Like a lot of rock bands in the 80s, Alice in Chains started out as a hair metal band.
Their first band name: Alice N’ Chains. (Does that stylistic “N'” remind you of another band?)
By the early 90s, hair metal became less marketable; alternative metal or “grunge” was the new sound. I thought I read that AiC’s manager Susan Silver recommended they revise their sound and look. (I can’t find the article, so I’m not sure if it’s factual.)
Either way, it worked! Alice in Chains was a huge success on the tails of Soundgarden and Nirvana.
It worked because that change wasn’t chasing trends or drastic; rather it allowed Layne Stanley’s vocals to be more authentic, bluesy, in range with where he shined. During the 80s, radio promoters had criticized that Alice in Chains’s vocals weren’t the right sound in the metal accepted in 80s. Stanley couldn’t hit those high notes that became expected in those 80s hits.
Was it luck, irony, or fate that his natural sound was the right sound for what became the marketable grunge?
Artists always have a choice about changing their sound, look, and process. Adapting, editing, evolving is essential, but our changes must be not simply for marketability. It has to make sense for the art. It must allow for the strengths to shine.
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Loudwire article here
Matt Jones started a music preservation project out of his basement with a “shitty microphone” and an “[obsession] with history.” He’s recorded over 150 musicians from Michigan, with no larger plan than to capture a piece of history and see what emerges.
Natalie interviewed Jones last month, and her story was published in Concentrate, featuring some great photos by Doug Coombe. (Read the Concentrate story here.)
After Natalie got off the phone with the musical preservationist, she mentioned to me one of her favorite quotes. Jones said, “The experience has turned me from a super wound-up, hyper critical, cynical man into somebody who can’t criticize anybody anymore…It’s just so fun to watch people do what they love.”
Every artist needs to find a River Street Project for themselves. I don’t mean a recording project, but an activity that helps one reconnect with the purity of the art. It’s so easy to get cynical, especially in the music business!
But unwinding the cynicism: I’m going to call that the River Street Project effect. The artist starts the project and finds a new sense of self.
During his BBC Music John Peel lecture, Iggy Pop said, “Not everybody is meant to be big. Not everybody big is any good.” Matt Jones is capturing a small piece of musical history, reminding us that music isn’t about being big; it’s about a song’s sense of place.
What happens to our feelings about the art when we discover the artist isn’t a nice person, or worse?
Jessica Hooper explains the dilemma well:
“Yeah, we can just shorthand it as bad people making good art. I’m not interested in music that’s scrubbed and safe, and art is complicated.” (Full interview at Paste Magazine)
Which puts us in a similar position as our history classrooms and textbooks, what James Loewen, author of Lies My Teachers Told Me, describes as “handicapped by history”:
“The results of herofication are potentially crippling to students…Our children end up without realistic role models to inspire them. Students also develop no understanding of causality in history” (28-29).
John Lennon is one of the most influential songwriters, an outspoken symbol for peace; but he also acted in a terrible fashion to his family, a story plagued with affairs and domestic violence. (Julian Lennon’s interview: Dad was a hypocrite.)
Does it ruin the art?
Does history give him a pass because of his songwriting; and if we give one talented artist a pass, what does that say when we don’t give the same annulment to another artist? Say, Chris Brown?
Artists do need to be held accountable during their lifetimes, and we don’t do ourselves a service by whitewashing their legacies after they’ve died.
Art is a symbol of the human condition. We must embrace it, let it challenge us. And if the story of the human condition is complex, it most likely mirrors elements of our own life stories.
I don’t know what happens to our feelings about art when we discover the story of the artist, but the story of heroism is much worse. Leave heroes for the Greek myths. Let our role-models be human. Sometimes, the art must stand on it’s own.
As an artist, the most important metric is difficult to measure
When you decide to release your art, you will start measuring data.
How many people clicked the play button? How many folks visited that Medium article? How many people attended the art exhibition? Where are my fans located? How many wrote a comment, clicked like, shared a tweet?
Data’s an important thing to have, but there is one powerful number that’s difficult to measure: How many people were changed by my art?
We don’t always know. We aren’t always told.
Sometimes, someone will tell you how a song changed their life, how an idea led them to a new pathway; but usually we don’t often share that compliment.
I’ve told Frances Luke Accord how “In the Water” got me through some lonely drives on tour; but at a house concert in February, one of their college roommates told me how that song was so important to him. I wonder if he’s shared that with the songwriters?
I’ve never told Brian Vander Ark how much “Someone Like You”, and most of his first solo record, got me through difficult semesters during college. I had that record on repeat while driving through West Michigan, learning to craft my own songs between essays and classes and parties and breakups and my first shows. The record changed me. He has no idea.
So set your art free. Hope it affects people. Trust it might; but don’t get too caught up in the data, unless is helps you make more art.
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Here are some Michigan-made songs that might change you:
