Commodifying Sadness
People love sad music. Itâs incredibly cathartic and soothing, to some extent, to wallow in your state of sadness with a song. There are endless Spotify editorial playlists that are curated to this specific mood.
Every genre has its token âsadâ artist. Pop: Billie Eilish. Rap: Juice World. R&B: Frank Ocean. There are some artists that donât seem to have a single âhappyâ or even remotely uplifting song in their entire catalog; people like Mitski, Elliot Smith, and Phoebe Bridgers.
If you know me, you know that I love Phoebe Bridgers. What attracts me, and a lot of other people who are drawn to sad music, is that it is incredibly authentic. Its hyper-specific, and when it finds itâs audience, is incredibly powerful. In a lot of happy music, specifically radio pop, the melodies can be very catchy, but the lyrics rely on a lot of generalities. Letâs talk about Dua Lipaâs âLevitatingâ. Its an infectious song, my absolutely go-to dance song, and just instantly lifts my mood; in no way is this about hating this song, but rather, examining its lyrical content.
You want me, I want you, baby
My sugarboo, I'm levitating
The Milky Way is liberating
Yeah, yeah, yeah
I got you, moonlight, you're my starlight
I need you all night, come on, dance with me
I got you, moonlight, you're my starlight (you're the moonlight)
I need you all night, come on, dance with me (come and dance with me)
These lyrics donât seem to be taking from experience that Dua Lipa had, or maybe they are? I donât know, they are just so general. This is not a song that someone would listen to and relate to, its a song people dance to with their friends. And I think thatâs the intention Dua Lipa had with the song, and she accomplished it perfectly!
These are the lyrics to Phoebe Bridgerâs âI Know the Endâ.
Driving out into the sun
Let the ultraviolet cover me up
Went looking for a creation myth
Ended up with a pair of cracked lips
Windows down, scream along
To some America first rap, country song
A slaughterhouse, an outlet mall
Slot machines, fear of God
These are very obviously lyrics she wrote about an experience she has had. In interviews, Phoebe has talked about this song as a reference to what life on tour is like. That is 100% reflected in the lyrics of the song; but they are also incredibly relatable for someone who has never toured, like myself. When I hear this song, I am instantly transported to driving on the Ohio Turnpike with these billboards dotting the interstate:
Nothing but cornfields and these trucks:
The specifics, not the generalities of her lyrics are what make her music relatable.
But what happens when a musicianâs entire career is built off of exposing themselves in hope that it will resonate with audiences? Vulnerability is a double edged sword; on the one hand, it is admirable for an artist to communicate authenticity in their music; on the other hand, they are laying bare their traumas, insecurities, experiences, and emotions for the world to stream on Spotify playlists. And what does it mean when there is a transaction happening as a result of that?
Miss Americana (2020) explores Taylor Swiftâs rise, career, transformations, and the making of her 2019 album, Lover. In one of the more heartbreaking interviews of the movie, Taylor contemplates her approaching 30th birthday, saying âwe do exist in this society where women in entertainment are discarded in an elephant graveyard by the time they're 35âŚI want to work really hard while society is still tolerating me being successful.â Taylor is arguably the most successful pop star of the past decade, and even sheâs worried about how much longer she will have the career she currently does.
A lot has been said about how Phoebe Bridgersâ 2020 album, Punisher, came out at an ideal time; everyone was stuck at home, anxious, frightened, and uncertain; Phoebeâs music appealed to this existential angst that everyone needed to know other people were feeling too. All signs point to an upward trajectory for Phoebe, that Punisher is the beginning of a long, fruitful career; but, what if, her next album doesnât meet the moment as well as this one and she never rebounds? What if she is indeed the shiny new toy that is going to be chewed up and spit out.
Phoebe is open about her experiences with depression, abusive relationships, trauma, and suicidal thoughts. These come out not only in interviews, but also her songs themselves. Her most popular song, Motion Sickness, is about her time in an emotionally and sexually abusive relationship with Ryan Adams. Her Grammy nominated song, Kyoto, is about her tumultuous relationship with her estranged father. At some point, she probably had to come to the personal reckoning that her trademark was going to be profiting off of horrible experiences and feelings she has been through. I sometimes wonder if she feels pressure to always write devastating songs and that she feels as though her career would suffer if she wrote about good things that were happening to her.
In music, there is a term for type a fan who, at live shows or meet and greets, just wonât leave you alone. They are called âpunishersâ. Phoebe has talked about fan interactions in which people will come up to her and essentially trauma dump, telling her how her music has affected them. Sheâs said how this makes her deeply uncomfortable and exhausted. I think people have this sense that if an artist makes really fucked up, sad music, they have permission to disregard all boundaries.
Phoebe, and other artists like her, have taken their emotional state, and commodified it for consumption by strangers, for their financial benefit, and the benefit of their labels. As a consumer of such music, is it ethical? By me supporting Phoebe and her music, and I inadvertently sending a message that I would rather see her in a state of distress that translates to creativity?
One time, my mom asked me what drew me so much to Phoebeâs music. I said, âshe can sing âJesus Christ Iâm so blue all the time / and thatâs just how I feel / always have and I always willâ and make money from it.â It was a very #girlboss response from me, and Iâm sure one Phoebe would be slightly offended by because of her anti-capitalist principles. As much as I despise my answer to my momâs question, I cannot deny that it is true. Depression makes people unmotivated, seem lazy, and âunproductiveâ though a capitalist lens. For someone to translate their sadness into creativity and, ultimately, money, is the utmost act of rebellion to me.
In my personal wrestling with this conundrum, I thought about the value of Phoebeâs music. Her talent is not in being a sad person or living through trauma; her talent is her songwriting ability. The exchange that is happening, albeit small (artists get less than half a cent per stream on Spotify), is me compensating her for her work in writing, recording, and promoting her music. Just like people subscribe to magazines, newspapers, and newsletters to read writers they like; music fans support artists they like for their artistic ability.
And it is important that artists, writers, and other creatives are compensated properly for their work.
This argument assumes that Sad⢠artists are making this music on their own accord, not because of pressure from their label. My hope is that even if Phoebe wanted to make happy music, that she would be supported by her label and fans. It would be a shame if she, and other artists, were pigeon-holed in one mood of music for their entire career.
Since the beginning of time, artists have drawn from their personal experiences to inspire their work; whether that experience is positive, negative, sparks joy, or not. Naturally, capitalism will find a way to make someone rich from that (most likely not the artist or the people that contributed to the art). The worst iteration of the commodification of sadness is the following:
What is so grotesque about this is that the person who created and will profit off of these things is not someone that is acutely conscious of what dealing with mental health issues is like. How do I know this? Because depressed people donât want shirts and necklaces. We want insurance companies to cover more services, diagnoses to be accessible, medication to less experimental, and less taxing work/school lives.
To leave you with perhaps my most #girlboss take of this piece: I can feel okay with sad music being commodified because at least the people who are making the sad music are sad people and the sad people are making money from their sad music.
Some things Iâve been enjoying recently:
The new Cassandra Jenkins album, specifically, this song.
Total nostalgia trip, we listened to a lot of Revolver growing up.
This Solange song that I am obsessed with.
Perfection.
This really moving Ella Dawson piece, so powerful, my therapist now knows about it. TW: suicide
Mary Retta, a fantastic writer, whose essays I always enjoy, wrote about the Twitter to anti-capitalist pipeline. A fascinating examination.
Anne Helen Petersen gave an update on her well known piece about Armie Hammer, because of, well, very obvious reasons.
A really well reasoned and thought out critique of Substack and itâs model, in light of recent events.
A New Yorker piece about the increasing obsoleteness of music genre
My besties over at New York Times put all of my thoughts and feelings about the Grammyâs into a very entertaining hour long podcast episode.
There has been an over-saturation of people sitting around on podcasts talking about the Capitol insurrection â this is the best one Iâve heard.
thatâs all for now
-c