How Not To Be An Arsehole* When Doing Music History

Please, don’t be an arsehole when writing or doing an interview about music history. Histories are too important to get wrong. Without histories, we lose our sense of ourselves, and our children look to the future without the benefit of the past to guide them. 

It’s not just the Rolling Stone and Rock and Roll Hall of Fame co-founder Jann Wenner who’s been a major arsehole with music history. Although he’s perhaps the most recent and arguably one of the more dangerous given his influence, and that of the genre and generation he claims to represent.

Here’s some things the budding music/industry historian – or commentator – may want to try if they want to avoid becoming him. 

1. Know your perspective and experience, and the limits of both.

No one can know everything, and no one is unbiased. Ever. We all bring baggage and limits to what we see and do. Knowing what your perspective and experience is, and that you can never know everything, is vital. 

It also means no one should ever claim to be able to write, on their own, ‘the definitive guide’, ‘the complete list’, ‘the whole story’, ‘the true story’, and other catchy-but-impossible-clickbait-y titles. If someone asks you to do it, politely steer them towards even a small disclaimer ; my negotiation, fueled by anxiety more than anything else, was to offer an ‘incomplete history’.

Call it what you want, and be cute if you need to. “The straight white cis man’s guide to Oz Rock” has a certain ring to it, don’t you think?

Or “The history of music according to one person’s taste who wants to hear his own image sung back to him”. Or whatever. You do you. 

Also, I feel like these two examples above have already been done. Just a few times.

2. Collaborate as often as you can with people whose perspective and experience is different to yours.

As above – no one can know it all on their own. Work made with others is always better. True, it does often also make processes harder: extra meetings, extra notes, extra negotiation and experience. But collaborative works are always richer. Name me one amazing artist who works completely in a vacuum. Go on, I’ll wait.

Will all collaborators agree all the time? Hardly. Barely ever, even. That‘s fine. 

Remember there is no one version of the present, really, either. Even when 1000 people are at the same gig each of those people are having a slightly different experience. 

People down the front can see and hear differently to those in the nose bleeds; people who are tall see more than people who are short (solidarity, 5-foot-nothing friends). People who are on their phones the whole time see and hear not much at all but at least they may re-live it later.In shaky glory. On a tiny screen. With shitty sound. 

3. Don’t mistake money for talent or success.

Those with the most publicity are not necessarily the best. Money does not necessarily mean value, just as lack of money does not necessarily mean lack of worth. 

Money does allow for visibility, so when writing a history, make a point of looking beyond headlines. The loudest voices are not always the best, they just tend to be the ones with the most budget to put towards  getting seen.

Same goes for fans. Friends on the bones of their financial arse – I feel you as well. I got into music writing solely because I couldn’t afford to see music live any other way. 

People who can’t afford to pay for a ticket, buy an album or an $80 tee-Shirt at a gig are not unimportant – but they are often young and marginalised in some way (for now). 

Chasing only the money (now) or just writing about those who made money risks obsolescence real quick. And also, the stories of money have already been told. What else can you offer?

Don’t look for a ‘quality’ audience – an audience is enough. Yes, we hope the good ones make money, but money doesn’t make them good. 

4. Inclusivity is not just for PR. Also, PR is gross anyway.  

You could be like the father of Rolling Stone magazine, Jann Wenner, and claim to be talking for an entire industry and generation when you say that being inclusive is “just for public relations’ sake”.

As Wenner also says, you could just find “one Black and one woman artist to include here that didn’t measure up to that same historical standard, just to avert this kind of criticism.” 

Using Wenner’s own words, you could also be “old-fashioned and .… don’t give a [expletive] or whatever”. 

Wenner is right about one thing. This is both old-fashioned, and frankly, whatever. It is straight up arseholey. It’s not kitsch, ironic or retro/vintage/nostalgic cool. He doesn’t look like an icon who’s just sticking to his time and his lane. He looks like someone who would also sell his best mate out for his own ego too (which he also admits to doing in this article, being mean to Mick Jagger).

5. Don’t be mean to artists just for a story.

Our industries are relatively small and already under threat. Hell, we’re in a time when scientists and doctors are being undermined – why do that to artists as well?

You’re not coming across as the victor in a David vs Goliath story when you gloat about tricking someone into saying something they didn’t mean or when you willfully take something completely out of context.

You’re actually just being a bully.  

We’re music nerds. We know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of bullying. Break the cycle, don’t repeat it.

6. Go back to the source when you can (and always admit where you’re guessing).

It has never been easier to find people and original sources. Of course some of these are incomplete and some might not want to revisit things or have hazy memories. So consult widely and often. And if you can’t, show the audience what and where you’ve tried.

But also – importantly – ask yourself: is this the story you should claim? Are you taking space that should at least be shared? As above, collabs make us better. It’s not really a competition – art is not a race. 

You will have to guess sometimes. History is full of people doing their best guess. But say what’s informing you or why you have the hunch you do.

7. Do your research. And then do some more. And then a bit more. 

Despite what some powers that be might say, research is sexy as. The more you do, and the more you show, the better your story will be. If not, it’s just fiction. And great – if you want to write fiction, do that. But don’t call it a history. 

Audiences love when you tell them things they didn’t know, too. Even more when it’s facts they can follow up themselves for later. Again, if you make it up, call it fiction. They will trust you (once) if you tell them it’s real. But they will hate it (and you) if you make them look stupid with assertions easily disproved. Don’t take their trust and abuse it.

8. If someone takes the time to tell you you’ve made a mistake, take the time to listen and consider why. 

Not all feedback is useful. Again, if the internet has taught us anything it’s that anyone can have an opinion and that most of them are rubbish. But you can’t know everything on your own. If you make a mistake, own it. Thank someone for their time. 

9. Finally, be an arsehole if you want. But don’t try and claim it as a virtue. And don’t be surprised or defensive if you get called out. 

You’re not just ‘telling it like it is’ or ‘just talking about merit’. You are reinforcing inequality and stereotypes. Music, and the arts in general, make life worth living. But they also still exist in value systems that mean that some people’s stories get told more often and more easily than other’s. If you have benefited from that before you don’t have to go away or delete all your files, but also understand we all benefit if we expand our history rather than tearing each other apart to only fight over scraps

* I have deliberately used this term. It’s gender neutral – although many (most) of the offenders are straight white men I don’t want to claim they are the only people who can be awful. Arseholeness can be universal. Sadly.