for women in a range of other careers. For example, having children had a much more negative effect on women’s careers than on men’s.</p>
<p>Working as a screen composer is precarious - most work on a project-by-project basis and reported “feast or famine” type schedules with little control over when work needed to be done. Factoring caring responsibilities into this mix limited or ended women’s careers in many cases. </p>
<p>The women who successfully negotiated this life change had often established professional partnerships that meant networks and industry knowledge could be maintained. However, in a highly individualised field, establishing such partnerships is not always possible.</p>
<p>The research also found there was a common perception that men and women composed different types of music. Women’s compositions were seen as more suited to the work of women directors, or to films or TV shows that dealt with “women’s issues”. Given the continued gender imbalance both behind the camera and in the stories that are told on screen, this idea that women can only compose for or about “feminine” topics makes it less likely again that they will be hired.</p>
<p>We also found that far fewer women than men are enrolling in higher education courses related to screen composition. Education institutions we consulted reported around one-tenth to one-third of their students were female. This appears to be related to the wider issue of women’s relationship with technology, as many of the courses related to screen composition were tech-focused.</p>
<p>These and other factors that emerged connect back to essentialist ideas about what men and women can or should do. </p>
<p>So what can be done to counteract these trends?</p>
<p>While we wish to avoid making this discussion “about men”, finding ways to engage men in equity initiatives seems important. With men still in the majority of decision-making roles in the music, film and television industries, making change on a large scale will be difficult to achieve without men recognising and working to combat gender inequality. </p>
<p>Asking men to at least think about how their practices and decision-making processes may be negatively impacting women, and to acknowledge that women’s experiences of the industry may be very different to their own is a simple starting point, but one that needs to go much further.</p>
<p>Other strategies such as finding ways for women to network and develop partnerships that help sustain their careers should be considered. Highlighting the careers of women who have succeeded in this area, such as <a href="http://www.lisagerrard.com/Default.aspx?">Lisa Gerrard</a>, <a href="http://www.caitlinyeo.com/">Caitlin Yeo</a> <a href="http://www.amandabrowncomposer.com/Welcome.html">Amanda Brown</a> and <a href="http://www.imdb.com/name/nm1245217/">Bryony Marks</a> and providing mentoring and access to role models, is a starting point here. </p>
<p>It is encouraging to see APRA AMCOS committing to taking actions along these lines, through establishing mentorship programs and masterclasses. It is also working to increase women’s participation across the board, from membership numbers to positions on award panels and beyond. </p>
<p>More research is still needed, especially to widen the focus to create a more intersectional understanding of inequality in music. However practical and measurable changes such as these are important steps in moving towards equality.</p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/81689/count.gif" alt="The Conversation" width="1" height="1" />
<h4 class="border">Disclosure</h4><p class="fine-print"><em><span>Catherine Strong undertook this research for APRA AMCOS. </span></em></p>Just 13% of those composing music for screen are women, according to membership figures from APRA AMCOS, the organisation that looks after copyright for songwriters, composers and music publishers in Australia…Catherine Strong, Senior Lecturer, Music Industry, RMIT UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.tag:theconversation.com,2011:article/191002013-10-12T03:44:29Z2013-10-12T03:44:29ZRage against the machine: music TV still important for the Australian industry<figure><img src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/32865/original/vphf4qwx-1381461319.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=496&fit=clip" /><figcaption><span class="caption">Music TV programs, like rage, have provided exposure for artists who would have otherwise been drowned out by the vast amount of music available online</span> <span class="attribution"><span class="source">shutterstock.com</span></span></figcaption></figure><p>Digital production and distribution has made it easier to access music than at any other time in human history. </p>
<p>But no one starts at “A” in iTunes or on YouTube’s homepage and listens to everything. There are not enough hours in the year for that - and besides, that’s not how internet music works. Unlike the passive pleasure of experiencing music on radio or television broadcasts, online delivery requires active swimming through a sea of content. </p>
<p>In order to find what you want online, you usually have to already know something about it.</p>
<p>Broadcast is still a place to find (new, old and quirky) music in Australia in 2013. And we’re somewhat unusual in this regard. In the US, MTV has moved its focus away from music videos and towards the Jersey Shore, while YouTube recently announced it will <a href="http://blogs.wsj.com/speakeasy/2013/10/01/will-new-youtube-music-awards-challenge-mtv/">host its own music video awards</a> to rival the Twerk-promoting former super giant. </p>
<p>The UK lost its long running music broadcast success, Top Of the Pops, in the mid 2000s. And while there were some rivals for charity and Christmas specials, the recent unearthing of Jimmy Saville’s past may have permanently changed the way music, television and youth is considered in that country.</p>
<p>Back home, however, broadcast music television like the ABC’s <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/rage">rage</a> remains an important cultural touchstone. Since April 1987 rage has been on air on Friday and Saturday nights (and into the following morning). </p>
<p>It’s often the first place that local artists get to show themselves to the broader Australian public. Sure, this first airing might be at 2 am, but it’s still an opportunity to be found by a concentrated audience above all the other noise. The problem with the internet is finding quality within the quantity. </p>
<p>rage’s commitment to providing a space for good music (as well as music that may be not so good, or still in development) is crucial to its inclusion on the national public service broadcaster. </p>
<p>But it is also something that the program has been criticised for. As part of his <a href="http://aso.gov.au/titles/tv/john-safrans-music-jamboree/notes/">Musical Jamboree series</a> for SBS in 2002, John Safran claimed ‘even a dog can get a clip on rage’, going on to prove it by submitting a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=790CydS7kP4">clip and song</a> that had been made in an afternoon. His point was to challenge rage’s apparently vague quality control, and while the program did broadcast his shaky image (literally created by Safran strapping a camera to his dog’s head), it was a choice the show’s producers stood by. </p>
<p>Speaking in 2010 as part of a talk at the Australian Centre for Moving Image, producers/programmers basically argued that Safran <a href="http://www.acmi.net.au/explore_podcasts.htm">helped pay for rage with his income tax</a>, just like all Australians. He and his dog were entitled to their 2 minutes of fame.</p>
<figure class="align-right ">
<img alt="" src="https://images.theconversation.com/files/32864/original/rvq96xqr-1381461021.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=237&fit=clip" srcset="https://images.theconversation.com/files/32864/original/rvq96xqr-1381461021.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=1 600w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/32864/original/rvq96xqr-1381461021.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=2 1200w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/32864/original/rvq96xqr-1381461021.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=15&auto=format&w=600&h=600&fit=crop&dpr=3 1800w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/32864/original/rvq96xqr-1381461021.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=45&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=1 754w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/32864/original/rvq96xqr-1381461021.jpg?ixlib=rb-1.1.0&q=30&auto=format&w=754&h=754&fit=crop&dpr=2 1508w, https://images.theconversation.com/files/32864/original/rvq96xqr-1381461021.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">
<figcaption>
<span class="caption">rage has been an important player in the development of Australian talent since its.
first broadcast in 1987</span>
<span class="attribution"><span class="source">Dia Rui via Flickr</span></span>
</figcaption>
</figure>
<p>Stunts and one hit wonders aside, rage has historically been the first place to feature what are now considered to be incredible international success stories. Gotye really was “Somebody that (rage) Used to Know” <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/news/2013-02-11/gotye-picks-up-three-grammys/4511814">before the Grammys came calling</a>.</p>
<p>rage has also become a place we look to during significant periods of change
for the local industry. </p>
<p>When Chrissy Amphlett of The Divinyls died in April this year, rage broadcast a tribute on ABC TV as well as facilitating a second screen community online <a href="https://twitter.com/rageabc/status/327922753590153217">with the Twitter hashtag, #WatchingRage</a>. A celebration and wake that was both passive and active, it soon proved to be a way for ordinary music lovers to pay their respects as well as recall material that they may not otherwise have remembered or seen before. </p>
<p>Watching rage has become a ritual for many Australian musicians and enthusiasts. It starts with getting caught in the ‘rage Trap’ - what the program’s producers affectionately call the process of staying up much later than expected due to ‘just wanting to see what clip is next’. </p>
<p>The ritual can even extend to forming a band and making new music, <a href="http://www.theage.com.au/news/Music/Bush-babes/2005/04/14/1113251728841.html">as happened with Queensland trio</a>, The Grates. </p>
<p>rage’s regular ‘guest programmer’ segment also provides an internationally unique approach to music broadcasting. With the absence of a regular host, the segment allows the audience to make personal musical connections with the featured artists that might not otherwise come out in an interview. As a result, musical treasure (and trash) is revealed by both local and international artists.</p>
<p>Notably, this year’s rage ‘Election special’ let voters see a different side of pollies Anthony Albanese, Julie Bishop and Adam Bandt, as they (or at least their minders), <a href="http://www.abc.net.au/rage/archive/s3834734.htm">recommended Madonna, The Pixies, The Red Hot Chili Peppers and Nirvana</a>.</p>
<p>Music television like rage may now be supported by online delivery and second screen viewing (including Twitter, Facebook and the rage interactive App), but the primary broadcast allows audiences to simply enjoy passive musical emersion for its own sake. </p>
<p>The program’s strength is its passion and unusual curating, and it remains an important way to deliver audiences and artists to the next medium.</p>
<hr>
<p><em>This is the final piece in our five-part series looking at the
contemporary music industry. Click the links below to read the others:</em></p>
<p><strong><a href="https://theconversation.com/music-sales-are-waning-but-dont-blame-the-pirates-18426">Music sales are waning but don’t blame the pirates</a></strong></p>
<p><strong><a href="https://theconversation.com/music-streaming-revenue-structures-stacked-against-artists-18416">Music streaming revenue structures stacked against artists</a></strong></p>
<p><strong><a href="https://theconversation.com/spotify-merging-music-with-social-media-18401">Spotify: merging music with social media</a></strong></p>
<p><strong><a href="https://theconversation.com/doing-things-with-music-the-newest-arm-of-the-industry-18729">‘Doing things’ with music: the newest arm of the industry</a></strong></p><img src="https://counter.theconversation.com/content/19100/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>Digital production and distribution has made it easier to access music than at any other time in human history. But no one starts at “A” in iTunes or on YouTube’s homepage and listens to everything. There…Liz Giuffre, Lecturer of Media, Music and Cultural Studies, Macquarie UniversityLicensed as Creative Commons – attribution, no derivatives.