- Macquarie University ResearchOnline

1
INTRODUCTION: CROSSOVERS AND NARRATIVES OF BIRTH AND
DEATH
The broadcast media and music industries1 are lucrative sectors of the Australian
economy and important places for cultural engagement. In a study of the
Australian broadcasting industry since the late 1970s, the Australian
Communications and Media Authority argued that, ―historically, commercial
television in Australia has achieved revenue growth well above the rest of the
economy‖ (ACMA, 2008: 10) with a ―reported total revenue of $3,989.7 million
in 2005-6‖ (ibid: 1). Similarly, the ACMA argued that revenue raised by the
commercial radio industry in Australia has continued to increase steadily over the
last twenty years, ―In 1978-9, the commercial radio industry generated revenue of
$123 million and by 30 June 2004 this figure had grown to $852.5 million‖
(ACMA, 2005: 3). In terms of the music industry, the Australian Recording
Industry Association (ARIA) reported sales of ―$425, 638,008‖ for digital and
physical recordings during 2008 (ARIA 2008, accessed 15/5/09), while the
Australasian Performing Rights Association (APRA) reported $162, 199, 000 in
revenue from rendering services on behalf of its members in 2008 (APRA 2008,
accessed 20/5/09).
Despite these figures, which initially appear impressive for a relatively small
country like Australia, over the last few years the broadcasting and music
industries have been considered to be under relative threat. Evidence of this can
be found, for example, in the 2008 Australia Council report ―Don‘t Panic: The
Impact of Technology on the major performing arts industry‖ (Bailey, 2008).
‗Don‘t Panic‘ is a discussion paper clearly designed to appease artists and industry
players concerned about impending changes to the industry, and it begins by
acknowledging the problem many perceived;
Make no mistake – industry sectors, sometimes entire industries, are deeply affected and
in some instances, left behind by technological advances. The impact of digital
1
Unless otherwise stated I will be adhering to the definitions of broadcasting and the music
industries as defined by government regulation as they have developed, with broadcasting relating
to radio and television, and the music industry as comprised of widely commercially available
popular music. I will provide more details as I engage these terms throughout this work.
2
technologies on the major record labels has been significant, resulting in a $3.5 billion
shrink in income from 1999 to 2006 (and this included digital sales) (Bailey, 2008: 2).
‗Don‘t Panic‘ helps articulate the perceived monetary threat that changes in
technology posed to the existing industrial structure for the arts in Australian
broadly, and in the section above, music in particular. Its defensive tone clearly
articulates the strength of the threat perceived (or at least, as its title suggests, calls
for calm from those who may be in the firing line). Similarly emotional narratives
were also circulated in the press around this time as, for example, the Australian
broadcasting industry lamenting its narrowing profit margins and the contraction
of former empires. As Idato reports in the Sydney Morning Herald in relation to
the Australian television industry,
With declining revenue, shifting audiences and mounting debt, you could be forgiven for
thinking that our great love affair with the idiot box was about to hit a bump in the road.
During the last year the Packer family has sold its remaining stake in the Nine Network,
Nine and Network Ten have negotiated with their bankers to delay a swelling debt
burden, and the Seven Network, in a stunning though largely symbolic manoeuvre, has, in
effect, valued itself at zero. Doomsayers would tell you that television, waging a war for
eyeballs with the internet, DVD, pay TV and illegal downloads, has reached a parlous
turning point (2009: 3).
The strength of the language used in these narratives is itself noteworthy. This
report of a television network declaring itself worthless (with zero value), and the
government-funded arts research paper presented defensively as ‗don‘t panic‘,
shows how in recent years the recorded popular music and broadcast media2
industries have each been said to be in crisis.3 At stake is a popular music industry
that gained the majority of its income from commissioning and selling popular
music recordings via a group of powerful international recording and distribution
companies; and a media industry which has gained financial power and influence
2
In traditional etymology ‗media‘ is the plural form of ‗medium‘, however, when qualified with
descriptors such as ―mass media‖, ―broadcast media‖, or even ―electronic media‖, media has come
to refer to the collective industry which is formed by the coalition of contemporary communication
media such as television, radio, and the internet. By extension, media studies examines the
content, methods of delivery and social context of these media forms, and although Media Studies
emerged from traditions such as cultural studies, literary studies, sociology and even philosophy, it
is now widely accepted as a discrete discipline, with a basic emphasis on ―the idea of mediation"
(Grossberg, 2005: 15). Throughout this thesis I will use the term ‗media‘ to refer to media
industries (most often broadcast media such as television and radio) but the term ‗medium‘ when
the emphasis is on one element in that collective.
3
While the word crisis often implies a state of danger or threat, more broadly it can refer lexically
to simply a decisive moment. I will engage both of these meanings in this thesis.
3
by creating specialist content to be delivered to audiences en masse (and on a
schedule determined by those companies). Also under threat during this period of
change are popular music texts and artists whose cultural influence has been
developed through a relatively limited established range of modes of production
and consumption, and media artists and formats whose cultural power has been
developed by engaging audiences in constrained time frames and locations. While
changes to these industrial structures and entities are still in progress, these
narratives clearly indicate that those who stand to have their power challenged are
deeply apprehensive.
This thesis begins by acknowledging the common experience of change and crisis
that music and media industries are experiencing now, and have also experienced
over time. However given that the popular music and media industries often share
the same audience and artists, and these shared resources have been renegotiated
over time, I will also show how the relationship between music and media has
been (re-)formed, and confirmed, particularly during these periods of change. For
example, in a discussion of the relative problems of the Australian music industry
published a few years prior to ‗Don‘t Panic‘ and Idato‘s examination of television,
legendary music industry exponent Michael Chugg offered a diagnosis of the
crisis, and also implicated television as something of a cure. In his notoriously
colourful language, he explained,
We had a couple of f—king decades where hardly any new kids got into music at all
because we, the music industry, had our f—king heads up our arses ... Sure, [Australian
Idol‘s] a talent quest on television, but it‘s selling millions of records (Chugg quoted in
Jinman, 2004: 31).
Here Chugg recognises that the relationship between music and television had
created a change in audience engagement that hadn‘t been achieved by the music
industry, in isolation, previously. As I will show in chapter four where I explore
the context of this quote further, Chugg does not necessarily see the interaction
between music and media here as straightforwardly mutually beneficial, however
he does acknowledge it as a significant building block for more substantial
change. Negotiations between music and media are not always amicable or
mutually beneficial, but they can be necessary in helping to overcome periods of
stagnation. This thesis will show that during times of great change for music and
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media, relationships across industrial and cultural lines have developed, and at
their best, these relationships, in the form of crossovers, mutually benefit both
music and media industries and cultural markets.
This thesis has been written in Australia to present critical analyses of periods of
change, but it has also been written in the midst of an industrial and cultural crisis.
While Australia is not the only region in flux at the moment (and indeed,
historically periods of similar flux can also be observed globally), this region‘s
experience of such changes, and its responses to them, have not yet been worked
through and articulated comprehensively. Studies of industrial and cultural
unification in the arts, specifically studies that fall under umbrella terms like
convergence studies or cultural (or creative) industries studies, most often seek to
provide large scale, globalised views of change; overlooking the nuances
distinctive to local markets. Further, these studies tend to explore only the process
of unification rather than the industrial and contextual motivations for these
changes. Also absent is analysis of the potentially detrimental effects of these
changes (or at least, assessments of what may be lost as new systems are
established). This thesis, then, seeks to provide a localised Australian view of
periods of change, and to offer analysis about why such changes occur rather than
merely to identify them. I will compare the Australian experience to international
markets where appropriate, in order to determine not only the unique nature of
local processes of change and music and media engagement, but also to suggest
how music and media relationships contribute to national identity formation.
In this work I develop and extend the theoretical concept of ―crossover‖, a term I
will use both as a noun to identify an object or product that is developed from the
coming together of music and media, but also as a verb to map the process of
unification during periods of change. I have adapted the term crossover from
popular music studies, where it originally described the migration of audiences
and artists across racially segregated popular music market sectors. I present
crossover as a term to describe a migration of artists and audiences across the
popular music and media industry boundaries, boundaries between sectors which,
as Simon Frith argued, ―were [once] thought to be competing‖ (2001: 40), but are
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now often consumed in tandem.4 The relationship between music and media is
presented in this thesis as a tactical negotiation in response to very specific
circumstances rather than as a wider continuing strategic and ideological push
towards integration; I will show that music and media come together in particular
ways, in particular contexts, in order to meet particular needs of their audiences
and artists.
The overall trajectory of this thesis begins with a broad analysis of crossover
between popular music and media historically, and then narrows to explore these
periods of crisis in Australia. The latter allows for a nuanced engagement with the
complexities of media and music crossover, a form of cultural industries
interrelation which acknowledges the specific conditions of each market and the
access and expectations of its audience. I will show that crossovers in the
Australian market have helped reflect and shape Australian national identity as
music and media, allow local audiences and artists to navigate the ‗tyranny of
distance‘ which is such a perennial thread in our discourses of nation, the
continuing problem and blessing of relative isolation. Crossovers allow Australian
music and media artists and audiences to remobilise during times of crisis, and I
shall highlight these changes. This work explores historical crossovers and their
effects, as well as current crossovers that have emerged during the contemporary
period of crisis in Australia and internationally.
Crossovers are shown to be the result of periods of change, however this thesis
also explores the process of change in terms of narratives of ‗birth‘ and ‗death‘ for
artistic styles and industrial models. I will also show that when a crossover is
created, crisis points are marked by narratives proclaiming ‗birth‘ and ‗death‘, or
narratives which can be used to measure the value of what can be lost or gained
during the process of change. I present a historical analysis of previous points of
crisis to show how periods of change threatened the industrial models of their
time, but how they also often facilitated the establishment of new models to
replace and supplement those already existing. As such, periods of change have
4
In more depth, Frith argued, ―In the early years of the twentieth century the radio and record
industry were thought to be competing for consumers: they seemed to be offering alternative ways
of enjoying music in the home … [however] it is rare nowadays to find someone who only listens
to the radio, or who only listens to records‖ (2001: 40).
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become both midwife and executioner, as in the way the death of radio was
proclaimed alongside the birth of television, and the death of rock alongside the
birth of disco. It is this historical process of succession, evolution and change that
this thesis will identify, then go on to investigate in contemporary industry case
studies. I have also chosen to use these narrative markers, the construction of
commentaries of ‗birth‘ and ‗death‘, to explore the politics of what is at stake with
each change, noting initially how striking this use of this language is by
commentators who describe conditions of their own time, as well as those who
write retrospective histories about changes of which they now know the outcome.
Drawing on the tradition of New Cultural History, this thesis looks at the practice
of creating narratives of change to understand popular music and media,
narratives which often use extreme language to mark and argue positions of value
and threat. The agenda of individual commentators are most evident when the
same change has been described by stakeholders with opposing interests; those
who stand to lose call changes a ‗death‘, those who see an opportunity to expand
proclaim a ‗birth‘.
The following four chapters provide two different analytical approaches to
music/media crossovers and narratives of industrial and cultural crisis. Chapters
one and two engage with historical narratives of birth and death and draw
primarily on existing archival material. They use source material from
international and local publications to compare and contrast narratives of births
and death that explain music and media change, while also using this material to
help understand the nature of crossover between these two industrial and cultural
forms during times of change. Chapters one and two will show the nature of
crossovers historically; demonstrating that these interaction have helped promote
innovation during times of relative hardship. Chapters three and four offer
contemporary Australian case studies of specific crossover forms: music video
programming and music quiz programs respectively. These crossovers can be
equally claimed as both music and media products, as well as drawing both media
and music audiences and artists, and I will show that their development in
Australia has occurred during particular times of change here and in response to
conditions of production and consumption unique to this region. While music
video programming and music quiz programs are not unique to Australia in
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themselves (indeed, many international markets have produced these and continue
to do so), I will show that the Australian experience is different from other places,
particularly given that the music/television crossover in this region is currently
still prominent, while in other places (such as the US and UK) crossover forms
like music/online crossovers have reduced music/television‘s impact. These case
studies are examples of vigorous music and media products that have developed
out of the unique conditions in contemporary Australia, which have thrived
because of their crossover appeal for music and media audiences and artists.
These specific programs have developed strategies to negotiate periods of
international and national change, and exemplify the new industrial models they
have helped to pioneer. Chapters three and four are slightly longer than one and
two, but this reflects the additional detail needed to present the unique primary
evidence each engages (such as interviews with production staff and close textual
analysis).
Chapter one provides a literature review of existing deployments of the concept of
crossover internationally and historically. This chapter shows how birth and death
narratives have been harnessed to identify and foreground contested sites of value,
and I will demonstrate that these narratives, although metaphoric rather than
literal, are highly effective ways of marking periods of crisis in music and media.
Although this is not a Barthesian analysis as such, this chapter does draw on the
model of Barthes‘ seminal ‗Death of the Author‘ and its subsequent ‗Birth of the
Reader‘ as a basic frame to show how periods of change can simultaneously be
considered times when new forms are established and older ones are superseded. I
include Barthes‘ work here because of the pieces‘ infamy, but also as a historical
base the provocation I propose with this thesis. I show how such rhetoric
continues to be employed to elicit an emotional response from readers, but that
ultimately such descriptions are exaggerations which reflect the agendas of each
commentator.
Chapter two focuses on the development of broadcast media and recorded music
in Australia, from the beginning of the twentieth century until the 1980s. This
chapter follows birth and death narratives created for three periods of change in
Australia, changes in the 1920s, 1950s and 1980s. As of 1998 Liz Jacka and
8
Lesley Johnson argue that ―the themes of distance, region and nation are
continuing ones in Australia‘s communications history‖ (1998: 208) and in this
chapter I will show that historical periods of change in Australia, and the recurring
rhetoric of birth and death used to describe them, are still shaped by distance and
its influence on Australian identity. The result of each period of change has been
the establishment of crossover music/media forms, which are comparable to
international crossovers, but which have developed distinctively in response to
local conditions. Importantly, these crossovers in Australia during periods of
change have contributed to formations of Australian national identity over time.
Chapter three explores music video programming in Australia, specifically Rage,
a program that has been on air since 1987 and is now the longest surviving music
program on Australian television. Rage‘s crossover durability is developed
through the program‘s dual incorporation of visual and musical innovation, as
well as its continued host-less delivery of music and its even-handed presentation
of both low and high cost music and visual artistry. While many international
music video programs have been replaced by online delivery, Rage provides a
place for the mass distribution of music to audiences all over the country, a
particularly important role for regions where there is a notable lack of access to
high speed internet service. Rage‘s influence is based in part on its form of
minimalist delivery, but also on its longevity on Australian television. Because of
its twenty-four year history Rage has become an institution for local music and
television audiences and artists alike, something that each engages as a form of
information about music and music video, and as a form of education about music
and video history, and entertainment. The encouragement of an intimate
relationship between the audience and music video is fostered by the program‘s
hostless format, as well as its relatively unmediated guest programmer segment
where musicians and other music enthusiasts are able to talk to audiences directly
and develop their artistic personae through their unconstrained choice of music
videos (within larger regulatory rather than station policy limits).
Chapter four examines the return of music quiz programs on Australian television
since 2005. These two programs, Spicks and Specks, and RocKwiz, are crossovers
between music and television which can be compared to older crossovers between
content and form (including music/radio), but they can also be seen as ways to
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pioneer new crossover audience and artist engagements, including music/online
and music/television paratexts like games, live tours and DVDs. I will show that
this type of music/television crossover emerged following the reality television
boom in the very early stages of the twenty first century; however unlike
programs that pioneered that boom, like Australian Idol (which I will argue
privileged the televisual), these music quiz television programs engage music and
television in an equal relationship. Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz are both
delivered by public service broadcasters and as such are able to provide the
Australian music and media market with a type of music/television crossover not
often delivered internationally, with each program experimenting with ways to
engage audiences including drawing on music history, music and its relationship
to comedy, and a history of previous Australian music television. Spicks and
Specks and RocKwiz provide a place for music on television, but they each also
use music as a way to explore different television forms at a time when broadcast
television is said to be under threat by online delivery. These music quiz
television programs engage online as well as broadcast audiences, and aim for
diverse rather than niche markets in a way that commercial broadcasting and
music cannot afford to.
Double Crossed: An Australian study of the relationship between media and
music during periods of Industrial and cultural crisis, provides a framework to
explore periods of change by using narratives of birth and death as markers of
value. It also argues the importance of music/media interactions during periods of
change, interactions which are identified as crossovers (products and processes
which are equally influential for music and media audiences and artists). Finally
this study provides insight into the Australian music and media environments as
compared with the international arena. Although many narratives of change and
unification push towards globalised models (or models which simply assume that
an American or European experience is one that can be applied easily elsewhere),
here I articulate and argue that the Australian experience is distinctive, innovative,
and enriching, and as such, provides local features that contest more homogenised
global models. This thesis seeks to examine the distinctiveness of interactions
between music and media in Australia.
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CHAPTER ONE: BIRTHS, DEATHS AND MARRIAGES - CROSSOVERS
AND THE MARKING OF PERIODS OF CRISIS
This study is concerned with the intersections between cultural fields and
industries within the arts, specifically between popular music and broadcast
media. Popular music and media have often undergone periods of change as
technologies, and artistic and audience preferences, have shifted, and it is during
these periods of change that distinctive relationships between popular music and
media have been formed. For commercial media and popular music, these
changes in audience (and by extension advertiser) engagement had been
particularly important as they have effected sustainability of existing market
models. While this study is not exclusively concerned with commercial media and
popular music, the question of sustainability, as it is often measured by
consumption and the industrialisation of popular music and media, will be
returned to regularly. I will explore how and why distinctive relationships
between popular music and media are formed. In the process, this thesis will
engage with various definitions of popular music and media, in order to show how
central crossover is to our understanding of popular music and media.
My study is concerned with exploring intersections between popular music and
media, intersections I shall refer to as ‗crossovers‘, by now a well-established
term in the literature of popular music. I shall review the development of the
concept of ‗crossover‘ below, but wish to foreshadow that my use of the term will
be both as a noun and a verb; that is, it refers to a product that represents a
crossover between two sectors or fields: thus a studio orchestra represents a
crossover between radio and music. But I am also interested in exploring
crossover as a process, that is, as a verb. These crossovers are developed to link
audiences with artistic practices they may not have previously accessed, and they
occur when the boundaries that separated the two are challenged by changes such
as technological advances or cultural flux. Crossovers provide new opportunities
for engagements between artists and audiences, and although the process of
crossing over is sometimes met with trepidation (particularly from the gatekeepers
who stand to lose their authority as new territories are established), ultimately
periods of crisis are successfully negotiated for both audiences and artists.
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1. DEVELOPING
A
FRAMEWORK:
BEGINNING
A
STUDY
OF
CROSSOVERS
The term ‗crossover‘ is already well established in popular music discourse. Philip
Ennis argues that the term ‗crossover‘ was developed during the 1950s to describe
―a record that crossed over from one chart to another‖ (1992: 199-200). Up to that
point these charts had been clearly differentiated as separate entities,
differentiated by radio stations and audience groups. He argued that crossovers
were ―a mysterious entity, raising questions about what had allowed it to cross
that boundary and what the stream boundary really was‖ (ibid), and that they
eventually led to the development of rock and roll as ―the seventh stream‖, a
crossover over between the earlier genres of ―pop, black pop, country pop, jazz,
folk and gospel‖ (Ennis, 1992: 210).5 In addition to these categories of
‗crossover‘, more recently the term has been used to refer to the crossing over of
cultural or instrumental influences between South East Asian and Western popular
music (Oliver, 1988), black and white America (Nexica, 1997: 62), as well as
crossover studies that include Maria Cepeda‘s (2003) examination of Ricky
Martin‘s crossover between Latino and mainstream American popular music
industries; Aliese Millington‘s (2003) study of musicians who engage with the
mainstream pop market using what are traditionally orchestral instruments in
primary roles, including Australian string quartet Fourplay and English violinist
Nigel Kennedy (Millington, 2007). In addition Reebee Garofalo‘s study of
crossovers was focused on the American popular music industry since the war,
and in particular, on the place of Black popular music. Here Garofalo presented
―the crossover debate‖, arguing that ―the most common usage [of the term
crossover] in popular music history clearly connotes movement from margin to
mainstream‖ (2003: 231). The more pertinent issue in ―the ‗crossover debate‘
concerns what is gained and lost in this process [and] given the particular history
of the United States, the discussion is often highly charged racially‖ (Garofalo,
2003:232).
5
I shall return to a description of rock and roll later in this chapter.
12
Beyond these uses of the term crossover within the discourse of the popular music
industry, David Brackett (1994; 2002) explains how crossovers have been used to
refer to wider changes in the politics of the popular music landscape. Brackett
argues that the term crossover ―has served as a sign in ideological debates‖ (1994:
777). Unlike many crossover studies which present the crossover form as
something inevitable and unambiguously beneficial, Brackett is more measured,
arguing that the crossover can be seen ―as utopian, a metaphor for integration,
upward mobility, and ever-greater acceptance of marginalized groups by the
larger society‖ (1994: 777), or less positively, as something ―dividing and
hierarchizing musical style and audiences: after all, a mainstream can define itself
only in relation to the margins‖ (ibid). Brackett goes on to argue that the
boundaries enforced or overcome by crossover in ―musical styles and audiences
[are] never innocent or natural … some stand to benefit from the way the
hierarchy is constructed while others will lose out‖ (1994: 777). Brackett argues
that a crossover is not spontaneous and inevitable, but rather a way to understand
what can happen when a constructed boundary is challenged in a specific way at a
specific time, a point he demonstrates in a more recent crossover study in which
he compares marginal music that negotiated a crossover into the mainstream with
similar music that did not (2002: 70-8).6
Like Brackett, I will use crossovers as a way to identify the nature of the
constructed borders between various aspects of popular music. However, while
Brackett‘s interest is confined to crossovers within the field of popular music, my
study will extend beyond this crossover model to encompass the media and its
relationship to popular music. Brackett‘s crossover study recognises boundaries
before they are crossed, since a crossover only works when ―one style is clearly
demarcated from another‖ (1994: 777). This is the approach I will develop, but
going beyond popular music itself to also encompass the broadcast media. I will
examine how crossovers emerge from periods of change when the boundaries
traversing popular music and media are challenged. Brackett suggests that
crossovers create periods of conflict because ―some stand to benefit … while
others will lose out‖ (ibid). I will test this assertion by examining the claims of
6
I shall return to this study again in the last section of this chapter.
13
apparent ‗births‘ and ‗deaths‘ that have occurred in relation to a crossover period
(for example, the birth of rock and roll; the death of punk). Later in this chapter I
will return to some of the case studies already cited in popular music crossover
studies (notably the development of rock and roll), and I do this purposefully to
argue that while these existing crossover studies often implicitly engage with
media, it is highly instructive to explore these connections explicitly. My
objective is thus to build on the existing models of popular music crossover, but
extending them to examine crossover between popular music and the media.
1.1 Convergence Studies
One of the most productive developments in interdisciplinary studies relating to
popular music and media has been the formalisation of Convergence studies.
Convergence studies, as developed by Henry Jenkins through the journal
Convergence: The International Journal of Research into New Media
Technologies, increasingly centre on the changed role of the audience. Jenkins
argues ―if old consumers were assumed to be passive, the new consumers are
active‖ (Jenkins, 2006: 18), an idea developed from Ithiel de Sola Pool‘s
articulation of ―a process called ‗convergence of modes‘ [which] is blurring the
lines between media … the one-to-one relationship that used to exist between a
medium and its use is eroding‖ (1983: 23). Like Brackett‘s description of
crossover which ―implies that there must be discrete boundaries‖ (1994: 777),
Pool and Jenkins first identify boundaries, then demonstrate how they are crossed
over or abolished. Most importantly, convergence articulates a process of
transition rather than its completion, as ―old media are not being displaced.
Rather, their functions and status are shifted by the introduction of new
technologies‖ (Jenkins, 2006:14).7
Convergence is often framed as an inevitable teleological progression towards a
‗best practice‘ rather than one outcome among many possibilities. For example, in
the first edition of the journal Convergence the editors explained their decision to
launch ―in print rather than electronic form so as to not exclude interested parties
7
In the context of this discussion the terms ‗old‘ and ‗new‘ are used generally to refer to pre-and
post convergence models of media. I will explore this issue in depth in later chapters.
14
that may not yet have access to the new technologies‖ (Knight and Weedon, 1995:
3). The ‗not yet‘ implies that electronic publishing is a superior method of
delivery that will universally prevail in due course. This is problematic for a
number of reasons, including that the form of electronic presentation is then
superseded by a new version of publishing or reception software.8 In a relatively
unusual criticism of convergence, Susan Greenberg (2010) asks ―just because we
can do something, or it costs less to do it, does that mean we should? And if we
do, should we be mindful of the potential hidden costs?‖ (Greenberg, 2010: 14).
The need to explicitly state such a basic principle demonstrates something of a
gap in convergence literature,9 and studies like Greenberg‘s show that it is a gap
that is beginning to be addressed.10 Specifically, Greenberg presents a study of the
convergence of online and hard copy print industries, therefore demonstrating
how convenience and cost efficiency have been achieved through online text
publishing, but also assessing this in terms of what the non-monetary
consequences of this has been. However, her study remains in the minority.
While Convergence is certainly an instructive approach to the study of periods of
change in media and associated industries and texts, its all-encompassing and
quasi-deterministic tendencies in the interpretation of the convergence of different
industries and texts is too broad a paradigm for my purposes. Convergence has
8
I use this example because in the preparation of this thesis I twice had problems accessing
materials that had been created in versions of Microsoft Word 95 only, and contemporary versions
of the program could not open it. Similarly, when trying to access a CD Rom-only version of an
Australian popular music history, Real Wild Child, I had difficulty finding a machine firstly that
still used CD Rom (most now prefer USB ports), and secondly with a version of the player
required to make the CD‘s information accessible. I have had no such problems accessing hard
copies of books, no matter how old they are.
9
In addition, in a collection published just a year prior to Greenberg‘s study entitled Convergence
Media History (2009), editors Janet Staiger and Sabine Hake proclaim that ―print, movies, radio,
television and new media should never have been thought of as separate histories, [as] the
insistence on context now forces media historians to note relations among and between the various
sites of information and entertainment‖ (2009: ix), a generalization that welcomes cross
pollination, but in welcoming it, fails to explore the negative implications of convergence in detail.
Further to this, in his book Media Convergence Tim Dwyer (2009) acknowledged the lack of
research to date into the effects of convergence on news media specifically, stating ―trends in
convergent media news production and distribution in particular have the potential for more
immediate and serious ramifications for the construction of all social and cultural diversities. It is
an area crying out for systematic empirical research in various comparative national settings‖
(2009: 158).
10
Specifically, Greenberg presents a study of the convergence of online and hard copy print
industries, which demonstrates how convenience and cost efficiency have been achieved through
online text publishing. However, this has also resulted in a loss of quality as traditional methods of
standardisation have not been adequately replaced in the new system.
15
become a shorthand used by governments and arts bodies as a way of describing
broad changes, but not as a way to describe the nature of these changes and their
motivations. Further, while the results are not due for release until March 2012,
currently there is a ―Convergence Review‖ in process as commissioned by the
Australian federal government‘s Department of Broadband, Communications and
the Digital Economy, aiming ―to examine the policy and regulatory frameworks
that apply to the converged media and communications Landscape in Australia‖
(http://www.dbcde.gov.au/digital_economy/convergence_review,
accessed
9/8/11). The Convergence review has been developed as a way to identify what
needs to be included in the update to various arts and broadcasting policies here,
and while it has invited submissions from those who may be affected by the new
policies, it does not immediately appear to engage in analysis of these beyond
diagnosis. 11
1.2 Film Sound Studies - Audio-visual crossover studies
Convergence studies have staked out their own ground, but in fact a number of
other fields of study also address audio-visual crossover. A convergence-based
study that explores in more nuanced detail and with finer discriminations the
consequences of crossing boundaries is needed for my crossover study. An
instructive model is film sound studies, which combines film theory and various
approaches to music (including traditional musicology, popular music theory and
sound production and design) in an effort to explore how filmmakers and
musicians work together to attract audiences. Film sound studies acknowledge
that the interactions between film and music are often complicated and highly
dependent on the specific context of each project produced, and as such there are
now numerous studies exploring the relationship between popular music and film
including collections by Anahid Kassabian (2001), Wojck Robinson (2001), Kay
Dickinson (2003), Steve Lannin and Michael Caley (2005) and Rebecca Coyle
(2005). Film sound studies are also being applied to historical interactions
between popular music and film, such as Smith‘s (2003) examination of the
11
As of September 2011 this review was still underway, but the most current details here were
obtained by consulting the Convergence Review Emerging Issues Paper via
http://www.dbcde.gov.au/digital_economy/convergence_review#Convergence%20Review%20Em
erging%20Issues%20paper, accessed 3/9/11.
16
relationship between popular music and Hollywood in the early twentieth
century.12
In these respects, film sound studies are more nuanced than convergence studies,
but still often manifest misleading asymmetries that can largely be attributed to
the conditions that informed the original development of film sound studies as a
discipline. The crossover between bounded territories in screen sound has been
obviously acknowledged by work such as Audio-Vision: Sound on Screen (Chion,
1994), as here the interaction between audio and vision is explored as an
audio/visual text rather than as a visual text with an audio element, or vice versa.
However, many pioneering film sound scholars have argued that music (and
sound generally) has been seriously neglected in film and music scholarship, since
―for a long while, there seemed to be a custom for starting any book on film music
with a complaint about the degree to which academics had overlooked [film
sound]‖ (Dickinson, 2003: 1). As the field has developed, however, a new
problem has emerged. That is, previous staples such as the genre of the film
musical have been temporarily displaced,13 and questions of what should replace
it remain. This move arguably draws film sound studies away from its original
purpose, as without the anchor of this genre framework, film sound studies may
be in danger of returning to a pattern of over-emphasising either sound or vision
rather than exploring their interactions with equal measure.14 Mundy places the
musical at the heart of film sound studies here by identifying the genre as the
ultimate example of film/music interaction, a point that is particularly important
12
Specifically, Smith argues, ―Hollywood‘s relationship with the record industry dates back to
1930 when Warner Brothers bought the struggling Brunswick label to press both the discs used in
their Vitaphone sound technology and recordings of songs that appeared in their films‖ (Smith,
2003: 500).
13
Dickinson continues, ―this anthology celebrates the long-awaited abundance of writing on film
and music. If anything, the difficulty has not been finding suitable material, but pruning it down to
what has recently become available and selecting a limited number of categories (which, sadly,
means no room for musicals)‖ (Dickinson, 2003: 1)
14
Issues over the theoretical base of film sound studies, and in particular, questions of its relative
balance between audio and visual studies, have been raised recently by Mark Evans in work
currently in progress. He presented a preliminary provocation to this effect at the IASPM
international conference in Grahamstown South Africa in June 2011, and although this paper is not
yet available for publication, I have made this assertion on the basis of email correspondence with
him regarding the work.
17
given that at the time of his publication film musicals had gone out of fashion for
contemporary filmmakers and musicians.15
Since Mundy‘s observations, film sound studies may well have moved away from
studies of the Hollywood musical. However an appreciation of the need to
examine the interaction of the sonic and visual aspects of film, or the crossover
between the previously bounded territories remains a key to this field of enquiry.
In 2000 Rick Altman et al argued that the film soundtrack was ―in crisis‖ (2000:
339), the result of changes in the way sound studies (particularly film studies)
approached their topic and in particular a move towards as much crossover as
possible; as the notion of the soundtrack should be determined by ―a crash of
separate sound elements, and the resulting negotiations among rival claimants‖
(Altman et al, 2000: 341). Contemporary screen sound scholars now acknowledge
the crossover between sound and visual as relatively equal, although as James
Buhler et al (2010) maintain, while ―it would be better to say that we ‗watch and
listen to a movie‘—unfortunately this expression is clumsy, as are terms such as
audioviewing or viewing-hearing‖ (2010: xxii; emphasis in original).
Unlike more general convergence studies which are largely uncritical of the
motivation for the coming together of previously separated elements, film sound
studies such as John Mundy‘s work cited above explore how the film musical
relied on film and popular music equally to gain its audience. Mundy argued;
the commercial success of sound cinema and the rise of the Hollywood musical, the
convergence between popular music and the moving image, represent one of the most
significant developments in cultural production in the twentieth century (1999: 33).
16
The crossing over of audiences for film and sound and the subsequent
opportunities this created have also been explored as film sound studies have
expanded to include other audio/visual crossovers. Film sound studies are now
more obviously framed as screen sound studies, to encompass television and other
15
Mundy‘s 1999 publication is three years prior to the ―big budget Hollywood produced films that
have been lauded as heralding the return of the musical, such as Baz Lurhmann‘s Moulin Rouge
(2002) and Rob Marshall‘s Chicago (2002)‖ (Coyle, 2005: 175).
16
In addition to this, Mundy also explores the relationships between music and media as
―Hollywood and the challenge of the youth market, 1955‖ (1999: 82). In a chapter dedicated to the
changing music and mediascapes during the period (1999: 82- 126), Mundy argued ―the powerful
hegemonic perspective, constructed and encoded in the Hollywood musical and its promotion of
mainstream popular culture, was increasingly under challenge during the 1950s‖ (1999: 82-3).
18
audio-visual media such as internet (see for example Deaville ed, 2011), while
volumes dedicated to specific types of music television have also recently
emerged, such as As Heard on TV: Popular Music in Advertising (Klein, 2009).
For the importance of television in relation to the popular music industry over
time, see also Mundy (1999: 179-220), and the more recent anthology Popular
Music and Television in Britain (Inglis ed, 2010), a collection which incorporates
studies of a variety of television and musical interactions including music focused
programs, as well as the use of incidental music in genres including comedy and
children‘s programming. In each case the interaction between audio and vision is
presented as the purposeful engagement of audiences across previously bounded
spheres, resulting in the creation of products which equally attract audiences
across platforms of delivery and content creation. This thesis will expressly focus
on the relationship between sound and television in chapters 3 and 4.
1.3 Musical Multimedia Studies –Audio-visual crossovers
Nicolas Cook‘s development of the idea of ―musical multimedia‖ (1998) also
provides a useful model for my crossover study. Cook offers a way to study texts
and their reception using ―a music-to-other-media approach‖, while arguing the
need to ―extend the boundaries of music theory to encompass — or at least map
the frontier with — words and moving images‖ (1998: vi). Cook applies this
approach to the study of ―recent multimedia genres such as [music] film and
music video‖ (1998: 98),17 providing a sophisticated way of recognising and
exploring the interaction between these previously bounded territories, and
challenging existing studies which tend to privilege one medium over the other
(that is film over music, or music over television). Cook develops his framework
in response to two gaps he identifies in the existing literature:
the
technological
impoverishment
epitomized
by
film
criticism‘s
traditional
categorization of all music-picture relationships as either parallel or contrapuntal, and the
largely unconscious (and certainly uncritical) assumption that such relationships are to be
understood in terms of hegemony or hierarchy rather than interaction (1998: 107).
17
See Cook (1998: 174-259) and (1998: 147-173) respectively. I will also conduct an in depth
discussion of music video in chapter 3.
19
Cook presents an increasingly overt emphasis on the interactivity between music
and visual media. His emphasis on ‗interaction‘ rather than ‗hegemony or
hierarchy‘ demonstrates this most expressly, as he argues a need to rethink
approaches which are too insulated from each other; ―the problem lies in an
approach that begins by identifying one medium as the origin of meaning, and
uses this as a measure‖ (Cook, 1998: 115). He notes that traditionally denotation
and connotation are attributed to individual media (―practically everyone
[engaged with film criticism] sees words as denotative and music as connotative‖,
Cook, 1998: 119), but argues that multimedia texts should not be differentiated so
schematically. Instead Cook insists that the context of musical multimedia should
be considered.18 Although Cook is talking about a specific type of multimedia text
(in this section, about words and music interacting in opera), he emphasises the
need to ensure that relationships between music and media are acknowledged as
equal sites of engagement. That is, it is difficult to argue that it is only the music
or the dialogue that attracts an audience to opera, but rather that is the
combination of both in a specific configuration that attracts attention and
engagement.
Cook‘s use of the term ‗multimedia‘ is quite specific, and I note that a more
common use of the term is one concerned with computer-based production and
consumption. Specifically, multimedia has been used to describe the process of
not just crossover between elements, but the literal translation of previously
different forms into one language; ―the key concept and technology behind
multimedia has been digitalisation: the conversion of images and sounds to
numbers, making them amenable to manipulation by computer‖ (Wise and
Steemers, 2000: 2). I will explore the impact of technology on music and media in
the second part of the chapter, however I note its importance here because the
translation of elements like audio and vision into the same digital language has
18
Cook continues that ―if words and images can denote in one text and connote in the other, then it
is obvious the denotation and connotation are not attributes of one medium or the other, but
functions in which one medium or the other may fulfill in any given context‖ (Cook, 1998: 120).
Further, Cook argues ―text and music are linked not only directly but through their common
affinity with the dramatic essence, what one might call abstract drama … [and] the relationship
between text and music as mediated through their common but partial link to abstract drama‖
(1998: 120-1).
20
allow increased crossover engagement. As Lawrence Lessig notes in his landmark
work Remix: making art and commerce thrive in the hybrid economy (2008),
questions of creativity, artistry and boundaries between the professional and
amateur have been increasingly challenged by a multimedia environment, with
remixing of texts within and beyond platforms, something that is now
commonplace. Lessig acknowledges that remixing can engage a variety of
different creative arts and forms, but he particularly emphasis the power of the
relationship between music and image, and the impact of their crossover.
Interestingly, Lessig includes music in his definition of media, arguing that
―forms of media: TV, film, music, and music video‖ (2008: 68) are open for
engagement by anyone, as ―anyone can begin to ‗write‘ using images, or music, or
video‖ (2008: 69).19 As such, music is described as a medium of artistic
expression, and he argues that crossover engagement between music and other
media forms (or other forms of artistic expression) is not something that has only
been inspired by digital delivery, but rather that artists have been interested in
such crossover for years, but that amateur engagement particularly had been
prevented due to high production and dissemination costs.20 I will explore the role
of technology and its impact for production and dissemination of crossover
products in more detail in Chapter three with an examination of the Australian
music video program Rage as it has evolved over its 24 years on air.
1.4 Music and mediation studies
In his chapter ―the popular music industry‖ from The Cambridge Companion to
Pop and Rock (Frith et al, 2001), Simon Frith dedicated a section to the ―music
media‖ (2001: 39), arguing that previous boundaries between territories were
regularly crossed; ―in the early years of the twentieth century the radio and record
industry were thought to be competing for consumers … [however] it is rare
19
I note that Lessig has ‗write‘ in inverted commas as he discusses earlier in this chapter how
writing has itself changed as a concept, something that can now be considered as ―writing beyond
words‖ (2008: 53). Throughout this text Lessig explores and embraces the changes in how
creativity and authorship are defined in the digital environment.
20
Specifically, Lessig writes, ―If in 1968 you wanted to capture the latest Walter Cronkite news
program and remix it with the Beatles, then share it with your ten thousand friends, what blocked
you was not the law. What blocked you was that the production costs alone would have been in the
tens of thousands of dollars. Digital technologies have now removed that economic censor‖ (2008:
83).
21
nowadays to find someone who only listens to the radio, or who only listens to
records‖ (Frith, 2001: 40). Frith explores the relationship between music and the
press (print, radio and television), paying particular attention to the
music/broadcasting crossover and the way radio and music, and television and
music, offer different experiences. He argues that the radio/music interaction is
based on ―the central figure in music radio [of] the deejay‖ (Frith, 2001: 41), and
through this mediator music and radio audiences come together; ―it isn‘t music
alone that draws together a listening community, but music plus the person
presenting music and so, through a tone of voice and use of language, presenting a
sense of belonging‖ (ibid). In contrast, music/television interactions have a
different relationship to their audiences. Frith explains that television ―is the
medium with the best reach - its audiences are bigger than radio‘s and were,
traditionally, designed to cross a variety of musical tastes‖ (ibid), and he describes
how music and television offer audiences ―events, the sense of being there while
the music happens, partly because star-building needs people to see performers as
well as hear them‖ (2001: 42). I will return to Frith‘s articulations of the
difference between radio/music and television/music crossovers throughout this
thesis, noting in particular differences that may have appeared in the last decade,
as well as regional differences in the way music and radio have been set up to
engage audiences, with particular reference to Australia. The role of the host on
music television (the model adapted from the radio deejay, but also used for other
types of television such as quiz and news programs), has been central to the way
music/television has developed, and as I will show in chapter three, its absence in
Australian music television like video program Rage has been important in how
these programs have attracted (and maintained) crossover audiences and artists.
The developing but influential tradition of arts journalism studies also provides a
useful model for my crossover study of popular music and media. Collections
such as Pop Music and The Press (Jones, 2002) recognise the importance of the
interplay between journalism, the role of the critic and popular music, thus
showing how (and suggesting why) the relationship between specific industries
has evolved. As Steve Jones argues, ―both the music and publishing industries
need one another and need to sell new images and styles and product [however]
very little research into their symbiotic relationship has been done‖ (2002: 6). Roy
22
Shuker also explores the importance of the relationship between popular music
and journalism, arguing that ―the music press … plays a major part in the process
of selling music as an economic commodity, while at the same time investing in it
with cultural significance‖ (2002: 83), while Andy Bennett employs similar ideas
across the broader ―popular music media‖ (2006:306), that is, an assessment of
the relationship between popular music and media forms such as print, radio and
film (2006: 305). In each of these cases an acknowledgement of boundaries
between production and consumption are acknowledged, but there is an attempt to
bridge this gap through arts journalism itself. This creation of a distinct product to
emerge from the crossover of previously bordered territories is a model I will
explore throughout this thesis, particularly in chapters three and four with music
video programming and television music quiz programs.
1.5 Cultural industries
Apart from the relatively recent formulation of ‗crossover‘ as discussed above, my
topic also lies within a longer tradition of debate regarding the mediation of
cultural practices and artifacts. Theodor Adorno was one of the first scholars to
explore the converging impact of twentieth century media and popular music.
Adorno suggested that the term ―culture industry‖21 be used as a way to describe
the ―standardization‖ but ―not strictly to [refer to] the production process‖ (1975:
14) of the then new communication technologies and culture, with a view to
articulating the relationship between broadcast media and its audience. Adorno
argued that ―the masses are not the measure but the ideology of the culture
industry, even though the culture industry itself could scarcely exist without
adapting to the masses‖ (Adorno, 1975: 12), with the concept of the culture
industry bridging the categories of artistic creation and consumption.22 Since
Adorno the concept of the culture industry has been variously employed by other
commentators, notably developed into a political tool in the UK in the 1980s by
21
This was developed over some time, first as part of a collaboration between Adorno and
Horkheimer, and then in subsequent publications such as ―The Culture Industry Revisited‖ (1975),
for which Adorno was the only author.
22
Summarizing Adorno‘s work, Durham and Kellner (2006) argued that culture industry was a
way to ―signify the process of the industrialisation of mass-produced culture and the commercial
imperatives which drove the system‖ (Durham and Kellner, 2006: xvii).
23
Nicolas Garnham, and subsequently employed by academics in a variety of
disciplines including popular music, film and cultural studies.23
David Hesmondhalgh developed ―the term ‗cultural industries‘ [to] signal an
awareness of the problems of the industrialisation of culture, but a refusal to
simplify assessment and explanation‖ (2007: 17). Hesmondhalgh maintained that
―Adorno and Horkheimer are important, amongst other reasons, because they
provided a much more interesting and sophisticated version of a mode of thinking
about culture that is still common today‖ (2007: 17), but he developed their
concept more comprehensively by defining seven ―core industries‖ as part of
cultural industries studies.24 Hesmondhalgh drew these various core industries
together under the umbrella term ‗cultural industries‘ because of their common
need to compete for limited resources,25 however despite common contextual
concerns he maintained that
all these core cultural industries have their own dynamics … one of the most important
contributions of work on ‗cultural industries‘ has been to see that these industries interact
and interconnect with each other in complex ways (2007: 13).
Hesmondhalgh‘s
assertion
of
the
complexity
of
the
interaction
and
interconnection within cultural industries, as well as his recognition of the
individual dynamics of each core industry, provides a strong theoretical base for
my crossover study of popular music and media. I propose a study of crossover
between popular music and media so as to gain a more comprehensive
understanding of the specific and distinctive conditions of the interactions
23
Cultural industries was used by Nicholas Garnham in the early 1980s to explain works of the the
Greater London Council, specifically the ―production and organization of industrial corporations
to produce and disseminate symbols in the form of cultural goods and services, generally, although
not exclusively, as commodities‖ (Garnham, 1987: 25). Garnhan‘s work is reproduced formally in
the first issue of the journal Cultural Studies and described by inaugural editor John Hartley as ―a
decisive intervention into both public policymaking and left politics‖ and reproduced ―in
recognition of the need for cultural studies to engage not only with cultural forms and practices but
also with economic strategies and market forces‖ (Hartley, 1987: 23). It was also reprinted by
Garnham in 1990, and Garnham‘s work has been widely circulated by authors focused on
individual industries, including in Shuker‘s work on popular music (2003: 95), McGuigan‘s work
on policy (2004: 123), and Hollows‘ work on film (1995: 30-32)
24
These were ―broadcasting [comprising] the radio and television industries, including their newer
cable, satellite and digital forms‖, ―film industries‖, ―content aspects of the Internet industry‖,
―music industries‖, ―print and electronic publishing‖, ―video and computer games‖, and
―advertising and marketing‖ (Hesmondhalgh, 2007: 12-13).
25
Specifically, Hesmondhalgh argued ―it is because of this competition for the same resources, as
well as their shared characteristics as producers of primarily symbolic artifacts, that the cultural
industries can be thought of as a sector or a link production system‖ (2007: 13).
24
between these two components of the cultural industries, media and popular
music. Drawing on Hesmondhalgh‘s argument, I will not take such interactions
without interrogation, but rather seek to tease out the complex conditions which
facilitate them. In doing so, I will also explore the consequences of such
interactions; that is, when a new relationship between two industries is
consolidated, what, if anything, is retained and what is lost? Who benefits from
the consolidation? Who stands to lose out?
Cultural industries studies have hitherto been confined to creative industries
studies (at the expense of other forces that impinge on the cultural sector) as
Hesmondhalgh acknowledges in relation to various international government
policies and in some sectors of the academy. 26 However here, following
Hesmondhalgh, I will give preference to the term ‗cultural industries‘ embracing
and exploring crossovers that occur at specific times and as the result of particular
and often localised conditions for popular music and media, conditions that
include the influence of government policy, market change and differences in
audience engagement. I also draw on Toby Miller‘s analysis of the relationship
between creative and cultural industries (2009), specifically his reluctance to use
creative industries over cultural industries. Writing in response to a discussion of
the relationship between creative and cultural studies (Mato 2009), Miller argues
that ―not all industries are cultural, and no industries are creative‖ (2009: 88).
Miller does acknowledge the widely circulated idea that ―all industries are
cultural‖ (2009: 91-2), but in practice asks if degrees of engagement must be
26
See Hesmondhalgh (2007: 144-50), particularly his references to John Hartley and Stuart
Cunningham‘s establishment of Creative Industries studies at QUT (Queensland University of
Technology). Hesmondhalgh says Hartley and Cunningham use to creative industries ―move
beyond limitations in the concept of ‗cultural industries‘, which, in their view, is a term associated
with arts-oriented policy. ‗Creative industries‘, however, fits with the political, cultural and
technological landscape of globalisation, the new economy and innovation presented as the basis
of the new economy‖ (2007: 148). It is beyond my scope here to test these assertions in more
depth (and to investigate whether these assessments of QUT remain valid), but I acknowledge
there is more to this issue of categorisation. In summary it appears that creative industries is a
wider reaching area of study that goes beyond the scope of the arts, while cultural industries is
more directed in its purpose. Thus, I find the more specific nature of ‗cultural industries‘ more
useful for the purposes of this thesis. The other notable study of ‗creative industries‘ rather than
cultural industries is Richard Caves‘ Creative Industries (2000), a book which, as its subtitle
suggests, explores the specific relationship between ―art and commerce‖. While I acknowledge
this framework, my work will look at crossovers between popular music and media not just from
an economic point of view, but also in terms of the movement of audiences, presentation of new
artistic forms and the way that governments consider artistic output.
25
acknowledged, ―Are some industries more or less cultural than others?‖ (2009:
92). He argues that the creative has been employed as a political tool, but that
these ventures alone have been unsuccessful as substitutes for cultural industries‘
more wide scope.27 Miller also notes how conceptually similar creative and
cultural industries actually are (according to Mato, at least). 28 As such Miller
maintains a preference for cultural rather than creative industries ―because culture
involves all the questions of managing populations and coping with a life after
manufacturing, [thus] its specificities need to be reasserted and maintained‖
(2009: 97).
1.6 New Cultural History
In addition to using cultural industries in the sense I have just articulated as a
point of departure, my examination of popular music and media crossover will
also be framed by a cultural history tradition. The post-1980s tradition of New
Cultural History (NCH), and its emphasis on ‗practices‘,29 allows for the
examination of historical aspects of culture that goes beyond specific objects or
texts. While cultural industries and convergence explore commonalities between
previously bordered territories in a broad way, the NCH study of practices allows
a more finely discriminated approach to the crossover between music and media
audiences and artists. NCH approaches, with their emphasis on cultural practices,
also facilitate an examination of the process of crossover over time and during
periods of crisis. Peter Burke argued that cultural history ―might be described as a
concern with the symbolic and its interpretations‖ (2008: 3), and, using the
imagery of birth and death as I will explain shortly, I will show how media and
music histories have been punctuated by recurring dramatic symbols of change
and engagement. Exploring this process of engagement is a key objective for my
27
Specifically, Miller argues of the US: ―What has been the outcome of a fully-evolved fantasy
about small business and everyday creativity as the motors of economic growth? Come on down
and take your pick of crumbling bridges, dangerous freeways, deinstitutionalized street people,
inadequate schooling, and 50 million folks without healthcare‖ (2009: 96).
28
Miller makes this claim (2009: 93) without quoting Mato directly, however the original article
can be found at Mato (2009).
29
Burke explains ‗practices‘ in the following terms ―the history of religious practice rather than
theology, the history of speaking rather than the history of linguistics, the history of experiment
rather than of scientific theory‖ (Burke, 2008: 59). For a more detailed overview of NCH see
Burke (2008: 51-2)
26
crossover study, as I will attempt to make some prognostications about the future
influence of contemporary crossovers by comparing them to similar pairings in
the past.
NCH is also a useful a model for my crossover study in that it is a discipline that
has many academic ―neighbours‖ (Burke, 2008: 135). While Burke explores many
academic traditions related to NCH (135-41), he emphasises in particular NCH‘s
proximity to Cultural Studies as it developed in Britain in the 1960s. Burke lists a
variety of ―disciplines and sub-disciplines‖ (2008: 141) to have subsequently
developed from Cultural Studies‘ base, including film studies and gender studies.
He argues however that Cultural Studies and these offshoots have perhaps lost
their purpose, and, ―ironically enough, an approach that began as a protest against
exclusion has itself become too exclusive‖ (ibid).30 Although Burke doesn‘t name
these, broadcast media and popular music studies have each been described as
offspring of Cultural Studies elsewhere,31 and my study of the relationship
between these traditions popular music and media studies is driven by the sense
that it is instructive to re-invigorate these ‗segmented‘ fields, encouraging further
consideration of how cultural studies‘ offspring interact, and the purpose (and
consequences) for this interaction.
Drawing on the idea of ‗practices‘ as articulated by Burke (see footnote 29), I will
also discuss popular music and media practices and how each has been engaged
by audiences and artists over time. Points of crisis for media and popular music,
which are really points of change in the practices of artists and audiences as they
engage with these platforms and industries, will be interrogated in this thesis.
30
Further to this, Burke says ―The rise of Cultural Studies [CS] has been viewed as a threat to
certain subjects such as literature, art history and even anthropology. On the other hand, CS itself
is in a sense threatened—though in another sense reinforced—by the rise of its progeny‖ (2008:
140).
31
I am thinking the body of media research developed and consolidated with the establishment of
the Centre for Contemporary Cultural Studies at the University of Birmingham (the ―Birmingham
School‖) in 1964, and particularly the work of scholars such as Raymond Williams into the 1970s
(work I will explore in several parts of this thesis). As well, in the seminal popular music studies
collection On Record (1990), Frith and Goodwin argue ―[Popular Music studies] has come to rest - in the 1980s -- in the discipline of ‗cultural studies‘.‖ (Frith and Goodwin, 1990: 41), however
they acknowledge that this was not the only discipline with which popular music engaged. More
recently The Popular Music Studies Reader indicates that ―popular music studies has now
emerged as a globally established and multi-disciplinary field‖ (Bennett, Shank and Toynbee,
2006: 5).
27
Further, the utility of the interactions between popular music and media, in the
form of crossovers, will be shown, with the practices relating to the creation of
crossovers, and their engagement, explored in historical context.
To summarise, my study of crossover between popular music and media draws
most directly on cultural industries and new cultural history. Studies of crossover
texts (such as film sound studies) will also provide a point of departure, but I will
develop these further to explore the specific motivations behind the creation and
circulation of these crossover texts at key points in the industrial cycle for popular
music and media respectively. I will show that contemporary crossovers and the
dynamics that enable and encourage them, can be linked to similar transitions that
have occurred in the past, and will use these previous crossovers as a platform on
which to develop criteria to assess current crossover texts and their contexts.
2. POPULAR MUSIC, MEDIA AND THE BIRTH/DEATH NARRATIVE
FOR CROSSOVERS
Crossovers between popular music and broadcast media have occurred
periodically since the beginning of broadcasting and sound recording respectively.
However, as these crossovers have developed, so too have changes in existing
industrial, artistic and audience structures that underpinned them, changes that
have often been marked by contemporary and retrospective narratives involving
the death of pre-existing formations and the birth of new ones, with the particular
agenda of each ‗narrator‘ determining whether it will be a narrative of morbidity
or of new life. I shall present an overview of the field, and then finally I shall
focus on particular cases of crossover in twenty-first century Australia, to argue
several postulates. First, that, reflecting a broad international pattern, these cases
have been signalled in the forms of the birth/death trope. Second, and reflecting
local conditions, these regional cases present some unique responses to those
crises, generating unique ‗births‘.
The study is therefore framed by the analysis of that perennial discursive strategy.
The strategy is to identify narratives which proclaim the ‗birth‘ or ‗death‘ of
particular media or music forms or styles, and to demonstrate that these
28
proclamations are emotionally rather than rationally conceptualised. While music
and media are often very closely tied to the lives of those who create and consume
them, music and media themselves are not alive. They are mechanical rather than
organic animals which are never truly liberated from their live masters. However,
it is easy to forget this, and music and media have often been anthropormorphised
by the attribution of ‗births‘ and ‗deaths‘ in order to convince audiences to
consider periods of change with a particular emotional response. That discursive
shift enables stake-holders to define and justify the self-interested positions they
adopt in relation to changes in material culture. The ‗organic turn‘ manifests itself
in tropes relating to the human life process – birth, childhood, adolescence,
adulthood, infirmity, death. As the most dramatic moments in this process, birth
and death have particular resonance as signals of crisis. I have therefore used
these two tropes as ways of identifying moments of crisis in the ‗life‘ process of
the developments under review.32
These birth/death tropes and narratives both simplify and emotionally load the
moments to which they refer. I make reference to them in this study both as
conspicuous signals of what the stakeholders regard as crisis points, but also to
uncover the complexities which they both signal yet mask. And those
complexities themselves involve a jostling, a rearranging, a process of
negotiation, out of which a crossover emerges. The actual dynamics of these
processes are far more complex than these narratives imply. Indeed, much of the
energy invested in this study is devoted to problematising simplistic linear models
of socio-technological change such as technological determinism. But my point of
departure will be the schematic tropes and narratives that have framed these
changes, both contemporaneously and retrospectively.
32
The study of metaphorical discourse as a way of exploring political, ethical and aesthetic agenda
has a vigorous history, as exemplified particularly in studies of Romanticism including Michel
Chaouli‘s The Laboratory of Poetry: Chemistry and Poetics in the Work of Friedrich Schlegel
(2002), and has itself become the subject of what might be called ‗meta-studies‘, as in Asko
Nivala, ‗The Chemical Age: Presenting history with metaphors‘ (Nivala, 2011). The revelatory
potential of such studies is recognized even by the CIA, who reportedly are running a well-funded
‗Metaphor Program‘ to ‗discover what a foreign culture‘s metaphors can reveal about its beliefs‘
(Soar, 2011: 22).
29
The following small sample illustrates the prolixity of popular music narratives
which use the metaphor of birth or death: Good Rockin‟ Tonight: Sun Records
and the birth of Rock and Roll (Escott and Hawkins, 1992), Jelly Roll, Bix, and
Hoagy: Gennett Studios and the Birth of Recorded Jazz (Kennedy, 1994), The
Birth of Bebop (DeVeaux, 1997), Is Rock Dead? (Dettmar, 2006), Is Jazz Dead
(or has it moved to a new address?) (Nicolson, 2005), Is Hip Hop Dead: the Past,
Present and Future of America‟s Most Wanted Music (Hess, 2007), Little
Richard: The Birth of Rock and Roll (Kirby, 2009), and even individual musical
texts such as The Buggles‘ ―Video Killed The Radio Star‖ (1982) and Marilyn
Manson‘s ―Rock is Dead‖ (1999),33 while similar examinations have also been
presented as media commentaries, including The Death of Broadcasting? Media‟s
Digital Future (Given, 1998), The End of Television? It‟s Impact on the world (so
far) (Katz and Scannell eds, 2009),34 The Death of Media and the Fight to Save
Democracy (Schechter, 2005), The Death and Life of American Journalism
(McChesney and Nicols, 2010), The Branding of MTV: Will Internet Kill the
Video Star (Temporal, 2008). There has even been the development of an
interactive, international research collective called the Birth of TV Archive, with
international media and academic partners from the UK, Netherlands, France and
Germany contributing content and analysis to create an online archive of early
television material. Here birth is not only used as part of a narrative, but also an
acronym to describe the project‘s aim, as stated on the site, ―BIRTH stands for
Building an Interactive Research and delivery network for Television Heritage.‖35
Narratives of birth and death are not unique to popular music and media histories.
One of the most famous such narratives was focused on written communication:
Roland Barthes‘ famous essay ‗The Death of the Author‘ and subsequent
33
I could also include here narratives of literal and figurative death in music, such as Don
McLean‘s ―American Pie‖ (1971) which describes the death of several specific musicians, but uses
them as emblematic of a wider death, ―the day the music died‖.
34
This is a special issue of the Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science
and contains a number of articles considering the ‗death‘ of television.
35
In more detail, the project‘s aims are described in the following terms, ―… the project consists
of a multimedia and multilingual pool of archive material from the first broadcasting days … [it is
for use] for television professionals, the scientific community and the general public. Audiovisual
content, accompanied by text, photographic material and program guides have been collected from
a representative number of European broadcast archives. The aim of BIRTH is to give attractive
online access to the first years of European television history in a way it has never been presented
before.‖ www.birth-of-tv.org/birth/pages/static/ProjectBirth.jsp, accessed 5/05/11.
30
proclamations of ‗The Birth of the Reader‘ (1977). While mine is not a Barthesian
analysis, Barthes‘ use of ‗death‘ as a rhetorical tool provides a preliminary model
for studying this pattern in media and popular music commentaries. No authors
were actually harmed during the course of Barthes‘ study (nor were any readers
actually born as a direct result of it), but Barthes deploys this trope to draw
attention to the key sites of power for written communication; that is, the concept
of the author as (at that time) a relatively uncontested position of authority.
Barthes‘ motivation is made clearer when the original commissioning for his
piece is considered; Barthes wrote ‗Death of the Author‘ for an American
magazine interested in ―closing the gap between high and low culture‖ (Burke,
1992: 178), and as such, ―the death of the author emerges as a blind spot … an
absence [Barthes sought] to create and explore, but one that was already filled
with the idea of the author‖ (Burke, 1992: 154). Burke explains that Barthes‘
purpose was not to define the author necessarily, but rather, to address a crisis he
perceived relating to how readily authorial authority had been accepted
unquestioned. As such, in drawing attention to the concept of the author (and the
author‘s authority) by using the highly emotive concept of ‗death‘, Barthes
inspired further critical engagement with this concept; ―under the auspices of its
absence, the concept of the author remains active‖ (1992: 178).36 This is not to
say, however, that the concept of the author did not change as a result of the
discussion, and indeed, for Barthes the purpose of proclaiming the death of the
author was to energise a stagnant discourse. With the proclamation of ‗death‘
came a resurrection of interest that not only rejuvenated the idea of the author, but
also helped to draw attention to other elements involved in written
communication, specifically the role of the reader. Using equally emotive
language, Barthes suggested a process of succession following the death of the
author, as he concluded, ―the birth of the reader must be at the cost of the death of
the Author‖ (Barthes, 1977: 148). Barthes‘ death of the author and birth of the
reader can be understood ―a call to arms not a funeral procession‖ (Burke, 1992:
29).
36
Burke explores this in more depth elsewhere in his study, particularly in the chapter ―A
Prehistory to the Death of the Author‖ (1992: 8-19).
31
Barthes‘ use of the metaphor demonstrates its potential revelatory and explanatory
power. I will also explore birth and death narratives in the context of their creation
in the popular music/media nexus, paying particular attention to the state of each
industry during the time the narratives were being written, and what the prognoses
for each might have been. I will show that like Barthes, many popular music and
media commentators have also created ‗calls to arms‘ through birth and death
narratives so as to inspire renewed engagement with popular music and media at
times when audiences or industries might have become uninterested or diverted to
other sectors, or, simply, when both the music and the media were stagnant (and
therefore in danger of losing their audiences to other forms of distraction). In
looking at the recurrence of birth and death narratives in media and popular music
I will also explore the development and value of crossover products during these
periods of change. I will show that crossover texts, that is, texts that can be
located as both media and popular music, have historically helped to negotiate
periods of change for media and popular music because they bridge gaps between
these two, helping to maintain the value of each sector separately, but also
encouraging further growth as, through the crossover, artists and audiences who
may have previously only engaged with media or popular music, were given
opportunity and incentive to engage with both.
2.1 Births, deaths, technology and media
Technology provides one well-defined framework for understanding and defining
media and popular music. If we define popular music in terms of sound recording,
for example, its key properties can be brought forward for analysis (and, more
importantly, brought forward for assessment) in a way that would be more
difficult if popular music were defined using more generalised and abstract
criteria.37 Similarly, by defining media in terms of the technology of broadcasting,
that is, in terms of content developed and delivered by radio and television, it too
can be investigated with more precision and historical specificity than if the term
37
For example, as noted above, when attempting to define popular music Richard Middleton
acknowledged that ―all music is popular music: popular with someone‖ (1990: 3), however to
employ this idea literally ―would be to empty the term [popular music] of the meanings that it
carries in actual discourse‖ (1990:3), and as such he sought to distinguish popular music studies
from related fields such as musicology or more general cultural studies.
32
‗media‘ were to be deployed in its broader sense of any form of mediated human
communication in history.38 At the same time, however, by defining media and
popular music in terms of technology we are imposing boundaries on them which,
in their broader senses, might be regarded as arbitrary; to define media as that
which is broadcast is to exclude print for example, or to define popular music as
that which is recorded is to exclude live performances. While some such
boundaries are pragmatically necessary, they are challenged as technology
develops over time. Crossovers themselves therefore require us to reassess the
boundaries set up by received implicit and explicit definitions.
I want first to explore crossovers underpinned by technology. I will locate and
identify them through narratives of birth and death that are often created to
generate that sense of urgency, anxiety, excitement or regret experienced by those
who have vested interests in maintaining the threatened boundaries during times
of change. I will show that birth and death narratives help to identify where the
borderline was prior to the crossover, and what stands to be lost (or gained)
through the crossover.
Marshall McLuhan‘s monograph Understanding Media, and its provocative
assertion ―the medium is the message‖ (1967: 15), remains a benchmark technocentric narrative. Although McLuhan doesn‘t use the word ‗birth‘ here, his aim
was to inspire his readers to consider the media anew by focusing on
technological modes of delivery rather than what was being delivered (the
technology of the medium, rather than the sociology of the message).39
Specifically, McLuhan argues
‗the medium is the message‘ because it is the medium that shapes and controls the scale
and form of human association and action. The content or uses of such media are as
diverse as they are ineffectual in shaping the form of human association (1967: 16).
38
See for example, Grossberg et al who, under the heading "Defining and Distinguishing the
Media" argues "Some people assume that the media are simply technologies that can be described
in terms of the hardware of production, transmission, and reception. Although technology is
obviously crucial to contemporary communications media, they cannot be understood simply as
hardware, as if they existed independently of the people who have them, the uses people make of
them, and the social relations that produce them and are organised around them everyday"
(Grossberg et al, 2005: 8).
39
Also see Willmott, who argued, ―McLuhan‘s textual and cultural landscape is instructive as a
hyperbolic interaction of critical desire with the modes of production of his time … The medium is
a category of relation, not merely an object, for consciousness‖ (Willmott, 1996: xv).
33
McLuhan ascribes to media technologies a life force of their own, seeking the
origins of such life and how it is maintained. McLuhan argues the need to address
the technology of the medium in order to fully understand how the media
functioned: ―it is sometimes a bit of a shock to be reminded that, in operational
and practical fact, the medium is the message‖ (1967: 15). Developing this line of
thought using the case study of the electric light, what he calls ―a communication
medium … [that] has no ‗content‘‖ (1967: 17), McLuhan dramatises his argument
by going on to invoke a birth narrative in order to encourage a new interest in the
topic. He continues,
Mechanization was never so vividly fragmented or sequential as in the birth of the
movies, the moment that translated us beyond mechanism into the world of growth and
organic interrelation. The movie, by sheer speeding up of the mechanical, carried us from
the world of sequence and connections into the world of creative configuration and
structure. The message of the movie medium is that of transition from lineal connections
to configurations (McLuhan, 1967: 20).
McLuhan was certainly not the first scholar to recognise that movies are a
revolutionary form, or to explore how they provided opportunities for new modes
of artistic and audience engagement. However, McLuhan‘s description of the
‗birth of the movies‘ here is strategically schematic, as the author attempts to
convince his reader that the technology in itself provided something
unprecedented and powerful. Taylor and Lewis (2008) describe McLuhan‘s
approach as revolutionary because it was ―born of a profound recognition that
media require new ways of thinking‖ (86), and this approach has since led to
McLuhan being called ―the most famous media technological determinist‖
(Straubhaar et al, 2010: 53) on record.
McLuhan‘s philosophy has been hotly contested since its publication,40 including
accusations that it displayed an ―absence of an overall critical framework‖ (Taylor
and Lewis, 2008: 86).41 However, the emphasis on technology itself as a decisive
and interventionist characteristic of media, and as a way of defining its value, was
the framework that McLuhan employed (the technology of movies, as opposed to
40
For a useful overview of debates that have arisen around McLuhan‘s The Medium is the
Message, and other writings, see Meyrowitz (2003)
41
Taylor and Lewis go on to argue the importance of the reach of McLuhan‘s influence beyond
academia as well; ―McLuhan was the figure who introduced the wider public to the notion that
media required any theory at all‖ (2008: 85).
34
the idea of audio visual storytelling, or even the idea of popular mass mediated
entertainment), and in so doing McLuhan was able to engage more effectively
with both what had gone before in the history of human communication, but also
demonstrate how radically it had changed. In particular this enabled him to
address what he proclaimed to be the current ―Age of Anxiety‖ (McLuhan, 1967:
13), an anxiety born out of fear of the rapid changes happening during this time,
as previously bounded territories were opened up through electronic
communications;
Electric speed is bringing all social and political functions together … it is this implosive
factor that alters the position of the Negro, the teen-ager, and some other groups. They
can no longer be contained, in a political sense of limited association. They are now
involved in our lives, as we in theirs, thanks to the electric media (1967: 13, emphasis in
original).
Here McLuhan clearly identifies boundaries that are being crossed by media,
boundaries of age and race (and implied class). But his promise was to provide his
reader with a way of ―Understanding Media‖ by understanding the changes that
were happening, and particularly, the changes to how Man42 was to be perceived
and imagined now that we could communicate with previously unprecedented
speed and accuracy over time and space. For McLuhan media were ―extension[s]
of ourselves—result[ing] from the new scale that is introduced into our affairs by
each extension of ourselves, or by any new technology‖ (1967: 15), and it was this
conceptualisation of a way to understand change that broke down barriers of
distance and time, and even reconfigured the understanding of human possibility
and identity, that warranted and inspired his use of a birth narrative.
Since McLuhan there have been various narratives of media focused on
technology rather than just content. One of the most notable has been the
declaration of the era of ‗new media‘ towards the end of the twentieth century.
While it is important to remember that ―all media were once ‗new media‘‖
(Pingree and Gitelmen, 2003: xi), studies of ‗new media‘ generally refer to the
difference between digital and the type of media forms that McLuhan was
exploring in the 1960s. 43 New media implies a birth of a new tradition (or the
42
I use this term in capitalised masculine form here, as McLuhan did, to mean humanity generally.
I say ‗generally refer‘ because of the notable exception, New Media: 1740-1915 (Gitelman and
Pingree eds, 2003). In this collection the authors use ‗new media‘ to describe a variety of artefacts
43
35
starting of a new life for media), and as Wendy Chun explained, the term ‗new
media‘ was itself part of a process of succession. She explains
New media came into prominence in the mid-1990s, usurping the place of ‗multi-media‘
... [New Media] was not mass media, specifically television … it was not digitised forms
of other media (photography, video, text), but rather an interactive medium or form of
distribution as independent of the information it relayed (Chun, 2006:1).
Chun‘s definition emphasises a clear break from existing literature on
communication. Like McLuhan‘s use of technology to help understand the media
of his time (and the crossovers it allowed), here new media is also defined with
the emphasis on technology itself, with digital technologies of production and
dissemination central to the crossing over of old boundaries and helping to
establish different ones. As Chun notes, a key crossover for new media was the
apparent abolition of the boundary between producers and audiences, as new
media emphasised the ease and speed with which these interactions could occur
with digitisation. She describes how new media in the 1990s context is a term that
―redrew disciplinary boundaries‖ (Chun, 2006: 2) and ultimately allowed for the
―the progressive marriage of computation and art, a marriage that produced the
computer as an expressive art‖ (2006:2). This process was famously explored in
the benchmark ―Being Digital‖ by Nicolas Negroponte, who described the process
of digitisation, or of turning atoms into bytes (1995: 11-20), as the process that
would ensure that previous techno-centric constraints were overcome as, for
example, ―digital books never go out of print‖ (1995: 13). However, Negroponte
described the process as one that possesses ―immediate risk and opportunity‖
(1995: 13), as established industries that are built on particular media forms (print
publishing and video cassette rentals), ―will become digitally driven by the
combined forces of convenience, economic imperative, and deregulation‖, a
process, he adds ominously, that ―will happen fast‖ (1995: 13). The implication
was that change brought about by digitisation and the crossing of previous borders
using this technology, would replace existing models, leaving those which are
becoming superseded vulnerable to attack. As I will show throughout this thesis,
articulating this type of threat during anticipated periods of change is a common
tactic by which commentators disclose and champion their own interests.
from a number of centuries by using ‗new media‘ as a relative term to consider ―emergent media
within their historical contexts‖ (Pingree and Gitelman, 2003: xi)
36
2.2 Births, deaths, technology and popular music
Like media, popular music has often been defined in terms of technology. In the
first issue of Popular Music Charles Hamm approached the definition of popular
music studies and popular music generally, arguing that ―the historian knows that
every revolutionary movement in popular music- and, for that matter, classical
music as well - is marked by some radical shift in instrumentation‖ (Hamm, 1981:
124).44 Since then this relationship is evident in the continued attention paid to
music in journals such as Technology and Culture,45 as well as books like Any
Sound You Can Imagine: Making Music/Consuming Technology (Theberge,
1997),46 and The Recording Angel (Eisenberg, 2005).47 These studies explicitly
centralise technology in their definitions of popular music, showing how previous
categorical boundaries have been overcome with technology, and subsequently
how new popular music styles have been created; ―the ten-inch 78 r.p.m. disc
gave birth to the classic blues‖ (Eisenberg, 2005: 116).48 Birth narratives for
popular music and its relationship with technology have also helped to establish
crossover concepts such as ―Audio Culture‖ (Cox and Warner, 2008). In this
collection, which also cites McLuhan‘s influence (Cox and Warner, 2008: xiii),
the editors declare; ―over the past half-century, a new audio culture has emerged
… [from] the creative possibilities of sound recording, playback and
transmission‖ (2008: xiii). Cox and Warner identify two key technological
markers, ―the tape recorder and the advent of digital media‖ (2008: xix),49 as
44
In incorporating this comment in this section of the discussion, I am taking the larger view of
technology as an engagement with and through some form of machinery. In this sense then,
musical instruments are forms of technological mediation insofar as they are tools which have
allowed musicians to develop new forms of music.
45
Since its establishment in 1959, contributors to this journal have often discussed music and its
relationship to technology, key examples including Meeker (1978), Curtis (1984) and Arns and
Crawford (1995).
46
See further on the relationship between music and technology, for example: Strange Sounds:
Music, Technology and Culture (Taylor, 2001), and in general collections like Music and
Technology in the Twentieth Century (Braun, 2002), and Capturing Sound (Kartz, 2004).
47
Similarly, Brooks and Spottswood declared ―the Birth of the Recording Industry‖ was initiated
with Edison‘s phonograph (2004: 4), but continued to explore further developments, in this
instance the influence of black musicians on the mainstream commercial market.
48
In particular here he describes how musicians and singers altered their performances to
accommodate ―the time limits of recording‖, in some instances also composing as they recorded,
as opposed to previous oral or written methods of composition (Eisenberg, 2005: 116),
49
As part of this anthology Cox and Warner have also constructed a chronology of audio culture
(2008: 399-407).
37
changes which facilitated a ―shifting definition of ‗music‘‖ and ―the incursion of
music into everyday life and spaces of everyday living‖, a shift in how music
audiences were conceptualised and considered (2008: xv). Cox and Warner argue
that ―older texts [can be] reanimated by the new audio culture‖ as ―the age of the
internet flattens traditional hierarchies‖ (2008: xv). As such, the term ‗Audio
Culture‘ signals a crossover between existing musical conceptualisations,
deploying technology as a way to change the very definition of music itself. This
strategy has been continued with the formation of international organisations like
The Art of Record Production, which emphasise the crossover between technical
and artistic output in record production and argue that workers who were
previously considered as external to the process of music composition (record
producers), should now be considered as creative rather than merely technical
contributors.50
Media and popular music crossovers of existing borders can also inspire another
type of narrative, one that is less optimistic and instead focuses on what is to be
lost with these changes. These narratives appear as antitheses of birth narratives,
and instead proclaim deaths (like Barthes‘ birth of the reader/death of the author).
Like births, death in such narratives is also a trope rather than a literal description,
deployed to evoke a sense of loss for what might be foregone as technology
changes. For example, writing in response to McLuhan, Jean Baudrillard offered a
―Requiem for the Media‖ (1972; 1981: 164-84), arguing that the problem with
changes to media forms, particularly those which emphasised the power of the
broadcaster, offered ―speech without response‖ (1981: 169), and as such were
threatening the ability of the audience to engage; ―The mass media are antimediatory and intransitive. They fabricate non-communication‖ (1981: 169).
Baudrillard‘s criticism was that broadcast, film and print media functioned as oneway systems of dictation rather than avenues for dialogue, and he argued that the
audience should seek out ―alternative and subversive form of mass media‖ such as
street discussions and graffiti (1981: 176). As I have already discussed, scholarly
and industrial interest in interactivity has gained momentum since Baudrillard was
50
This organisation seeks to acknowledge the work of engineers and producers in the recording
studio, with the establishment of international conferences that engage academics and working
engineers. See www.artofrecordproductioncom, accessed 10/5/09).
38
writing, and in some ways, Baudrillard‘s requiem for McLuhan‘s old media can
also be understood as the same crossover point that made way for the declaration
of ‗new media‘. In reality, nothing actually died or was born, since at the centre of
the argument is still a mechanical rather than organic object. But these rhetorical
devices are employed in relation to different aspects of the debate, and depending
on the perspective of the author and the context of the discussion, designed to suit
their particular agenda. For McLuhan, the development of media as extensions of
humanity was a positive thing (a birth), particularly as media allowed for a more
efficient way of delivering messages to many people over time and space quickly.
However, Baudrillard saw media‘s rapid dissemination of messages across space
and time as the foreclosing of an opportunity; a death. 51
This apparent battle between old and new media, or the death of the old at the
hands of the new, has continued, and again the terms in which the associated
crossovers are described (whether seen as a birth or death) are dependent on the
context and agenda of the narrator. For example, two opposing sides of the
crossover debate can be seen in Given‘s ―The Death of Broadcasting? Media‘s
Digital Future‖ (1998). Here Given situated himself by arguing that ―television
and radio broadcasting, the clearest examples of mass media‖ are forms that were
―supposed to be dying‖ at the hands of digital developments (Given, 1998: 6).
However his assessment is based on his own attitude towards this crossing of
industrial borders with technological development. He could have just as easily
argued that digital developments were being born (as many new media
commentators did), but rather, he emphasised the possible death of broadcasting
because of ―what‘s at stake commercially in television, the relative political
impact of the two industries [broadcast and digital entertainment] and the
generosity of the government‘s initial decisions on digital TV‖ (Given, 1998: 31).
In particular, he identifies the two sectors that seek to have the boundaries
redrawn to suit themselves (and perhaps shut out their competition);
51
To illustrate his point about the need for a requiem for the dying mass media, he used the
example of a much reported workers‘ strike in France in May 1968. Baudrillard argued that the
traditional media had ―reduced [the actions of millions of workers] to a single meaning, it
neutralized the local, transversal, spontaneous forms of action‖, leaving a situation where ―the real
revolutionary media during May were the walls and their speech, the silk-screen posters and hand
painted notices … the street where speech began and was exchanged‖ (1981: 176).
39
[Traditional] broadcasters have argued that digital transmission is simply the next step in
the technical evolution of television … the Pay TV, telecommunications and internet
industries say digital represents a technical revolution for television … they say we
should not simply migrate existing television industry structures into the fundamentally
different transmission environment, but use the opportunity to rethink those structures to
ensure the best possible uses are made of the spectrum (ibid).
Given‘s analysis of the changes in television with the establishment of widespread
digital delivery is not unique,52 and while his study focuses on Australia and the
Australian market, internationally these have been explored also through
narratives of death, and also the development of a different framework, the
coming of post-broadcast television or television studies after TV.53 A decade
later it was again argued that ―the end of the broadcast era‖ (Given, Tay and
Turner, 2008: 73) had arrived in Australia, a narrative published in a special issue
of the Media International Australia subtitled ―Beyond Broadcasting‖. Clearly
here technology, as opposed to content, remained a key to discussing media, but
also to determining what defined its boundaries (and what boundaries might be
challenged as technology changed), with the editors of this issue arguing that now,
―Broadcasting has become only one of a set of options‖ (Meike and Young, 2008:
67). This recognition of options demonstrates a change, and perhaps a birth of
new opportunities, or a death of previous empires, but either way it intimates a
crossover between previously differentiated territories, resulting in a change in
how media can and should be defined. Similarly, Hartley described international
changes in Television Studies After TV: Understanding Television in the
Broadcast Era (2009), as a type of ―cultural climate change‖ (Hartley, 2009: 20),
a metaphor that, at that time, clearly implies the survival of some entities, and the
endangerment or extinction of others.
A negative narrative, or description of death during a period of crossover, is also
referred to by Paul Theberge in Any Sound You Can Imagine (1997) in order to
draw attention to a debate over the influence of technological development.
Theberge begins by referring to the plight of a Montreal musician working in the
52
Given also developed these ideas a few years later with the book Turning Off the Television:
Broadcasting‟s Uncertain Future (2003).
53
I will discuss this in more detail in chapters 3 and 4, but for an overview of these ideas see Marc
Lavette et al‘s collection centered on the American experience, and particularly, HBO (Lavette,
2008), as well as the international collection edited by Turner and Tay (2009), Television Studies
After TV: Understanding Television in the Post-Broadcast Era.
40
late 1980s, a practitioner whose name is given as ‗Michael‘, who reported ―I use it
[technology] everyday, but I just know that it‘s killing music‖ (Michael in
Theberge, 1997: 1). Theberge used this comment as an example of ―a common
lament of the past decade‖, particularly that the introduction of the synthesizer in
the 1980s had created a situation where ―everyone‘s work was starting to sound
the same‖ (1997: 1). However, Theberge responds to these claims by using the
same marker, technological innovation, to signal the opposite effect: ―This
homogeneity was not always the case. In the 1960s, rock musicians like Jimi
Hendrix and Pete Townsend experimented with distortion and feedback, creating
excitement around new sounds‖ (ibid). Theberge thus brings out additional forces
traversing the relationship between technology and music, including the
importance of individual creativity to produce, ‗any sound you can imagine‘. 54
Just as Barthes‘ death of the author/birth of the reader repositioned the hierarchies
in production, Theberge challenges the technological determinism that implicitly
underpins ‗death‘ narratives and works ―toward a new model of musical
production and consumption‖ (1997: 242- 66), a model that turns a death into a
potential birth.55
2.3 Crossovers between popular music and media: technology and cultural
form
Writing after McLuhan, Raymond Williams (1974) argues ―much of the initial
appeal of McLuhan‘s work was his apparent attention to the specificity of media
… [but] the media were never really seen as practices‖ (1974: 127).56 Williams
argues that for a technological determinist, there is no distinction between the
history of media and the history of other technologies that serve very different
functions, and that a number of technologies (both media and otherwise) have
54
As Theberge argues, of the opening death narrative by Michael that ―there is sense of
melodrama implied in his death knell for music that belies his own involvement with technology,
his own compulsive need to adopt and make use of the latest musical gear available‖ (1997: 2).
55
Although these types of crossovers are discussed through this chapter, in particular Theberge
argues ―new devices, particularly the computer-based recording systems, have once again placed
microprocessor technologies at the centre of contemporary music-making, escalating the demands
on musicians to attain the knowledge and skill to operate them. A serious conversation between
musicians on the ‗90s is as likely to be concerned with the problems of optimizing hard drive and
CPU performance as with adjusting the action of the guitar‖ (1997: 250-1).
56
Williams discusses McLuhan at length (1974: 126-8).
41
created change; ―the steam engine, the automobile, television, the atomic bomb,
[all these] have made modern man and the modern condition‖ (1974: 13).
Williams suggests that technological determinism is not an adequate approach to
media studies, and instead argues for a more complex analysis of specific media
and their utility. Writing about television in particular, he argues the need to
conduct a study of ―technology and cultural form‖ (1974: 1).
Here I want to explore crossovers between technologies and cultural forms, and
specifically, those of broadcast media and recorded music. These crossovers
occurred because of the way in which developments in technology and culture
emerged at similar times, producing changes in the audiences for each across
racial and socio-economic lines. I want to start with two of the most significant
births in popular music and media history, the birth of jazz as an international
musical form and of radio broadcasting, which occurred around the same time as
the result of related conditions. Each has been explored in terms of the rise of
industrialisation at the turn of the twentieth century and into the period dominated
by two world wars, and each was discussed not just in terms of technological
development but also changes in social and cultural hierarchies. The results were
crossover texts, radio concerts that were important both to radio listeners and jazz
fans, and helped to consolidate both groups between 1900 and 1945. Through
these crossovers, audiences were attracted from previously differentiated
territories and drawn together. Literally, those isolated at home were able to
engage with live music, while also ideologically those segregated by race or class
were able to become co-participants.
To begin this enquiry we can return to the work of Adorno regarding the
interaction between popular music and media. Adorno‘s work exploring the
development of mass media, and popular music, has been engaged with by many
authors for various purposes (including, as I mentioned in the last section, his
work on the culture industry). Indeed, his work has become so synonymous with
certain types of narratives of mass media and popular culture, that new
interventions in the topic have been framed as direct engagements with Adorno
himself, as with Roll Over Adorno: Critical Theory, Popular Culture, Audiovisual
Media (Miklitsch, 2006). I address two selections of his work here because of
42
their use of narratives of death to describe periods of crisis for music and
broadcasting, and subsequently also describe the creation of crossover products.
In ―Farewell to Jazz‖ (1933:2002d), Adorno begins by referring to recent
―regulation that forbids the radio from broadcasting ‗Negro Jazz‘‖ (2002d: 496),
thus resulting in a crossover between radio and music that responds to the crisis of
change of its time. For Adorno this process of crossover between popular music
and radio has created something new, a ―hollowed jazz out‖ (2002d: 497); a type
of ―jazz [that] has left behind a vacuum‖ (2002d: 499). This new form is jazz that
has been severed from its cultural origins among African American players, as
Adorno asserts that radio-delivered jazz ―no more has anything to do with
authentic Negro music, which has long since been falsified and industrially
smoothed out‖ (Adorno, 2002d: 496).57
This relationship between music and its commodification was explored again a
few years later as Adorno described another type of crossover he named the ‗radio
symphony‘ (1941, 2002b).58 Using a live and radio broadcast version of
Beethoven‘s Fifth Symphony as his case study, Adorno argued that despite using
the same score and the same instruments, even perhaps the same musicians, ―the
radio symphony‖, that is, a broadcast of a symphonic performance, ―is not the live
symphony and cannot therefore have the same cultural effect as the live
symphony‖ (2002b: 269). He based this on differences in sonic reception and
audience experience, or ―absolute symphonic dimensions ... the experience of the
symphonic space‖ (2002b: 257).59 Adorno maintained that an appropriate
symphonic space is ―fundamental to the appreciation of the symphony‖, and that
―these qualities are radically affected by radio [because] the sound is no longer
57
Interestingly, this crossover and recontextualisation of jazz as it came to be engaged with
broadcasting, was quickly accepted, as Adorno demonstrated only a few years later with a new
study ―On Jazz‖ (1936:2002c). By this time, Adorno had moved away from defining jazz in terms
of race, and instead gave it a functional definition. He somewhat reluctantly agreed that ―one could
concede that it [jazz] is a type of dance music—whether it is used in an unmediated or slightly
stylised form—that has existed since the war and is distinguished from what preceded it by its
decidedly modern character‖ (2002c: 470).
58
Although this example is slightly beyond the scope of my thesis (Beethoven‘s Fifth is not
immediately obvious as an example of ‗popular music‘), I have chosen it because it shows so
clearly the strength of conviction with which Adorno perceived the changes being brought about
by the interaction between music and media during this time of change in the early twentieth
century.
59
In particular, this description refers to the feeling of listening to a symphony in a large room such
as a cathedral and other buildings of significant ―architectural value‖ (Adorno, 2002: 256-7).
43
‗larger‘ than the individual‖ (ibid). This refers to the literal effect of hearing an
amplified live orchestra as compared to one delivered through a home radio at the
time of writing, but also to the emotional effect of listening to the radio broadcast,
as ―in the private room, the magnitude of sound causes disproportions ... what is
left of the symphony even in the ideal case of adequate reproduction of sound
colours, is a mere chamber symphony‖ (Adorno, 2002b: 257). As such, the radio
symphony must be considered as something separate, as something that cannot
provide the ―‗surrounding‘ quality of [live symphonic] music‖ (ibid), as the radio
symphony is not just a media or a music object, but equally, it is both. The radio
symphony‘s effects are the result of this interaction between music and media,
and as such, it can be considered one of the first media and music crossovers. 60
The radio symphony can be considered a media/music crossover as it is a form
that can equally be claimed as part of the music, and part of the media industries.
In describing this crossover, Adorno moves towards a death narrative by arguing
that Beethoven ―falls victim to radio‖ (Adorno, 2002b: 261).61 Adorno attaches a
negative valency to this change rather than recognising it as a positive opportunity
for growth.62 Beethoven‘s music has not materially been harmed by its interaction
with radio, and indeed, it could be reasonably argued that a good quality radio
might have provided better sound quality for a listener at home than a bad seat at a
live performance. Thus, Adorno‘s apparent concern with the supposed material
degradation of music actually masks a cultural politics regarding a crossover
effected by an emerging technology, a politics so intense that it articulates itself
through a metaphor of pathological decline. This rhetorical pattern has been
60
For example, Looking at the structure and effect of specific pieces of music to demonstrate this,
Adorno references certain composers and styles which have been accused of producing a ―drug
tendency‖ in their listeners because of apparent ―irrational‖ bursts‖ and argues that problems such
as these have been ―considerably furthered by radio‖ (2002: 258.) To illustrate he refers to music
by Wagner, ―where the mere magnitude of the sound, into whose waves the listener can dive, is
one of the means of catching listeners, quite apart from any musical content‖, while with
Beethoven, in comparison, ―the musical content is highly articulate, the largeness of sound does
not have this irrational function, but is more intrinsically connected with the structural devises art
work‖ (Adorno, 2002b: 258).
61
See in particular Adorno‘s analysis of instrumentation in Beethoven‘s fifth symphony, where he
describes what he perceives as a lessening of Beethoven‘s intended effects as the result of the
process of broadcasting and its relatively low sound quality (2002b: 258-61).
62
Specifically, he argues ―the problem [with the radio symphony] is the role played in traditional
serious music by the ‗original‘—that is, the live performance one actually experiences, as
compared with mass reproduction on the radio‖ (Adorno, 2002b: 251). As I discussed earlier in
this chapter, many of these issues relating to music, repetition and commodification were also
discussed elsewhere by Adorno, most notably in ―On Popular Music‖.
44
repeated by subsequent commentators since Adorno discussing many types of
music, as I will demonstrate later in this chapter.
The crossover between technology and music is most famously framed in
Adorno‘s two essays ―On the Fetish Character in music and the regression of
listening‖ (1938; 1978) and ―On Popular Music‖ (1941; 2002a). For Adorno
writing in the 1930s and 1940s, popular music was ―characterised by its
difference from serious music‖ (2002a: 437), a difference based on changes to the
dissemination of music brought about by recording, as well as sonic and
compositional changes during this time. Adorno was clearly not pleased with
these changes and sought to demonstrate popular music‘s relative disposability
and inferiority when compared to western art music specifically. Although highly
problematic in many ways,63 Adorno‘s work remains significant because of its
pioneering acknowledgment of the distinctive nature of popular music.64 In
examining his influence, Richard Middleton notes that ―Adorno evidently had
little time for popular music!‖ and argues that ―Adorno‘s polemic against ‗popular
music‘ is scathing‖ (1990: 34), but Middleton concedes that Adorno‘s work
―possesses, nevertheless, a striking richness and complexity‖ (1990: 34).65
Adorno‘s work may have been concerned with what the recorded popular music
industry could not provide, rather than what it could, but it still provides a
foundational account of how the popular music industry differed from its other
‗serious music‘ counterparts, and the industrialisation of music, including its
crossover with broadcast radio, became increasingly important.66
63
For example, see the various arguments in Roll Over Adorno: Critical Theory, Popular Culture,
Audiovisual Media (Miklitsch, 2006).
64
There are many examples of this, but notably Paddison (1982), Witkin (1998) and DeNora
(2003)
65
Middleton goes on to argue that Adorno‘s work should be explored ―from a variety of
viewpoints, notably that of musical production (in relation to general production in capitalist
societies), that of musical form (discussed by Adorno in terms of ‗standardization‘) and that of
musical reception and function (which he sees as almost totally instrumentalised, in the service of
the ruling social interests). At the same time, Adorno argues convincingly that these aspects are
actually indivisible, and that it is essential, therefore, to retain a sense of wholeness of the musical
process‖ (1990: 34). Indeed, despite his problems with Adorno‘s theories, Middleton demonstrates
their significance by devoting an entire chapter to contemporary popular music scholarship and
Adorno (1990: 34-63).
66
There are many examples of contemporary popular music scholarship which engage with
Adorno‘s theory, but notably Paddison (1982), Witkin (1998) and DeNora (2003).
45
Birth narratives have also been constructed as a way of drawing attention to
boundaries as they are established and abolished by technology and cultural
forms. In his famous study Noise: the Political Economy of Music (1977) Jacques
Attali argued that a birth, or ―the origin of music‖, could be found by
understanding that ―the signification of music is far more complex [than
comparisons made between it and language, for example]‖, and, in particular, ―the
operationality of music precedes its entry into the market economy‖ (1977: 25).
This identification is a key for Attali because he believes that music, by itself,
―has neither meaning or finality‖ (1977: 25), so by identifying music‘s origin in
terms of technology, Attali defines its social function and value rather than a
character of music itself. Attali argues that the
function of music gradually dissolves when the locus of music changes, when people
begin to listen to it in silence and exchange it for money. There then emerges a battle for
the purchase and sale of power, a political economy … the political economy of music
should take as its point of departure the study of material it highlights—noise—and its
meaning at the time of the origin of mankind (1977: 26, emphasis as original).
Like McLuhan‘s effort to explore the changing relationship between man and
media, here Attali acknowledges how music and its relationship to power is
developing, displacing received political systems and replacing them with others.
Attali argues ―all music can be defined as noise given form according to a code
(in other words, rules of engagement and laws of succession, in a limited space, a
space of sounds)‖ (1977: 25). Bannister elaborated further, saying, ―for Attali,
noise is the predictor of new cultural possibilities, a prophecy of a new social
order and a breakdown of an old one.‖ (Bannister, 2006: 158). In making a clear
distinction between music and non-music, or a way to categorise different noises
according to the technologies of code, Attali argues that ―with music is born
power and its opposite: subversion‖ (1977: 6).
Following Adorno, after the Second World War there emerged a flood of birth
and death narratives framing popular music and media, generated by
technological developments pertaining to both, as well as changes in the way
audiences related to communications and the arts. Crossovers between popular
music and media were central to these discourses, particularly between popular
music and film that had been developing since the advent of sound film, and the
46
apotheosis of the music/film crossover form, the film musical. These
developments were overtaken by a new mapping of the boundaries with the postwar rise of television and its delivery of music in the US. In his study of American
popular music in the 1940s and 1950s subtitled ―One night on television is worth
more than two weeks at the Paramount‖ (2002), Murray Forman argues not just
for the importance of television as a promotional tool for existing and aspiring
musicians,67 but also for its role in developing a distinctive category of musical
performance. By extension, Forman also describes how a new a category of
performer was developed by this music/television crossover, one particularly
appropriate to this domestically located audio-visual medium. To demonstrate this
Forman cites the musician Frank DeVol and his career development along two
distinct avenues, one as a musician for live performance, and the other as a
musician for television. In addition to DeVol‘s pattern of ―working from two sets
of arrangements for the ballroom and for television performances‖ (2002: 268),
Forman explains how this crossover of skills developed by the musician to suit the
distinctive needs of each performance context redrew previous professional
competency expectations, generating new techniques,
His intention was to avoid becoming stale due to repetition and also to acknowledge that
television and stage repertoires require different musical approaches. His attitude displays
a studied attention to the state of television musical production at the time when he notes,
for instance, that the standard distance of the microphone from the singer in a television
studio necessitates a different musical arrangement so as not to overpower the vocals. In
accommodating television's demands without surrendering to camp performances and
physical humour, DeVol ... [was] thus capitalising on the distinct character of television
performance‖ (2002: 268).
Adaptations made by performers like DeVol can also be understood as forms of
crossover, direct renegotiations of what popular music and television performance
meant and the forms they could foster in order to meet the needs of both, in this
case to remain able to deliver music that still featured vocals and melody
prominently, yet while also changing his performance style to suit the relative
67
He describes for example the potential presented by television for sustaining and furthering the
careers of existing musicians, stating ―Television's early embrace of music led industry optimists
to approach it as a crucial outlet for unemployed singers and musicians even before it was fully
established as a viable medium.‖ (Forman, 2002: 259), while later he describes how ―Established
musicians, too, benefited from early television exposure as they were employed for celebrity
endorsements of musical instruments and television programmes and set sales, often based on their
newfound identities as 'television artists'‖ (Forman, 2002: 263).
47
intimacy of television as opposed to the larger gestures needed for a stage
performance in a large auditorium. While the title of Forman‘s article suggests a
possible death at first (―One night on television is worth more than two weeks at
the Paramount‖), he demonstrates how a crossover artist was able to expand his
opportunities with television rather than needing to chose one medium over
another.68
The multiple crossovers that developed over the first half of the twentieth century
between the popular music and media industries are perhaps best summarized by
Richard Peterson in his benchmark article ―Why 1955? Explaining the Advent of
Rock Music‖ (1990). Peterson demonstrates that rock and its associated cultural
industry offshoots were not developed through a process of inevitable and
unproblematic convergence, but out of a complex interaction based on very
specific circumstances; ―a unique event, the advent of rock at a particular
historical moment‖ (1990: 114).69 Peterson acknowledges that his is not the first
study to examine this historical period and the emergence of rock, and in
particular he notes that
Singly or in combination, three influences have most often been cited. These include the
arrival of creative individuals, in particular Elvis Presley, changes in the composition of
the audience, particularly the large numbers of young people born after the Second World
War-- the baby-boomers; and the transformation of the commercial culture industry, that
elaborate array of elements including the phonograph record industry, radio and
television broadcasting (1990: 97).
Peterson‘s discussion of the convergence of these very distinct influences
highlights the way crossovers can mark periods of diverse changes.70 Rock was
the outcome of the crossover of these and other influences, and as such provides
an important marker of an array of changes. But in Peterson‘s retrospective
68
In the next chapter I shall discuss the development of an equivalent for radio.
However, this is not to say that Peterson sees such a coming together as something that is
without precedent or cannot be repeated again. I will return to these ideas next chapter.
70
It should be noted, however, that Peterson puts these three elements in a wider context and also
explores other innovations that occurred during 1955. For example, he argues the importance of
the legal system during this time in influencing music licensing and production (1990: 99-101),
various technological innovations for both broadcasting and music recording (1990: 101-2), and
changes to the structure of both the recorded music and radio and television broadcasting
industries (1990: 102-8). As a result of this intensive examination, it emerges that rock as a
musical tradition is not the only neonate or border-crosser here , but also associated infrastructure
such as new opportunities for ―careers in radio‖ (1990: 109-110) and ―careers in the record
business‖ (1990: 110-111).
69
48
account of rock‘s development, we see how crossover elements and products
themselves develop and enter into further crossovers. Thus, Elvis Presley was a
crossover popular music artist in the traditional sense,71 but Elvis the musician
also became Elvis the television and film attraction, which in turn also activated
other boundary-crossings, including drawing younger audiences to these media, as
well as drawing new socio-economic groups of audiences together.
Popular music and screen culture (both television and film) developed to forge a
relationship that continued to be mutually beneficial (Mundy, 1999: 82-122).
Mundy notes in particular however a crossover relationship between music and
screen as he describes as ―Elvis Presley and the exploitation of iconic success‖
(1999: 111). Although Mundy explores both broadcast radio and television as part
of Elvis‘ cross media/music success, he maintains that ―it was the way he looked,
just as much as how he sounded, that demanded attention and which created a
sensation‖ (Mundy, 1999: 113), and particularly, how Elvis extended the success
of audio/visual stars like film/popular music star Frank Sinatra by bridging
popular music and television. Mundy explained of Elvis‘ impact overall, ―what
made the difference was television, and the growing ubiquity of its representation
regime‖ (1999: 113). This is an acknowledgement of the specific geographical
and historical specificities of the rapidly developing domestic medium of
television and the explicitness of Presley‘s performance style aimed at teenagers
in their homes. Once this crossover was developed, television and popular music
could be seen to have each benefited from the changes. As Mundy continues,
Significantly, though Presley‘s growing number of television performances commanded
ever-larger fees and delivered much-needed improvements in ratings for flagging shows,
the institution of television started to make its own demands, beginning to assert control
over his performance exuberance and the cultural significance which surrounded it (1999:
114).
71
By this I mean the crossover as defined by David Brackett (1994; 2002) and the others cited on
page 2 of this chapter, but also specific descriptions such as this by Straw et al, ―Elvis Presley still
stands best for rock ‗n‘ roll itself, a glorious, flawed, youthful hybrid of American sounds—
rhythm and blues, country, bluegrass, black and white church music, easily listening ballads,
novelty numbers (2001: 74), and Middleton who argued ―Elvis Presley initiated a new phase in the
popularising of African American vocal techniques, combining them with influences from country
music to create a unique style full of hiccups, between-the-beat accents and striking register shifts,
from chest-voice baritone to falsetto‖ (2003: 166).
49
The success that could be achieved with crossing over a particular popular music
genre and television (and the demands that each could make on the other), was
developed beyond Presley with many other artists. As narratives of popular music
television like The Ed Sullivan Show demonstrated for example, ―an appearance
on the show was generally recognised as a critical factor in establishing and
maintaining a successful musical presence‖ (Inglis, 2006: 559), crossovers
between popular music and television which established territory which would in
later decades set the groundwork for the development of programming like music
video television (as I shall discuss in Chapter 4), but also cemented the
expectation that popular musicians should have a place on television, and
television should be an appropriate showcase for live performance (see further
detail in Chapter 2).
Music television like Ed Sullivan crossed over barriers of distance and taste,
encouraging mass audiences to engage with new popular music forms in a way
that the segmented radio market had not allowed. However, music television also
erected new boundaries. As Inglis argues, issues of censorship can be understood
by reference to the musicians and performances shown on the show, as sex
(famously censored with Elvis‘ depiction from the waist-up only; 2006: 566-8),
politics (as Bob Dylan was asked to sing something other than ―Talkin‘ John
Birch Society Blues‖; 2006: 560-1) and drugs (as The Doors were asked to
change the word ‗higher‘ on ―Light My Fire‖; 2006: 563-4), were all carefully
omitted from this crossover of music television. Interestingly, this crossover was
quite distinct from other popular music/media crossovers like radio, since, for
example, music television and the iconic Ed Sullivan were forced to revise their
policies when musicians like The Rolling Stones proved so popular with radio and
live audiences that television couldn‘t afford to avoid them completely. Although
Sullivan declared that he would never allow the band back on his show after their
first appearance in 1964,
as their commercial popularity and chart presence increased, they did in fact subsequently
reappear on several occasions—in May 1965, August 1966, and September 1966. By the
time of their fifth appearance, on January 10, 1967, the group was clearly one of the
world‘s most popular, if controversial, groups. They had toured the US five times, and
50
achieved four number one singles and two number one albums in that country (Inglis,
2006: 562).
This illustrates the complex interplay between popular music and television at this
time, and the redrawing of boundaries as the result of changes in audience
expectations for each.
Although Sullivan did not accommodate the Rolling
Stones without any compromise, with the band having to perform a modified
version of ―Let‘s Spend the Night Together‖ for the TV show (Inglis, 2006: 5612), this was clearly a negotiation that is unlikely to have been conducted earlier, as
the case cited earlier regarding Bob Dylan tends to suggest. However this
negotiation was two way between both the television host and musicians, with
The Rolling Stones‘ bass player Bill Wyman reportedly explaining that ‗‗the
value of that programme [The Ed Sullivan Show] was too great to jeopardize for
the promotion of the single. And it was the only reason we‘d flown to New York.
So we compromised‘‘ (Wyman in Inglis, 2006: 562).72
Prior to the Rolling Stones‘ final Ed Sullivan appearance a standard for popular
music style and performance on music television had been established. Sercombe
argued that ―The Beatles‘ appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show on the evening of
Sunday, February 9, 1964, marked the beginning of a new standard for promotion
and marketing‖ (Sercombe, 2006: 1), with this ―intensively orchestrated publicity
campaign‖ (ibid) designed to ‗cross‘ the English musicians into the American
market. The crossover was so dramatic at the time that it has often been called
―the British Invasion‖ (Sercombe, 2006:3). Beyond this theatrical rhetoric,
however, there is a deeper crossover between popular music and media. By
appearing on American television The Beatles consolidated their record industry
success in the US, but American television also benefited greatly from featuring
this distinctive musical act in prime time, as ―a record 73 million Americans
watched The Beatles on The Ed Sullivan Show‖ (Ehrenreich et al, 1992: 86), at
the time ―the largest audience in television history‖ (Sercombe, 2006: 8).
The crossover between this particular popular music group, The Beatles, and this
particular television show, The Ed Sullivan Show, has also been described in terms
72
In the next chapter I will discuss a similar interaction between radio and music, and then
television and music, in Australia.
51
of the birth of fan culture; Sercombe characterises this event as a catalyst to
explore ―the phenomenon of Beatlemania and its exploitation of the Beatle
‗industry‘‖ (2006: 2). Also using the Beatles/Ed Sullivan music/television
crossover as a pivotal point for discussion, Ehrenreich argued the importance of
another crossover that occurred, as ―Beatlemania was the first mass outburst of
the sixties to feature women ... it was the first and most dramatic uprising of
women‘s sexual revolution‖ (Ehrenreich et al, 1992: 85). This development of fan
culture, and the origins of a women‘s sexual revolution, was fuelled by the
crossover of popular music and television. The audio-visual depiction of The
Beatles performing and the young female studio audience responding captured a
changing dynamic between popular music performance and media reception. By
broadcasting the interaction for such mass numbers across America this
interaction was also authorised and promoted. Sercombe suggests that there was
some danger of the visual elements of the performance overshadowing the sonic,
since ―of the musical presentation, critics had little to say: they found the
appearance of The Beatles more interesting than their music, and the appearance
of their fans the most interesting at all‖ (2006: 9), however his assessment uses a
value system that is out of step with the 1960s conditions. For example, Sercombe
notes that during the Ed Sullivan performance one of the microphones was faulty
and the sound of The Beatles was uneven (2006: 10), however live sound at this
time would have typically been uneven given the constant sound of the young
female fans‘ screams. This audience reaction had not only been condoned, but
encouraged for the television performance, as Sullivan instructed his audience to
―keep it down while the other acts are on: [but] otherwise [when the Beatles are
on] you can do what you like‖ (Sullivan in Sercombe, 2006: 4).73 Fan culture as
an audio-visual interaction with popular music was authorised at this moment,
with Sullivan condoning a crossing of a hitherto impermeable border, permitting
the audience to participate, or even compete with, the television performance.
Sercombe concludes her study by addressing the historical impact of The
Beatles/Sullivan broadcast. Ironically, she argues ―it is no exaggeration to say that
on February 9, 1964, Ed Sullivan ... introduced a generation to its future‖ (2006:
73
For further discussions of popular music fandom pre-Beatlemania, see specifically Jon Savage‘s
work regarding Frank Sinatra and bobbysoxers (2007).
52
14), a claim that is in tension with aspects of her own study, since she also
acknowledged that ―contemporary commentaries about Beatlemania refer, then, to
a teenage culture that, to a large extent, excluded blacks and other minorities‖
(2006: 11). Indeed, the impact of this episode has also been demonstrated in an
equally hyperbolical narrative of The Beatles/Sullivan crossover by Wald in How
The Beatles Destroyed Rock and Roll (2009). Also focusing on the Sullivan music
performance, Wald argues
when The Beatles appeared on The Ed Sullivan Show, it was the last time a live
performance changed the course of American music … the whole idea of popular music
had changed … [but] whether that [television appearance] was liberating or limiting is a
matter of opinion and perception‖ (Wald, 2009: 247).
While Sercombe celebrated the overcoming of barriers that was achieved with
The Beatles/Sullivan performance, barriers between the live performance and
audience that were crossed over as the audience and musicians competed to be
seen and heard, Wald frames this crossover in terms of a lost opportunity. He uses
the overarching narrative proclaimed in his title, ‗How the Beatles destroyed
Rock and Roll‘ to confirm the importance of The Beatles, and particularly of this
crossover television/popular music event as a way of recognising the impact of
periods of rapid change. Wald focuses on what was lost by this crossover between
television and popular music, not denying the impact of The Beatles/Sullivan
moment, but applying a different value system to analyse its effect.74
Narratives of 1950s and 1960s music television crossover are dominated by the
development of forms of white pop and rock. However, the next notable
crossovers can be construed as responses to the wider emergence of black artists
and their influence in mainstream media and popular music culture. The
subsequent crossover of black artists into the white mainstream has already been
explored from a popular music point of view by Brackett (2002). As noted above,
Brackett uses the ‗crossover‘ to describe the mainstreaming of popular music, or
―the process by which a song becomes successful on one chart after success on a
74
Wald also uses this tactic to explore other previously overlooked areas of popular music history.
For example, prior to The Beatles‘ impact in the 1960s he presents a crossover of the radio and the
music industry ―The record, the song, and the radio‖ (2009: 84-96), Wald urges his readers to
remember that ―the 1930s and 40s brought instrumental performers to the forefront of popular
music in a way they never had been before and never would again, and a lot of people still recall
this period as a golden age of American music‖ (Wald, 2009: 96).
53
different chart (usually moving from the margins to the mainstream)‖ (2002: 6970), and demonstrates this process in a musical and social comparison between
Michael Jackson‘s ‗Billie Jean‘ and George Jones‘ ‗Atomic Dog‘ in order to gain
insight into why one crossed over (Jackson) and the other did not (Jones). I want
to extend this crossover narrative here to explore Jackson‘s achievements as a
popular music and television crossover artist.75 In doing so I acknowledge, and
build on, Austen‘s chapter on Michael Jackson in his study TV a-go-ao: Rock on
TV from American Bandstand to American Idol (2005: 249-94), and Delmont‘s
article ―Michael Jackson & Television Before Thriller‖ (2010).
Jackson first gained popular music and television crossover attention with his
appearances with The Jackson 5ive/Five as a young boy.76 With these
performances Jackson‘s impact was consolidated with a combination of his image
and sound, as the visibly young performer displaying sophistication in his singing
and dancing that surpassed many much older performers. This apparent disparity
was encouraged to ―enhance the band‘s appeal‖ (Austen, 2005: 254), as Jackson
was urged to exaggerate the disparity between his age and skill set.77 This
combination of Jackson‘s black television appearance with his sophisticated
sound continued to cross barriers to mainstream (predominantly white) culture.
During the band‘s appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show in 1969 Jackson‘s
obviously childish appearance but masterful musical ability helped them break
beyond the usual racial boundaries which framed this program, as in ―playing for
whites on a white production … the show worked hard to present them [all of The
Jacksons] as harmless kids as opposed to threatening black men‖ (ibid).78
Jackson‘s status as an apparent ―infant icon‖ (Cashmore, 1997: 117) also helped
him cross racial boundaries to satisfy black audiences, with his age allowing him
to display his ethnicity in a relatively unthreatening way. Writing about the racial
75
This is a crossover that has been explored to some degree with studies of Jackson‘s success with
music video (an examination I will return to in Chapter 4), but here I want to show Jackson‘s preMTV triumphs in particular.
76
The band began as The Jackson 5ive, however they have also been commonly referred to as The
Jackson Five, and later, they changed their name to The Jacksons.
77
Austen notes here that in an interview with Dick Clark on American Bandstand Jackson told the
host he was nine even though he was eleven (2005: 254).
78
Jackson was also taught to demonstrate his own musical cross-border influences as well, as
during an interview with Dick Clark in 1970 he displayed a clear affinity with James Brown
musically, but he ―told the white host and white audience of this white show that he most dug The
Beatles; Blood, Sweat and Tears; and Three Dog Night‖ (Austen, 2005: 254).
54
politics that black performers often engaged with during the 1960s and into the
1970s, Cashmore praised the band‘s iconic Afro haircuts, 79 but notes that when a
publicist for the band was asked if ―[the Jacksons‘] hairstyles ‗had something to
do with Black Power,‘ the question was met with a sharp riposte. ‗These are
children, not adults,‘ the publicist snapped, ‗Let‘s not get into that‘‖ (ibid).
Therefore while Cashmore argues that ―for a black band to be utterly devoid of
political awareness would have been suicide‖ (ibid), it seems there was an
exception to this if the band were children.
Over time Michael Jackson progressed from a Motown popular music/television
crossover to become a high profile pioneer in the emerging genre of disco. Like
rock and roll before it, disco has already been incorporated into existing popular
music based crossover narratives, and in particular emphasising its difference
from rock music. Rock had been dominated by white male performances, but
disco crossed the previously bordered territories that had been defined by rock
music‘s formation, engaging a more diverse performer and audience base,
including women, black performers, and more androgynous imagery and
presentation. With disco came a new period of intense change, and a new pattern
of birth and death narratives, depending on the preference of the commentator. As
Garofalo explains,
The most visceral anti-disco reactions came from the hard rock/heavy metal axis of
popular music. FM rock radio followed its audience almost instinctively by initiating antidisco campaigns. Slogans like ‗death to disco‘ and ‗disco sucks‘ were as much racial (and
sexual) epithets as they were statements of musical preference (1993: 242).
The initial implication is that FM rock radio led an anti-disco campaign because it
was afraid to lose its audience to the new music form. It is a struggle to preserve
the borders defining rock as a musical style, but also a particular audience (white,
masculine, heterosexual). Disco‘s impact has also been explored with other
crossover narratives such as Simon Reynolds‘ postulation of ―Post-Rock‖ (1995),
a genre whose name clearly indicates the boundary (and ideology) that has been
crossed. As Reynolds argues, with post-rock, musicians crossed instrumental
79
Prior to this Cashmore had argued the importance of these hairstyles as visual statements, ―[the
Jackson 5ive] would be taught to assimilate in such a way as to make them acceptable to a mainly
white market‖ however ―the very fact they wore Afro hairdos suggested a minimal identification
with what [racial politics] was going on around them‖ (1997: 117).
55
divides and practices, including guitars which focus on ―timbre and texture rather
than riff and powerchord … [and] with digital technology such as samplers and
sequencers‖ (1995: 27); as well as overcoming barriers of ideology: ―post-rock
abandons the notion of rebellion as we know it, in favour of less spectacular
methods of subversion‖ (1995: 28); and finally previous social and racial barriers
to entry, as the ―white teenage boy, his middle finger erect and a sneer playing
across his lips‖, of rock is replaced with a post-rock ―phantasmic un-body,
androgynous and racially indeterminate; half ghost, half machine‖ (ibid).
Michael Jackson‘s crossover between white and black musical and television
cultures during the 1960s and 1970s continued into the 1980s and through the
ultimate music/television crossover form of music video. As Susan Fast argued,
with music video Jackson again exploited his audio/visual difference from his
competitors. She makes a direct link between Jackson‘s 1960s and 1980s success
by arguing that his ―difference as a performer is what made people around the
globe flock to him from the time he was a little boy, what eventually gave him the
biggest-selling record of all time (Thriller), [and] what made us call him a genius‖
(2010: 259). Writing historically much closer to the event, Harper explored the
1980s as a period of ―particularly intense crossover activity‖ (1989: 102), and
music video has been widely explored as a marker of intense change in both
music and television, particularly in the US market with the development of MTV
as a new model for television delivery in that country (the rise of cable
television‘s dominance), and as a way to create new types of popular music
markets. Michael Jackson‘s impact as a music video artist, as someone whose
appeal could equally draw audiences to the music and television industries, has
been examined since the 1980s and often as if this in itself was the launch of his
career. Indeed, music video, as opposed to American networked television,
travelled internationally to almost every region with a television industry, and
Jackson did, indeed, become an international music and international television
crossover artist. Notably, too, Jackson was one of the few black artists to
dominate the predominantly white landscape of early MTV.
Jackson‘s appeal in local American music video television, as well as
international music/television crossovers is rivaled perhaps only by Madonna,
56
another artist who benefited from the boundaries redrawn by music video and the
post-rock, disco and beyond audio/visual crossover environment. Jackson and
Madonna could be understood as using the new music/television crossover form
through similar means (if not for opposing outcomes), as ―a man [like Jackson]
whose focus is not on sex is as revolutionary as a woman, like Madonna, whose
is‖ (Fast, 2010: 264). Madonna‘s depiction of female sexuality with the
music/television crossover of music video has been most commented on because
of the way she challenged what role (if any) women had in popular music and
television during the 1980 and into the 1990s particularly. In showing herself as
both the object of the gaze, as well as the gazer, Madonna used the
music/television address of music video to cross existing behavioural boundaries
for young women and for sexuality generally, as demonstrated by her dominance
in collections such as Madonnarama: Essays on Sex and Culture (Frank and
Smith eds, 1993). In addition, wider questions of acceptable displays of
nationality, religion and consumer culture have also been explored through studies
of Madonna‘s work, as for example in ―Justify My Ideology: Madonna and
Traditional Values‖ (Wilson and Markle, 1992).
Beyond individual music video artists, the music/television monolith MTV also
established new boundaries particularly relating to race and visual presentation of
music/television. MTV‘s birth and intensive commericalisation of popular music
has also been called a death of other forms of independent, alternative forms of
musical expression. This form of crossover, and the debates about the boundaries
constructed and demolished by music video television, is what I will explore in
chapter three in detail, looking at how it emerged from a period of change, but
also how in many places music video has not been displaced by other crossovers
such as music/online interactions.
3. THE PURPOSE OF BIRTH AND DEATH NARRATIVES: AN
AUSTRALIAN PERSPECTIVE
While popular music and media studies have evolved as separate fields, they
nonetheless have many complementary concerns and possible points of
intersection. In the next chapter I shall explore the relationship between the
57
popular music and media industries in more depth, focusing on the development
of these industries in Australia during the twentieth century. I am narrowing focus
to one country in order to explore this crossover in more detail, but I am also
looking at these crossovers within a specific region, one where geographical
distance from western cultural centres like Europe and the US is a significant
factor. I will also compare the Australian experience to international markets
(expanding on some of the ideas in the previous section of this chapter),
examining how, if at all, this market has been distinctive, and thus setting up a
framework within which to consider current changes and activities in the
Australian popular music and media.
Periods of change in Australia have also been marked by narratives of ‗birth‘ and
‗death‘, and I will explore these narratives in the Australian context to identify
and investigate crossover points and the crossover products that emerged over
time. In addition I will use these narratives to identify cycles of change in music
and media, showing how these cycles have been created and recreated by
commentary written during periods of flux. In tightening focus to the Australian
market, I hope to show that there is a relationship formed between the music and
media industries that often diverges from more generalised studies such as
convergence and cultural industries, and that by examining popular music and
media specifically during these times of change, new insights can be gained into
the current industrial cycle both sectors are experiencing. I will show that
individual markets like Australia have experienced unique versions of
international periods of flux, and these result in distinctive popular music and
media products. Australia‘s relative geographic isolation and small population
have meant that crossovers between music and media have been conducted in
ways specific to this region, and developed to meet specific and distinctive
changes in that territory. My purpose is to articulate how this experience has, to
date, differed from the dominant models of US/European music/media crossovers,
thus also establishing a platform for understanding how contemporary Australian
popular music and media interact and meet the needs of their audience.
58
CHAPTER TWO: OVERCOMING THE TYRANNY OF DISTANCEA HISTORICAL CYCLE OF POPULAR MUSIC AND MEDIA BORDER
CROSSINGS IN AUSTRALIA
Following the previous chapter‘s broad exploration of crossovers between popular
music and media, I want to narrow focus now to explore crossovers of media and
popular music in Australia. Australian popular music and media have also
changed over time in conjunction with developments in technology, and cultural
and industrial practices, but this chapter also investigates the ideological borders
often underpinned by Australia‘s relative geographical isolation, borders that have
often been keys to defining Australia‘s cultural and industrial identities generally.
My emphasis on Australia is at once pragmatic (so as to mark out a relatively
manageable sample size for this thesis), but also a way to further develop the
exploration of crossovers in popular music and media by looking at how these
function in a specific region.
This chapter will also establish a pattern of narratives relating to music/media
crossovers, demonstrating that such changes have occurred regularly over time.
Such patterns of change have already been investigated internationally in
anthologies such as Rethinking Media Change (Thorburn, Jenkins, Seawell eds,
2003) and Critical Theories of Mass Media: Then and Now (Taylor and Harris,
2008), and in my previous chapter I have presented a survey of international
patterns of crossover and associated narratives of birth and death as markers of
transition. However I will show that Australian media and media industries have
developed in a way that has been significantly different from their international
counterparts, with this distinctiveness often arising from the borders created by
distance. I shall continue to examine ‗birth‘ and ‗death‘ rhetoric to identify
crossovers and their consequences in Australia during the twentieth century. This
chapter is divided into three sections, each dealing with a particular historical
period and characterised by a particular combination of technological, industrial
and cultural developments in Australia. In each, I explore a combination of source
material (that is, birth and death narratives written during the period in question),
as well material written later as retrospective accounts of birth and death. By this
method I will assess the status and accuracy of the claims, and also explore the
59
motivations behind them, showing that narratives of birth and death written during
a period of change are often constructed for markedly different purposes from
those written years later as retrospectives. I will show that birth and death
narratives have been harnessed in Australia at key points in the development of
the media and music industry for specific purposes. These enquiries will also
reflect aspects of the evolution of Australian identity and show how stakeholders
in our discourses of nation positioned themselves strategically in the formation of
that identity
The first period covered is 1901 to 1945, beginning with the Federation of
Australia and extending to the end of the Second World War. Over this period the
relationship between the music and broadcasting industries was harnessed by
government and community leaders as a way of advancing a sense of unification
across the Australian continent and confirming the newly established Australian
nation. Second I will explore the period between 1946 and the late 1970s, centred
on 1956 as a ‗big bang‘, or birth period of change comparable to the influence of
1955 in the American market. I will conclude at the period of change that began in
the 1980s, the period of change that preceded largely digital dissemination and
consumption and one that initiated calls of the death of media and music models
that had dominated for decades prior. As with the previous chapter, crossover
studies between music and broadcasting will be emphasised as manifestations of
the evolving interaction between the two industries and the purposes and
functions of those interactions. This chapter‘s focus on historical periods of crisis
in the Australian market, and the resulting birth and death narratives and
crossovers, demonstrates how these tropes can be used to help us learn about the
evolution of national identity and the importance of local conditions when
considering international phenomena. Australian birth and death narratives, as
they are created during periods of change but also retrospectively as histories of
change, show how, provide insight into why, stakeholders in our discourses of
nation position themselves strategically.
60
1. THE ‘LONELY BUSH’ AND EARLY PERIODS OF CHANGE MARKED
BY BIRTHS AND DEATHS
The relationship between the music and media industries can first be observed
with the development of radio in Australia, which was bound up with one of the
most significant ‗birth‘ narratives in our post-European settlement history: the
birth of the Australian nation with the achievement of Federation in 1901.80 One
of the first acts of the federated Australian government was the introduction of the
Post and Telegraph Act of 1901, followed by the Wireless Telegraphy Act of
1905, pieces of legislation designed to facilitate the ―federalising of
telecommunications in Australia‖ (Livingston, 1994: 97), to give ―the new
commonwealth government … control of postal, telegraphic, and telephonic
services‖ (Evans, 1983: 237) and ultimately to ensure that a national ―postmastergeneral was responsible for planning the orderly development of all radio
services‖ (Evans, 1983: 237).81 Telecommunications, and the eventual
development of broadcasting, was essential to fulfilling the promise that the 1901
legal federation had initiated, as with the establishment of national forms of
communication Australians across the continent could be united in practice rather
than just on paper. The development of popular music and broadcasting of sound
across distance was paramount to this process of national unification.
In this section I will explore significant periods of crossover between music and
radio and its role in defeating what historian Geoffrey Blainey called ‗the tyranny
of distance‘ (1968; 2001). In The Tyranny of Distance: How Distance Shaped
Australia‟s History (1968; 2001), Blainey argued that Australia has lain under ―a
tyranny of distance‖ (1968, 2001), to the extent that ―distance is as characteristic
of Australia as mountains are of Switzerland‖ (2001: ix).82 Blainey explores
80
With Federation, the hitherto separate states of New South Wales, Victoria, Queensland, South
Australia, Western Australia and Tasmania were legally unified as the new Australian nation. For
an overview of Australian Federation see Hirst (1998b: 243-4).
81
For a more detailed discussion of this consolidation see Livingston (1994) and Moyal (1983). As
Livingston notes however, despite this promising Act of 1905, it took some time for radio services
to be legalized and formalized, as the Australian government ―struggled for more than two decades
to develop an efficient and economical service for the Australian public‖ (1994: 116).
82
Blainey famously described Australia‘s ―tyranny of distance‖ (1968, 2001) as its key feature
and challenge. His account, although originally used as a key to the colonial history of Australia,
has remained relevant to Australia‘s dispersed demography (with great distances dividing the
61
several periods of rapid change in Australian history using distance as a marker,
and the border created by geographical and ideological distance has remained
powerful even after formal processes of national and international unification. As
in the previous chapter where I argued that the emphasis in birth and death
narratives reflects the value system of the individual narrator, here I will look at
individual instances at key points in Australian popular music and radio history in
order to understand what was felt to be gained or lost by crossovers during times
of change. I will compare narratives written during periods of change with those
written retrospectively in order to demonstrate how birth and death narratives, and
subsequently crossovers, are considered differently by those with different vested
interests.
1.1 Establishing the ‘music, song and story’ of Australia with the first crossovers
between popular music and radio
In a speech at the opening of the Wireless and Electrical Exhibition in Sydney on
12 December, 1923, Federal Member of Parliament Earle Page argued that with
radio the ―word ‗lonely‘ will be eliminated from Australian life‖ (Page quoted by
Warhaft, 2004: 540), and in particular, he referred to the unification of Australian
audiences across great distances as with ―wireless ‗the music, song and story‘ of
our city can be spread to the most remote of country homes‖ (Page quoted by
Warhaft, 2004: 540). Page‘s emphasis on delivering music and song as well as
the stories of the city importantly discloses the specific innovation that radio
brought about; these aural forms could not previously travel without being
translated to written notation, or via a very slow process of live touring. It also
discloses the national unification agenda of this commentator, and highlights the
importance of a multi-modal address in creating a sense of national identity and
population across the continent), but also to Australia‘s geographic isolation from its cultural and
political allies in Europe and the USA. Blainey identifies both ‗distance‘ from cultural centres
such as the US and UK, and within Australian borders. In a recent updating of his 1966
monograph Blainey reassessed the relationship, noting in particular how changes in
communications may have affected the impact of distance for Australia. He wrote that the study of
the ‗tyranny of distance‘ ―is essentially about the flow of people and commodities, and for them
the cost of distance has usually been high. But for ideas, the freight has usually been cheap …
Commentators now challenge the relevance of distance to the shrinking world of the twenty-first
century. In one sense they are correct … But distance and isolation, while somewhat tamed,
remain influential‖ (Blainey, 2001: xi).
62
unification. The relative isolation that Page describes is less familiar to the
experience of a reader of the 2004 reproduction of his commentary, and the
possibility of a sense of Australian nationalism without the complicity of a
multimedia ‗music, song and story‘ is almost unimaginable. However Page‘s
narrative is important as it proclaims a period of significant changes and
particularly the barriers that they overcame. Federation in 1901 provided a legal
and ideological link between the Australian citizens spread across the continent,
however much distance remained an obvious practical barrier in times of more
primitive communication systems. When radio began in Australia it promised to
help develop the Australian nation by consolidating the unity across distance that
federation had promised, and allowed music to travel in ways that were previously
impossible.83 Page‘s excitement at the unification of the city and country, and of
the development of a national aural as well as visual culture, was generated by the
sudden and unprecedented nature of the change radio promised to provide.
While these borders have long since been redrawn, that process of change is
comparable with more contemporary periods of flux. Page‘s enthusiasm for
overcoming the barriers of distance between urban and rural Australians, or
bringing an end of the concept of the ―lonely bush‖ (ibid),84 is a theme that has
also been explored by later commentators of periods of change in Australia. Prior
to Page‘s speech in 1923, Ian Bedford and Ross Curnow describe ―what appears
to be the first public demonstration of broadcasting … given in Sydney by [E.T]
Fisk before the Royal Society on 13 August 1919‖ (1963: 93). They note this was
the first time ―music was ‗broadcast‘ by wireless‖ (ibid),85 a detail they include as
83
For example, Livingston notes that prior to Federation, ―there were regular intercolonial
gatherings‖ such as ―intercolonial trade union conferences, intercolonial church conferences and
intercolonial cricket matches‖ (1994: 117); the omission of intercolonial arts from this list invites
further inquiry. Were music and other artistic endeavors also shared during this period leading up
to, and immediately following federation, and if not, when did a national artistic tradition begin?
Did music feature, and if so, to what end? This is beyond the scope of this project, but remains a
significant avenue for further inquiry.
84
Page‘s reference here to the ―lonely bush‖ is an image that had been prominent in Australian
folklore prior to radio‘s introduction, with poets including Henry Lawson expressing similar
concerns while writing narratives of Australia at the turn of the century. As Clarke argued,
Lawson‘s work was often characterised by ―lonely bush types‖ (1965: 71). Clarke doesn‘t specify
here, but see for example Lawson‘s 1895 poem ―The Star of Australasia‖, where he describes the
plight of a man enduring ―The living death in the lonely bush‖ (Lawson, 2004: 62).
85
The inverted commas around ‗broadcast‘ are here as they were in the original, and although
Bedford and Curnow do not go into detail in this section, Inglis, writing much later, offers the
63
part of their wider investigation of historical technological and industrial
innovation in Australia to demonstrate the relative novelty of the new device.86
Bedford and Curnow cite accounts of the event from Melbourne newspaper The
Argus of 15 August, 1919, and when I consulted the original article it became
clear that a crossover between music and broadcasting was part of a more
complicated agenda than Bedford and Curnow acknowledge. The original gives
great prominence to the presence of music at the demonstration, indeed the title of
the report was ―Music By Wireless‖ (The Argus, 1919: 6), and the 1919
newspaper details how and what musical content was present;
a gramophone was played into a wireless telephone transmitter … The music was clearly
audible in all parts of the hall. The lecture was suitably closed with the audience standing
while the National Anthem was played by wireless telephone (ibid).
Versions of this Argus report also appeared in newspapers across the country in
the days following this event,87 with each foregrounding the importance of the
junction between music and broadcasting in gaining audience support. During this
rapid period of change audience attention was attracted both by the technology in
itself (the ability to transfer sound across distance without loss of volume and
quality), but also by the musical content of the transmission. The national anthem
provided an ideological message of unity, which is why this detail was included in
nationally circulated reports of an event taking place in Sydney. As such, here was
a demonstration of how the crossover between an emerging broadcasting industry
in radio, and music, was being formed in Australia.
Joseph Deimer (1996) also presents a birth narrative of Australian broadcasting
focused on this 1919 Sydney test. He argues that the birth of broadcasting in
explanation, ―[the 1919 demonstration] was point-to-point telephony rather than broadcasting, but
that activity was imminent‖ (Inglis, 2006a: 7).
86
Bedford and Curnow‘s study is part of a ―Sydney Studies in Politics‖ series and the discussion
of radio quoted here is from the monograph, Initiative and Organisation which includes several
chapters ―The Origins of Australian Broadcasting, 1900-1923‖ (1963: 47-120). They do
acknowledge, however, that ―there is a great deal of argument as to who was the ‗first‘ in this
field‖ (1963: 118), and much of the authors‘ emphasis is on industrial development rather than a
focus on what content was developed for these emerging industries.
87
The report that appeared in The Argus here seems to have been circulated in newspapers across
the country, appearing with the same wording under the heading ―By Wireless: Gramophone
Concert‖ in the Sydney Morning Herald on 15 August 1919 (SMH, 1919: 7), as ―Music by
Wireless‖ in The Hobart Mercury on 20 August, 1919 (Mercury, 1919: 4) and ―Wireless
Telephony‖ in Brisbane Courier on 19 August, (Brisbane Courier, 1919: 8). These duplications
suggest that a press release or other official wire was issued in consultation with Fisk and AWA
(Amalgamated Wireless Australasia).
64
Australia was tied to a desire to cross international borders and communicate with
the rest of the world, and like local commentaries on the event, he included the
relationship between broadcasting and music in effecting this change. Deimer
explained,
because of Australia‘s magnificent distance …. Australians had to actively seek the
signals that kept them in touch with the folks ‗back home‘, whether back home was
Europe, Asia or the Americas. In 1919, the first demonstration of wireless technology
took place (a broadcast of the British national anthem ‗God Save the King‘) (1996: 292).
This account, published in a collection of international broadcasting histories,
includes details of the relationship between broadcasting and the delivery of a
specific piece of music. However, the details of this relationship and the borders
that are drawn and redrawn, are constructed to promote the author‘s agenda.
Deimer‘s description of ‗God Save The King‘ as the British national anthem
emphasises an international imperial theme, but overlooks the nationalist
dimension of the process in failing to acknowledge that ‗God Save The King‘ was
actually also the Australian national anthem. However, his point about the
music/broadcasting crossover remains. Distance was a barrier that Australians
sought to overcome, and a music and broadcasting crossover helped to achieve
this, uniting the country through technologised dissemination of musical
narratives.
Radio and music were engaged with each other formally in public in 1919, but
more generally 1923 is cited as a more important innovatory moment.88 In an oftcited study,89 Mick Counihan explores the point of change at which the ―the
public, which came to be called the radio ‗audience‘‖ was developed
(Counihan1982: 196), being careful to acknowledge that ―an audience did not
spontaneously constitute itself when broadcasting began, nor did it automatically
accrue as more stations went to air‖ (ibid). This period of change can be
understood as having been characterised by a radio/music crossover, particularly
as Counihan continues to explain that the ―particular program format that
88
See for example Griffen-Foley (2009; 2004); Johnson (1988) and Potts (1989).
Initially Counihan‘s study was presented as a MA study on early Australian broadcasting at
Monash University, ―The Construction of Australian Broadcasting: Aspects of Australian Radio in
the 1920s (1981), and parts of his unpublished thesis are also sometimes acknowledged. For
example, see the reproduction of part of this thesis in the edited collection Stay Tuned: An
Australian Broadcasting Reader (Moran, 1992).
89
65
characterised early radio … [was] the ‗radio concert‘ model since the premier
event in the schedule was the 8 o‘clock concert each night, and much of the rest of
the daily program was music as well‖ (Counihan, 1982: 202). Counihan continued
that ―the [broadcast music] program was an extension of the musical theatre and
concert hall‖ (ibid), an observation drawing on international broadcasting studies
such as those by Raymond Williams.90 The ‗extension‘ of the existing music
industry that was brought about by broadcasting, was as much a birth of a new
sector of the music industry as it was of the newly developed platform of
broadcasting.
Counihan argued that ―the musical program was from the
beginning synonymous with broadcasting‖ (1982: 202), clearly showing how the
relationship between radio and music helped to consolidate the crossover from
live music audiences to the domestic radio music listener. For Counihan this was a
matter for optimism, a positive crossover, the birth of a new tradition.
Counihan‘s positive description of the crossover between music and broadcasting
implies a birth that was relatively painless and generally beneficial. However
other narratives written during the 1980s about the 1920s suggest otherwise,
particularly those focused on the effect that radio programming was having on the
music that was broadcast. In his study of early Australian jazz, Bruce Johnson
argued that radio ―hastened the decline of the first [Australian] jazz era by glutting
the air waves with music‖ (1987: 13). For Johnson, radio broadcasting
jeopardized the thing that had made Australian jazz locally unique to this point;
the variety of different sounds and approaches that were all described as ‗jazz‘.
Regional Australia‘s relative isolation from its own, as well as international jazz
‗centres‘, created a unique environment for local jazz developments. As Johnson
argued, this early isolation from outside influence encouraged the development of
distinct and different types of shows and sounds. Writing in the 1980s, he invited
readers to consider what had been lost with the crossover of music and radio in
history of early Australian jazz;
90
Drawing on Raymond Williams‘ work, Counihan asserts ―Broadcasting was a new distribution
apparatus, relaying a range of pre-existing genres. Listeners attended to the music that was already
provided in a variety of venues or, courtesy of sheet music, on the family piano. They heard the
news that newspapers had already printed, the talks that eminent men delivered at businessmen‘s
lunches, the instructional chats on gardening, fashion or childcare given to mothers‘ clubs‖ (1982:
202-3).
66
To assume that every so-called jazz band in Australia was presenting to its audience the
sound of Red Nichols is dubious in the extreme, and depending on where they lived, the
Australian public was probably coming to perceive the musical characteristics of jazz as
anything from the innovative sounds of Frank Ellis to honks, whistles, farmyard effects,
and antics by musicians in funny costumes like clown suits (Johnson, 1987: 9).
Johnson suggests that before the radio/music crossover Australian jazz had been
characterized by complex and unique local traditions formed and protected by
relative geographic isolation. This uniqueness was marked by the diversity of
sounds and images that were developed to suit particular audiences and
performance spaces, including the use of unconventional music performance
styles and instruments. Since the 1920s radio provided a method of delivering
music quickly across vast distances, and as such, audience and musical
expectations of the genre in Australia had changed. Johnson argued that in the
radio/jazz crossover, not only local heterogeneities disappeared under the
standardizing influence of the new medium, but that in addition the music ―had
been killed by over-exposure on radio‖ (ibid). Johnson‘s retrospective narrative
provides insight into the history of the form in Australia and its subsequent
evolution in less mediated sites: ―it is this ‗underground‘ [jazz] activity which
continues to be the main source of the music‘s vitality, and is where it continues
to express something essential, spontaneous, and unruly about our culture‖ (1987:
63).
Australian newspapers from the 1920s also explored the crossover between music
and broadcasting. In his regular column ―Progress in Wireless‖ in The Argus on
26th July 1923,91 Metre reported,
The marvellous development of wireless broadcasting in America and England has been
followed with considerable attention by musicians, singers and actors, and by proprietors
of theatres and the makers of gramophones and records. It has been contended by many
theatre proprietors, particularly in England, that if the public could hear famous singers or
91
―Progress in Wireless‖ was a semi-regular column that first appeared in The Argus on 21st of
January, 1922. The writer Metre used the column initially to report on the technological
developments in wireless, then, however began to discuss the wider implications for its application
as radio was launched commercially in the UK and US. According the records accessible via the
National Library of Australia online (accessed via http://ndpbeta.nla.gov.au, searches performed
15/5/09), a number of ―Progress in Wireless‖ columns were produced between January 1922 and
July 1927, when the column was incorporated into a ―Wireless Page‖ as of 2nd August 1927, a
regular entry which contained ―Week‘s programs for all states; Special Articles [and] News and
Comments‖ (3BD, 1927: 5).
67
actors by means of wireless technology they would not trouble to attend the theatres and
theatrical business would rapidly be ruined. A similar position was adopted by the
theatrical managers in America in the early days of broadcasting (Metre, 1923: 5).
Although the writer does not explicitly use the term ‗death‘ here, he clearly
recognizes radio as a potential threat to audiences for live entertainment industries
in Australia. Interestingly, the columnist also reports the benefits of radio in the
same article, as he recounts the financial success some American theatres had
enjoyed following radio broadcasting of their plays, where ―on the night of the
broadcast of the performance the box office receipts at the theatre increased by
nearly 100 pounds‖ (Metre, 1923:5), a pattern that was repeated in the subsequent
weeks during which broadcasting of the performance continued. Metre‘s message
of anticipation served to encourage readers to continue to follow his work in
coming editions (as his column name proclaimed, to follow the ‗Progress in
Wireless‘), as he sought to assess the ways in which radio might redraw borders in
the future.
1.2 The ABC: the first comprehensive Australian broadcast and music network
During the 1920s and into the 1930s, commercial broadcasters focused their
efforts on territories with large populations, primarily Sydney and Melbourne,
while the rest of Australia remained largely out of broadcasting reach. As such,
narratives of the development of Australian broadcasting during this time are
really narratives of Sydney or Melbourne broadcasting, a regionalism that
remained entrenched until the foundation of the Commonwealth funded ABC
(Australian Broadcasting Commission) in 1932. As reported by Ian Mackay in his
pioneering 1957 study Broadcasting in Australia, ―The Australian [broadcasting]
system finally emerged when the Australian Commission Act was passed in
1932‖ (1957: 3),92 marking the arrival of a unified system to deliver services to
92
Mackay notes the period of commercial broadcasting gestation, but argues that ―from 1923 to
1932 broadcasting [in Australia] developed in a very hap-hazard fashion, and these nine years may
be regarded a period of laissez-faire‖ (1957: 3). See also Lesley Johnson‘s The Unseen Voice,
which takes its title from a birth narrative of the ABC which attempted to assert one of many
possible ‗beginnings‘ for radio in Australia. Here she uses the ABC as a starting point for a new
model of broadcasting in Australia (the public service model), but also as a marker for when the
medium became more culturally accepted in this country, arguing that here is a ―transition—the
way in which people stopped treating radio as a marvellous piece of technology and became
68
Australians across the country. Mackay argued that what was developed was a
unique system to meet the particular needs of the Australian context; ―the
Australian system of broadcasting is not a replica of the British, American or any
other system, but a method of broadcasting that is applicable to our local
conditions and is responsive to democratic influence‖ (1957: 1).93
I begin with this 1957 study because Mackay‘s work has remained influential for
more recent commentators and historians of Australian broadcasting.94 Mackay
differentiates between the establishment of broadcasting companies and stations
in various parts of Australia (‗births‘ like Sydney in 1923),95 and the
establishment of a broadcasting system that would attempt to engage audiences
across the country. His points of emphasis are constructed in response to specific
developments that were occurring in the broadcast industry as he wrote in the
1950s.96 Mackay uses the ABC as a starting point for a narrative of sustainable
nation-wide broadcasting, arguing that prior to the ABC‘s establishment ―those
controlling [broadcasting] capital adopted a short-sighted policy in relation to
coverage and were not prepared to extend activities to the less populated areas‖
(1957: 2). The government funded ABC changed this, ensuring
the best possible program service for listeners throughout Australia … [delivery of] a
wide variety of taste and requirements in fields of drama, music, variety, news and
information … [and the capacity] to foster and sustain Australian talent in speaking,
music, drama and writing (Mackay, 1957: 39).
accustomed to an ‗unseen voice‘ as domestic companion, as a normal and necessary part of their
everyday lives‖ (Johnson, 1988: 1).
93
Here Mackay refers to ―The British System‖ (1957: 6-9) and ―The American System‖ (1957: 910), distinguishing them from ―the Australian system‖, which he defines as ―a compromise
between the rigid system of Great Britain and that of the United States‖ (1957: 11) because of its
incorporation of both commercial and public service broadcasting. He continues, ―This is the
Australian system of broadcasting – the requirements of Australians are served by two systems
[the ABC and commercial broadcasting], each operating independently of each other‖ (1957: 12).
94
See also Bedford and Curnow (1963), Mundy (1982), Potts (1989) and Griffen-Foley (2009)
95
Specifically, see his chapter ―Background and Origins‖ (Mackay, 1957: 16-34).
96
While Griffen-Foley cites Mackay‘s work in both her 2004 and 2009 studies, I should note here,
however, that one significant difference between Griffen-Foley and Mackay is in her latest
publication (2009), where she explicitly challenges early claims about the ABC, arguing that
―commercial radio frequently challenged the ABC‘s claims to be the ‗national‘ broadcaster from
the 1930s to at least the 1950s ... commercial radio has a history of comparable diversity,‖ (2009:
419). As I show later in this chapter, Mackay‘s publication can also be understood as another
larger narrative, since its launch in 1957, around the time that television was being developed in
Australia, can be considered as part of a wider agenda to stave off a possible ‗death‘ threat from
that then new medium.
69
Mackay‘s inclusion of music here recalls Page‘s 1923 speech about the
importance of delivering a unified music, song and story in the creation of a sense
of Australian nationhood. Mackay‘s emphasis on the ABC‘s role in creating a
sustainable artistic model, in which Australian talent could be ‗foster[ed] and
sustain[ed]‘, also reflects the value placed on a broadcasting/music crossover
during this time. The emphasis on the sustainability of local artistic production
and creation accurately reflects the ABC‘s mission when it began, 97 as well as a
reflection of the broadcasting/music crossover that had developed at the time of
Mackay‘s publication in 1957. As he continues, ―one of the most notable
achievements of the ABC has been the tremendous encouragement it has given to
music and as a result [the organisation] has emerged as trustee for our musical
welfare‖ (Mackay, 1957: 67). Ending his study with a section about the possible
future for broadcasting in Australia, Mackay argues ―Australian broadcasting is
permanent and indestructible provided we remember that ‗the trick to saying alive
is to act alive‘‖ (1957: 206). Mackay‘s narrative of the origins of the ABC as a
national broadcasting service, and a provider of a national crossover between
broadcasting and music, is shaped in direct response to a period of change that
was happening at the time he was writing. As I will show in the next section, this
1950s attempt to rally enthusiasm for a national broadcasting system can be
understood as a direct reaction to the rapid changes in the commercial sector at the
time. I will show that the commercial sector‘s fragmentation and increased
international programming in radio and television during the 1950s threatened the
bounded territory the ABC had created, the uniformity of a nation-wide service
delivering local content, and particularly music.
A more recent, but equally influential narrative of the history of Australian
broadcasting is KS Inglis‘s study This is the ABC (1983; 2006a).98 Inglis, like
Mackay before him, emphasises the importance of the ABC‘s nation-wide system
of broadcasting, detailing twelve ABC stations that were opened across Australia
97
For example, Mackay provides historical evidence of the ABC‘s initial music/broadcasting
crossover, stating, ―The Australian Broadcasting Commission Act 1932 required the Commission
among other things to ‗establish and utilize in such as manner as it is desirable, in order to confer
the greatest benefit on broadcasting, groups of musicians for the rendition of orchestral, choral and
band music of high quality‘‖ (1957: 66).
98
Inglis‘ study has been cited by a variety of national and international scholars exploring
broadcasting in Australia, including Griffen-Foley (2004) and Arrow (2010).
70
in 1932.99 Inglis further demonstrates the ABC‘s ability to cross regional (and
interstate) borders by noting how the organisation‘s opening address featuring a
three way hook up between the Prime Minister in his office in Canberra, the
leader of the opposition in Melbourne and the leader of the Country Party in
Sydney (Inglis, 2006a: 5). Although the sound transmitted was of variable
quality,100 this attempt to engage audiences simultaneously across a number of
regions in Australia, rather than just in Sydney and Melbourne, was something
that had not been attempted in this way before and provided a literal, rather than
ideological, communications crossing of distance.101 Inglis‘s account of the
ABC‘s launch in 1932 also detailed the use of music to announce the ABC. This
first ABC broadcasting/music crossover, which featured ―chimes at eight o‘clock
derived from the BBC‘s use of Big Ben‖ (Inglis, 2006a: 6),102 provided a link
between the Australian nation and Empire, as well as between Australian and
British public services. Inglis had previously also detailed music/broadcasting
crossovers in this way in his account of the 1919 AWA demonstrations, noting the
transmission of ―the music of ‗God Save the King‘‖ in Sydney (Inglis, 2006a:
7),103 as well as an AWA/Ernest Fisk demonstration in Melbourne that year when
―‗Rule Britannia‘ played from a gramophone twelve miles away and ‗Advance
Australia Fair‘ sung live from the same source‖ (ibid). As Inglis continued, in the
early years of the ABC ―music flourished‖ (2006a: 49), with details of the ABC‘s
involvement in fostering orchestral, dance, jazz, children‘s and popular music
(2006a: 50-53) included to show how the broadcaster attempted to cater for a
variety
of
audience
types
and
tastes
across
Australia.
Inglis‘s
music/broadcasting/nationalistic crossover continues with his description of The
99
Inglis names ―2FC and 2BL in Sydney, 3AR and 3LO in Melbourne, 4QL in Brisbane, 5CL in
Adelaide, 6WF in Perth, 7ZL in Hobart, and the relay stations 2NC in Newcastle, 2CO at Cowra in
southern New South Wales, 4RK in Rockhampton and 5CK at Crystal Brook, near Port Pirie‖
(2006a: 6).
100
Inglis noted that ―to people in Perth [the opening address] sounded a long way off‖ while ―in
Hobart the [the Sydney members of the opening address] had to compete with atmospheric static‖
(Inglis, 2006a: 5).
101
It should be noted, however, that Inglis looks at how the ABC formalised connections between
stations across the country, even though some of the stations themselves were already in existence.
As he explains ―The Australian Broadcasting Commission was new, but its stations were not,‖
(2006a: 6). For more on this pre-network history see Inglis (2006a: 6-18).
102
Although he does not focus on music specifically, for more details of how the ABC developed
as a model of BBC, but continued to also directly incorporate its material, see Given (2009).
103
This is yet another account of the 1919 transmission I cited earlier in this chapter, however
Inglis doesn‘t provide source material as the other authors I referred to did.
71
Village Glee Club, a variety program which ran from 1942 to 1971 on ABC
radio104 and featured its key characters ―in for jolly conversation and [performing]
the refined singing of old songs‖ (Inglis, 2006a: 113).
Interestingly, this crossover between music/broadcasting and a particular type of
nationalism also informed Inglis‘s description of the gradual demise of the
program, as he argued that it was ―thought to be popular among old people, and
possibly appealed most to listeners who lamented the substitution of ‗Advance
Australian Fair‘ for ‗The British Grenadiers‘‖ (Inglis, 2006a: 113). Further, he
noted that in later years when that empire-centric nationalism had faded (as the
Australian national anthem had been well established as ‗Advance Australia Fair‘,
and ties to empire had become less overt), that the program also failed, ―the jollity
of The Village Glee Club was heard for the last time on 21 March 1971 … Glee
Club was on at 8pm, when more and more people watched television, and the
devotees of its archaic fun were dying‖ (Inglis, 2006a: 314). As such, the
crossover between music and broadcast media has been tied directly to Australian
identity in this example, and changes in national identity were also cited as
implicated in why this crossover changed over time. I will show this connection
can be made again when exploring subsequent periods of change and music/media
crossover in Australia.
In the case of the demise of The Village Glee Club, Inglis‘s description of a dying
audience was likely to have been literal as well as metaphoric. But the reason that
it remains salient is that it demonstrates the consequences of the crossover‘s
original formation, and also the process of change that has occurred during that
program‘s time on air. In terms of technology, radio had lost its position as the
sole broadcast medium, with television allowing both sound and vision to be
delivered across great distances to many Australians simultaneously. Musically,
change had also occurred as ‗old songs‘ no longer needed replaying in live
performance. Rather, they could be bought, sold and replayed at home readily in
an ever increasing recorded popular music industry. Finally, ideas of Australian
104
For more details of this program and its music/broadcast crossover see also the account by
Jones and Whiteoak, who note the program‘s display of ―studio accompanists and personality
pianists … Flo Paton and Maime Reid‖ (Jones and Whiteoak, 2003: 558).
72
nationalism had also changed during the time of The Village Glee Club, with a
marked move away from British influence towards American culture, 105 and the
development of more distinctive local Australian tradition. Inglis‘s narrative of
the demise of the music/broadcasting/nationalism expressed in The Village Glee
Club is a reflection of the context he was writing in. He was originally
commissioned to write a history of the ABC for its 50th anniversary in 1983
(Inglis, 2006a: 2),106 a time when new change was occurring locally and when the
ABC was experiencing success with different music/broadcast crossovers.
Indeed, in a history of Australian radio written in the same year as Inglis‘ ABC
study, Jacqueline Kent also used The Village Glee Club as an example of the
demise of a radio/music crossover, explicitly deploying a death narrative:
―television killed community singing and ‗amateur‘ music programs. The lone
standard-bearer after 1956 was the ABC‘s Village Glee Club … but [the
audience‘s] best vocal effects had to be confined to their living rooms‖ (1983: 80).
As I will show in the next section, the development of a music/television
crossover redrew the borders again after a period of intense change, establishing
new ways to cover the distance within Australia and between it and the rest of the
world. While radio and music also continued a relationship, these crossovers
became repurposed as television was introduced and new crossovers with music
were developed, and helped to further develop opportunities for artists and
audiences.
2. WHY 1956?: REMEMBERING AND RE-REMEMBERING CHANGES IN
AUSTRALIAN RADIO/TELEVISION/MUSIC CROSSOVERS
This section draws its inspiration initially from the benchmark American study
―Why 1955? Explaining the Advent of Rock Music‖ (Peterson, 1990).107 Although
Richard Peterson doesn‘t use the term ‗crossover‘, as I demonstrated in the
105
I will explore this American influence on Australian culture in the next section.
In addition, as Inglis explained, although he had been given ―freedom to write as he wished‖,
the ABC also reserved the right to decide not to publish the outcomes of his research; ―the [ABC]
was to have first option to arrange publication, and if it did not take up the option [the author] had
the right to publish the book independently‖ (2006a: 2). As such it is reasonable to assume that
while the ABC did eventually approve of what Inglis had produced, that his findings were not
dictated by the organization as such.
107
Hereafter Why 1955?
106
73
previous chapter the concept of exploring cross industry interactions is very much
alive in this article. Peterson looks at why this period, and especially this year,
1955, has been remembered as a defining moment for popular music and wider
popular culture. Peterson‘s retrospective focuses on the particular context of the
USA in 1955, and in particular the coming together of the cultural industries of
radio, television and recorded music; the Baby Boomer generation; and the
professional career of creative individuals like Elvis Presley. Peterson‘s study
shows how these elements, along with other institutional factors like changes in
legislation and its various effects,108 contributed to rock music‘s establishment,
but he does so by showing 1955 to be something of an eye in the storm. “Why
1955?” is actually a study of the period of change that led up to 1955, rather than
an analysis of the year itself.109 In addition, Why 1955? is a historical study using
contemporary frames of reference to understand more recent periods and future
changes. Peterson demonstrates how his methodology can be applied to other
periods of crossover, as he argues ―the advent of jazz following the First World
War … [and] the great change in country music in the 1970s‖ each ―involved
many of the same processes‖
(Peterson, 1990: 114) as he canvassed in his
1955/rock study. As such, he suggests a wider purpose for this study, proposing
that ―this article [which] has focused on a unique event, the advent of rock at a
particular historical moment … might be useful in understanding the dynamics of
other facets of music and the culture industry more generally‖ (Peterson, 1990:
114).
In this section I explore an equivalent period of change and innovation in the
Australian market. Here I will ask ―Why 1956?‖, an acknowledgement of a debt
to Peterson‘s approach but also a way to show that the American experience of
this period of chance was not universal. I will show that leading up to 1956 rapid
change was occurring within Australia, and that in the year itself, three key
108
For example, Peterson argues the importance of the legal system during this time in influencing
music licensing and production (1990: 99-101), various technological innovations for both
broadcasting and music recording (1990: 101-2), and changes to the industrial structure of both the
recorded music and radio and television broadcasting industries (1990: 102-8). As a result of this
depth and breadth of examination, rock as a musical tradition is revealed as not the only thing that
is born here (or emergences as a product that crosses existing boundaries), but also associated
infrastructure such as new opportunities for ―careers in radio‖ (1990: 109-110) and ―careers in the
record business‖ (1990: 110-111).
74
milestones marked significant progress: the establishment of television and its
effect on radio; 110 the development of a changing Australian audience, but still
affected by distance as emphasised by the staging of the international summer
Olympics in Melbourne; and the emergence of creative individuals and individual
programs including Johnny O‘Keefe, Six O‟Clock Rock, Bandstand, 2JJ and
Countdown. As in Peterson‘s study, I will explore the historical conditions in a
specific region that ultimately led to the development of a crucial crossover of
music radio and music television distinctive to this country. Why 1955?, as it was
originally published in the journal Popular Music, does canvass changes in other
industries and structures to emerge from this period of change, but ultimately
focuses on rock music as its apotheosis. Why 1955?, creates a narrative of the
birth of a type of music, ―the advent of rock‖, and it does so by presenting a
positive view of rock (focusing on what rock‘s formation created, rather than what
systems or types of music were superseded or lost in this process). The
‗birth/death‘ model I am using will enable me to take my analysis beyond
Peterson‘s to present not just a birth of rock in Australia in 1956, but also explore
other, more negative, narratives of the changes in Australia during this time. In
particular, I will explore claims of the ―oppositional relation‖ (Turner, 1992b: 15)
of descriptions of change and its impact in Australia during this time, relations
which use the same source material and ultimate outcomes but frame them in
opposing ways. Often this means that narratives of birth such as the advent of
rock, have also been accompanied by narratives of death. I will show both to have
been exaggerated, but they are useful in identifying and understanding change and
its consequences.
Like Why 1955? I will also use mainly empirical evidence and commentary from
the 1940s and 50s to develop my case. However, to more comprehensively gauge
the impact of 1956 for popular music and media in Australia, I will compare the
ways in which different commentators over time have framed this period. I will
show that these commentaries construct their accounts of 1956 and its proximate
110
Australian television is generally considered to have begun in 1956. I will discuss below the
problems in this view, but begin with 1956 when the promise of what television might bring was
widely circulated, even if in reality this promise was not immediately realised nationally. For an
overview some of the alternative histories of Australian television see Curthoys (1991) and Bye
(2006).
75
time frames to express the concerns and anxieties that were most pressing for the
writers themselves rather than what were historically important, deploying value
systems that might have been markedly different from what was happening in
1956 itself. This approach was also evident in Why 1955?, since Peterson‘s
hypothesis of other possible outcomes from 1955 remain subject to a rock-as-wenow-know-it value system; ―What if the year had been 1948 rather than 1954? ...
who would have been the Elvis Presley?‖ (1990: 98). Such contemporary biases
are inevitable in any historical study. I see examining these biases, however, as
one of the purposes in creating such histories, and of the practice of cultural
history itself. Contemporary Australian commentators have returned to studies of
the rapid change in1956 during their own times of change, and I will show that
this retrospective work has helped to provide insight into contemporary dilemmas.
I want to make clear, too, that my aim is not to provide a comprehensive list of all
the music/radio and music/television programs that have been developed since
1956, but to outline some of the key programs and formats that have been
developed and most talked about.
2.1 Cycles of change and opposing narratives: the arrival of television and its
effect on radio
Seemingly opposing crossover broadcast/music narratives have been used to
describe the changes in Australia during the 1950s and 1960s, narratives that
proclaim this period to have been responsible for both births and deaths. During
this time there was significant change for local music and media, with a
broadening of the broadcasting industry to include television as an option for
Australian audiences and artists. This was a change which also impacted on
popular music as musicians and audiences could explore domestic audio/visual
delivery as well as simply audio delivery. In some cases television‘s impact is
framed as a new opportunity for popular music delivery and the development of a
new audience (the music television audience); while other commentators describe
television‘s introduction as a direct loss for radio, with suggestions that television
drew audiences using content on which radio had traditionally relied. In this
section I will explore these opposing narratives and the agendas of the
commentators who constructed them, comparing those written during the 1950s
76
and 1960s with those written retrospectively years later. These comparisons show
among other things the ways in which music/broadcasting crossovers continued to
be valorised, through discourses deploying theatrical tropes that reflected the
value systems of each commentator. In addition they exemplify the way cycles of
crossovers have perennially recurred, not simply always to diagnose a change that
has been completed, but rather to help guide a change that is still in process.
I have previously discussed Mackay‘s 1957 Broadcasting in Australia and its
description of the origins of Australian radio broadcasting, and I want to return to
this study now in order to examine it in its original context. Mackay was writing
just a year after television had been introduced in Australia, a time of anticipated
change for Australian broadcasting. Television in Australia was relatively slow to
develop, and it had been discussed for nearly a decade before it was commercially
launched (and was eventually launched a decade after industries in the US and
UK).111 The new medium‘s anticipated impact was also explored prominently in
the arts journal Meanjin prior to 1956, with studies such as ―Television: Friend or
Enemy?‖ (Browne, 1954: 179), and the less even-handed arguments of ―The
Television Monster‖ (Bennett, 1955: 102). Such commentaries questioned what
barriers television would cross in Australia, emphasizing social and cultural
impacts of the medium‘s potentially wide-spread domestic uptake across the
country, and debated whether such crossings would benefit the nation as a whole.
These local commentators compared Australia to international markets, and their
concerns over the impact of the changes ranged from questions regarding basic
resources (as Bennett wondered if much of Australia would have sufficient
electricity to support television),112 but more prominently questioned the
commercial viability of two broadcast forms in the still relatively small Australian
market. If audiences were drawn towards television and away from radio, then
surely this would threaten radio‘s continued sustainability.
111
For example, television broadcasting had been launched in the US and UK prior to the
commencement of the Second World War, but was postponed during the period of conflict.
However, as Curthoys describes, television ―took off‖ in the US and UK in 1946 once the war had
ended (1991: 154), yet in Australia the medium remained stalled until 1956.
112
Citing the American experience where ―television has created its own revenue field and has
stimulated advertising activity generally‖, Bennett suggested that in Australia television would be
―a builder‖ rather than bringing ―instability and ruin‖, and that ―a more serious obstacle in the
development of TV here is the capacity of the electronic industry to meet the requirements of the
public‖ (1955: 107).
77
Mackay‘s commentary on the new television and radio era of broadcasting in
Australia first included a retrospective description of the rise of radio, a
retrospective which had emphasised how the medium had revolutionised
communication and public discourse. This revolution was then used as its
vindication in a post-television landscape, as he referred back to a previous period
of change in order to predict radio‘s future. Mackay did this by extrapolating a
pattern of periods of change, and demonstrating that each time the effects of
change had been negatively yet groundlessly exaggerated:
In the early days we were informed that this new art of [radio] broadcasting would kill
gramophone record sales to the public and would adversely affect newspaper influences
and advertising. [However] broadcasting did not destroy the record industry nor has it
displaced newspapers in advertising or editorial influence for the simple reason that both
serve a useful purpose in society (1957: 206).
Here Mackay highlights periods of change but also periods of expansion,
including the development of media crossovers with the music industry. He uses
this pattern (including death-like rhetoric) to show how television‘s introduction
should be considered not as a threat, but rather as an opportunity for innovation.
Mackay argues that in Australia ―we have only scratched the surface of [radio‘s]
usefulness and have not been aware of its exclusive role in society‖ (1957: 206), a
point designed to encourage a redrawing of the territory over which television and
radio have apparently been left to compete, and ultimately a narrative constructed
to urge Australian radio to redefine and assert its uniqueness. Mackay‘s purpose is
to motivate radio to continue to develop rather than to be intimidated into
stagnation by television, or as Bridget Griffen-Foley argued, ―[Mackay‘s
argument was] obviously designed to convince people that radio would survive
the encroachments of the new medium‖ (2004: 153).
A similar narrative of the 1950s was constructed two decades later in The Magic
Spark: The Story of the First 50 Years of Radio (Walker, 1973), a study
commissioned by the Federation of Australian Commercial Broadcasters. 113 Here
113
For details of the commissioning of the book see the Author‘s Note at the beginning of the
study, specifically his comment that ―In commission this book the Federation of Australian
Commercial Broadcasters agreed to give the author free reign. Consequently, some of the views
expressed do not necessarily represent those of the Federation or its individual members ... It
should also be stated that this is the story of commercial radio, with only passing reference to the
Australian Broadcasting Commission and its great contributions (Walker, 1973: i)
78
RR Walker also created a birth narrative for television and a complementary death
narrative for radio, dedicating an entire chapter, ―The Television Terror‖, to the
period anticipating radio‘s death at the hands of television (1973: 64-7). Walker
begins this chapter by setting an ominous tone immediately; ―It is 1955 – the year
before television, Radio, restless and concerned,‖ (1973: 64) and as such he
argues that television and radio were in direct competition, and that radio (and its
commercial investment specifically) looked likely to lose. This dramatic
retrospective narrative is designed to locate radio within a particular value system.
Like Mackay writing in the 1950s, Walker used this death-like narrative as a way
to show how radio was forced to evolve during this time, affirming radio‘s
continuing viability through clear statement of what it could deliver that television
could not: ―[radio] was consigned alright, but not to the garage – unless to the
glove box of the car. Radio in fact spread to all the other rooms and became a
personal accessory‖ (Walker, 1973: 64). Also like Mackay‘s narrative, Walker
concludes his study with a look to the future of radio broadcasting by placing its
threat of its death within a longer tradition:
It was expected that with the invention of moveable type and the introduction of
newspapers the pamphlet and the poster would disappear. Moving neon would displace
fixed cipher. Radio was presumed to damage print and condemn to lingering death the
gramophone record. Television was to herald the doom of steam radio and the cinema.
Antennae TV was to be outmoded by cable. The cartridge and the cassette were bullets to
weaken the hold of the traditional reproductive sound systems (1973: 165).
This cycle of innovation and possible displacement is created to provide a sense
of stability during times of rapid change. It also articulates several indirect, but
notable, media/music crossovers during both the 1950s, and 1970s, periods of
crisis. Walker‘s motivation is twofold: to provide a relatively entertaining account
of past periods of change, but also to provide some insight into the period of
change that was occurring as he wrote. By 1973 there was growing concern about
the future of the broadcasting and arts industries in Australia, particularly
concerning increasing levels of overt commericalisation and internationalisation.
For example, campaigns such as the 1970 ―TV- Make It Australian‖ movement
saw an alliance of local artists appeal to the government for protection from a
79
perceived threat from cheaper international products,114 with the movement led by
artists who engaged in cross industry projects, such as Bobby Limb, who had been
―recently unseated from his long-standing musical television show‖ and who
―started things rolling by demanding that something be done to give Australians in
the television industry ‗a fair go‘‖ (SMH, 1970: 6).115 Such concerns over
increased competition in both radio and television had been expressed by local
artists and broadcasters since the late 1960s,116 and concerns steadily grew into
the 1970s. The election of the new Gough Whitlam-led Labor government in 1972
provided hope that significant changes to legislation and industrial structures
could finally be made117 and this hope for change (and growth) is embedded in the
way Walker has designed his history of radio and television‘s interaction.
Walker‘s conclusion to his 1970s study (informed by a 1950s retrospective) is
dramatic, and perhaps overly simplistic. He harnesses in particular the cycle of
apparent change and threat/survival as a way to understand what was happening to
the media at the time of writing, finishing positively by arguing that ―the message
seems to be that all informational process has some inbuilt capacity to adapt and
survive‖ (Walker, 1973: 165). Walker clearly valued radio, concluding his study
by stating that ―the magic spark [of radio] is unlikely to be extinguished – ever‖
(1973: 166), however this is a vote of confidence that is particularly important
given that his study had been commissioned by the Federation of Australian
114
The event was reported in the Sydney Morning Herald on 13 August 1970, a group of ―500
actors, writers, producers and others associated with television industry took part in a lively
meeting … to discuss what was described as the unhappy state of the television industry in
Australia for Australian performers‖ (Nicklin, 1970: 11).
115
Limb remained a prominent leader in this campaign, and was featured again in a follow up to
this meeting a few weeks later on September 23, where the Herald reported ―Bobby Limb, Barry
Crocker, Bobo Faulkner, Ted Hamilton, Leonard Teale, Alwyn Kurts and Jeff Ashby‖ (SMH
1970: 6) had met with the Prime Minister Gorton and opposition leader Whitlam to discuss the
threat to the livelihoods of Australian personnel in television, and while music was not mentioned
expressly here, the eventual regulation that was put in place when the new government came into
power specified that music be considered as part of the pool of local artistic output to be protected.
116
See Papandrea‘s summary, ―in the late 1960s various interest groups initiated concerted
lobbying for program regulation to generate increased employment opportunities‖ (1995: 468).
Papandrea argued that this type of government intervention may need to be repeated again in the
future, ―should the supply of Australian contents to audiences continue to be a desirable national
objective, other forms of market intervention, more appropriate to the new market structure, will
need to be developed‖ (1995: 477), a point emphasised by citing the influence of the 1970 TV
campaign, which he called a ―a major influence on the nature and structure of subsequent
regulatory provisions‖ (ibid).
117
I will return to specific changes made to broadcasting and music under Whitlam later in this
chapter, particularly the establishment of youth radio Double J and music television program
Countdown.
80
Commercial Broadcasters.118 Walker‘s more general optimistic approach to
radio‘s ability to survive the period of change in the 1970s (and of local product to
survive international and commercial domination) can also be likely traced to the
practical support for the Arts that had been promised by the early 1970s Whitlam
government, as Whitlam, even prior to his election, had made a pledge to the arts
generally and to local musicians in particular. As early as 1968 Whitlam, then
only in opposition, argued that ―government intervention should be positive, not
merely prohibitive‖ (Whitlam in SMH, 1968: 5),119 and in 1972 prior to the
federal election an ―artists for Whitlam‖ group was formed to support Whitlam‘s
proposed changes to many sectors of the arts.120 It should be noted that Whitlam
honoured many of these promises when he came to power.121
The ground breaking 1980s collection Missing In Action: Australian Popular
Music in Perspective (Breen, 1987) presented another narrative of 1956 and its
influence as seen from a 1980s Australian perspective. Marcus Breen begins by
offering a birth narrative of the international impact of 1956, stating that ―the
cultural myth that rock and roll began in 1956 with Bill Haley and the Comets
singing ‗Rock Around the Clock‘‖ (1987: 4), but he follows immediately with an
opposing death narrative from the Australian perspective; ―What really began in
1956 was the strangulation of independent musical identities in Australia‖ (ibid).
Notwithstanding the slight inaccuracy of Breen‘s focus on 1956 specifically
(Haley‘s single was released in most places, including Australia, in 1955),122 his
point stands, as the often unconsidered consequences of a new form were
articulated further,
118
Although Walker claimed the body gave him ―free rein‖ (1973: i) in his analysis, the
conclusion that radio would retain its cultural and commercial importance would clearly help the
federation to maintain the confidence of its advertisers.
119
This was promulgated in an address he made as the leader of the opposition at the annual
conference of the Professional Musicians‘ Union of Australia in 1968, speaking in response to the
then Liberal government‘s arts budget.
120
The ‗artists for Whitlam‘ movement included practitioners, as well as broadcasters and
scholars. As Davidson explained, ―The commanding presence of Edward Gough Whitlam
appealed much more to playwrights, actors and creative people generally, and they promptly
rallied to the Labor cause in 1972. An Artists for Whitlam Committee was formed; advertisements
appeared in the papers, academics figuring prominently among the signatories‖ (1987: 83-4). The
‗artists for Whitlam‘ movement included practitioners, as well as broadcasters and scholars.
121
In addition to this, he also asserted a belief that artists should be treated as professional and earn
adequate money for their work, arguing against the ―underlying if unspoken impression that artists
should labour for love rather than lucre‖ (Whitlam in SMH, 1968: 5).
122
I take this note from Johnson‘s account (2003: 720).
81
Australia, which began as a colony, was once again a colony, and so we learnt in 1956
how to rock around the clock in the new American style. Sure, it was an enjoyable
enough style, but what about our own methods? What about an Australian rock music that
made use of the music industry already existing in Australia, in the pubs, clubs, halls and
Trocaderos? (1987: 5)
Breen‘s narrative here is exaggerated, as the metaphor of cultural colonization and
the destruction of an indigenous Australian musical culture were hardly as violent
or as one sided as the British colonisation of Australian Aboriginal culture.
However Breen‘s exaggeration is strategic, designed to engage his reader with a
collection of essays ―concerned with old and new tradition‖ (1987: 4) in
Australian popular music. He argues that as of the late 1980s ―popular music
exists in various subcultures within Australia [but] popular music is, however,
under threat‖ (Breen, 1987: 4), a point demonstrated in other articles in the
collection such as ―Rocking Australia Dead: Rock Music in Australia‖ (Madigan,
1987: 113-25). Paul Madigan argues that the potential death of Australian rock
music ―is a subject which Australians should regard with bitterness, humiliation
and shame‖ (1987: 114), but that the executioner is clearly international product,
―American machinery imposing the American way of life on us‖ (ibid).
Breen and Madigan and the other authors in Missing in Action: Australian
Popular Music in Perspective use their 1987 retrospective narrative of 1956 to
show how Australian music was being overlooked in Australia, let alone the rest
of the world. Ironically, their point is further demonstrated by Simon Frith‘s
(1988) review of the collection in Popular Music, where he praised the collection
for its provision of ―valuable information about Australia's music history‖ but
continues that ―the best essays in Missing in Action .... start from the premise that
there is nothing distinctive about Australian popular music (or culture) as such‖
(1988b: 352). Writing for an international journal and international audience, Frith
uses this assessment to assert the collection‘s potential appeal outside Australia,
―it is important not as an 'Australian' book but because of its contribution to
debates that affect us all‖ (ibid), however his dismissal of the Australian
experience as manifesting ―nothing distinctive‖ is too simplistic. By his own
admission Frith acknowledges that ―there may be good local reasons why
Australian answers have a particular shape and resonance‖, but concludes, ―the
82
musical and political judgements made here relate not to concepts of national
authenticity but to international issues of cultural value‖ (Frith, 1988b: 352).
Despite this, what remains important is that through the writing of the book, and
presenting the alternative narrative of 1956 and the Australian experience then
and since, Breen drew attention to a version of the popular music narrative that
had previously not been widely considered. As his title suggested, the Australian
version of the story had, until 1987, remained ‗missing in action‘.
Toby Miller (1993) also created a retrospective death narrative to describe the
changes to 1950s radio in Australia, or, more precisely, a ―challenge‖ narrative. In
a history that appears in the first edition of what would become an influential
series, The Media in Australia: Industries, Texts and Audiences (Turner and
Cunningham eds, 1993), Miller evokes the past period of change and describes
how 1950s radio faced ―the challenge of TV and pop music‖ (1993: 46).
Specifically Miller sets up a narrative of succession of ―enforced changes‖ (1993:
47) for both industries during the 1950s, as the
changing radio from a medium dominated by variety and quiz shows and drama serials to
one of popular music, talkback and sport … [and] a move towards additional use of
actuality in news broadcasts, both to compete with television and as a consequence of
improvements in taping facilities (ibid).
Miller marks this period of change like those commentators who preceded him,
clearly marking the borders that were in place before, and those that were
subsequently established. The crossover between media and music is clear in both
instances (as radio prior to the change embraced variety programming, and
subsequently embraced popular music). Miller purposefully notes the competition
between radio and television in the 1950s, as the novelty of the new medium
―may have cured the radio-listening habit of Australia‖ (1993: 46), but he goes on
to observe that panic over the threat of television to radio‘s audience and
advertisers was premature as ―[radio] revenue and profit grew in the last three
years of the 1950s to double their pre-television figure.‖ (1993: 47). Miller‘s piece
was published again in the second edition of Media in Australia (1997), and while
the bulk of the content remained the same, in this later publication Miller‘s frame
of reference had slightly changed. Immediately following the note about increased
revenue in the 1950s, Miller adds the coda, ―no sign here of an irrelevant
83
medium,‖ (1997: 54), an addition designed to frame the 1950s changes in terms
that audiences familiar with late 1990s narratives of radio may recognise. In the
time between the first and second editions of the book from 1993 to 1997,
Australian audiences and artists had experienced rapid changes within the radio
market, changes Miller outlines explicitly following his history of 1950s
Australian radio, in the section ―the radio industry today‖ (1997: 67). Here Miller
reports the outcome of the 1996 Federal election and a return to a coalition
government for the first time in over a decade, and he is clearly cautious about the
new government‘s policies relating to cross media and foreign ownership
particularly (1997: 67-9). Miller doesn‘t specify what effect the consolidation of
radio may have on its relationship to music specifically, although he does note the
coalition‘s pre-election promise to ―support ‗the experiences‘ of established
market players in radio … [including] appropriate levels of Australian content‖
(1997: 69). Given the prominence of the radio/music crossover in the past and its
importance in promoting local artists and delivering them to audiences across the
country, he suggests that such a crossover should be maintained so as to continue
to develop and promote Australian artist and audience engagement. However,
Miller seems to harbour some reservations about the new government‘s support
for local content: ―the dominion [of radio] is now potentially far greater [than in
the past], but it is less easy to ascertain who or even what will exercise it‖ (1997:
69).
This fatalist view of historical and contemporary periods of change was
reaffirmed in the next edition of this article in the 2002 update of this collection,
The Media and Communications in Australia (Cunningham and Turner eds). In
this chapter, which Miller co-authored with Graeme Turner, much of the same
material covering the 1950s Australian media environment remains as in the
earlier two versions, including the section that crosses over between music and
media as ―the challenge of TV and pop music‖ in the 1950s (Miller and Turner,
2002: 137-8). As with the 1997 update, here the material presents a death
narrative informed by the conditions with which the 2002 writers are engaged. In
particular, Miller and Turner describe a ―crisis [with the] advent of television‖
since ―many of radio‘s successful prime-time formats moved directly over to
television [and] radio had to find new formats in order to compete,‖ (2002: 137) a
84
description with a more negative coloration than previous commentaries, even
though it doesn‘t use new source material. Miller and Turner have simply
interpreted the 1950s source material in a different way, imposing a death
narrative upon that decade which provides a comparison for the crisis that Miller
and Turner perceived was happening in the 1990s. Their agenda behind this death
narrative is most obvious at the end of the chapter, where they elaborate on the
consequences of the 1996 government change. While the effects of this event
were articulated with caution by Miller in 1997, by 2002 Miller and Turner are
clearly worried that radio is facing another possible death;
Radio has been weakened in recent years by successive waves of deregulation, by the
dilution of local content and ownership rules, and by the removal of any effective
supervision of standards or ethical practice. The provision of information through the
commercial sector is minimal, and the provision of a diverse range of entertainment
formats is close to that as well (2002: 150).
Miller and Turner are clearly worried about the state of the current radio industry,
and their decision to end on a note of morbidity has several points of interest.
Firstly, it could be considered as the further development of a cycle of deaths such
as those in the Mackay and Walker commentaries and for the same purpose: to
inspire a new sense of enthusiasm and experimentation. However, a clue may also
be found in the differences between this death narrative for the current radio
industry and that from the 1950s. For Miller and Turner the 1950s threat to radio
was pre-empted by the collaboration between audiences and industry players for
radio, since ―at a policy level, the mid-1950s saw the first representatives to the
[Australian Radio Advertising Bureau] board, which up to that point had been
very much the fiefdom of its ‗expert‘ chairs‖ (Miller and Turner, 2002: 138).123
This relationship between radio and local entertainment interests (with an
emphasis on promoting local musical content) is something they clearly find to be
absent in the current death narrative, ―the 1990s were not a good decade for
Australian radio audiences although probably a reasonable decade for some
proprietors. This disjuncture should continue to worry us‖ (Miller and Turner,
2002: 150). By articulating this gap between the 1950s crisis and the 1990s one,
and particularly by isolating the importance of a specific relationship between
music and radio (local music‘s presence on radio rather than international
123
This note also appeared in the 1997 edition of this chapter (Miller, 1997: 55), however not in
the 1993 version.
85
domination), Miller and Turner use a death narrative to at least identify the 1990s
problem, if not help to overcome it.
By canvassing and contextualising the narratives of change above, I have
illustrated the discursive framework within which 1956, and particularly the
arrival of television in Australia and its effect on radio, was located. And again, I
have shown a cyclic pattern of crisis points for both media and music industries
and associated artists and audiences, but also a cycle of music/media crossover
during these periods of crisis. First, that one of the markers of the crisis is the
construction of narratives of births and deaths; second, that these in turn enable us
to identify the situatedness of the various narrators and stake-holders; third, that
the crisis finds its resolution in a new set of crossovers between music and media.
2.2 The Australian audience and artist still affected by distance:
internationalised music radio and local music television
In the influential collection From Pop To Punk To Postmodernism (Hayward ed,
1992) Graeme Turner argues that ―Australian popular music has pervaded
Australian popular culture over the past 35 years‖, but ―the most important
spheres of influence [for music], of course, are within the broadcasting industry
itself, in radio and TV‖ (Turner, 1992b: 14, 15). Turner elaborates with a
discussion of how these music/broadcasting interactions (interactions I call
crossovers) functioned, arguing, for example that ―it is no exaggeration to say that
rock ‗n‘ roll saved radio from being marooned by the mass desertion of its
audience to the new medium of television in 1956,‖ (1992b: 15). Here I wish to
examine, extend and nuance Turner‘s idea further by showing how music
facilitated the development of distinct local radio and television traditions, and
how these have informed Australian identity more broadly.
The importance of 1956 can again be observed here by looking at the different
roles of radio and television in Australia established with the broadcasting of the
Melbourne summer Olympic Games that year. Internationally, the Olympic
86
Games had been televised since 1936 (Slater, 1998: 53),124 however up until 1956
the majority of Australian and international audiences had followed this major
event via radio and newspapers. Even by 1956 when the games were hosted here,
still most Australians received news via radio and newspapers, partly because at
this time Australia radio‘s ability to cross distance was still far superior to that of
television, partly because radio was much more established here at that time than
television,125 but also because of a disagreement over payment for international
television rights which meant that international television markets didn‘t see the
Australian event either.126 What television there was in Australia in 1956 was
highly localised, with Melbourne commercial station GTV 9 presenting ―a special
service‖ for the games prior to its official launch in January 1957 (Bye, 2007: 67).
Around the same time commercial television broadcasting in Sydney was also
being initiated, however, this too was only to a very small area.127
After 1956 Australian radio continued to span great distances and follow
international models, while Australian television remained localised. The differing
functions of these media can be best demonstrated by exploring crossovers
between each of them and popular music. The arrival of television introduced the
Australian market to international artists and songs that were not yet otherwise
widely available, while on television the genre of variety programming allowed
audiences to watch and listen to local artists in the comfort of their homes. Geoff
King begins the study ―Radio: After television‖ (2003: 559), by constructing a
death, then (re)birth, narrative, showing a radio crossover with music, that was
markedly different from television. He notes that ―After the introduction of
television audiences—and initially advertisers—deserted radio‖ (2003: 559),
124
I note here that there is some discrepancy in reports of the time of the first televised Olympics.
While Slater, as stated above, claims that Berlin 1936 was the first, a more recent study by
Marshall et al suggests that ―The first television transmissions of the Olympics, … occurred in
1948 at the London Games‖ (2010: 266). In either case the point remains that by 1956 an
international expectation of Olympics television had been established.
125
As I discussed in the previous section, radio had been developed with commercial and public
service broadcasting services since the 1930s, however by 1956 the overwhelming majority of
Australia had not been introduced to television.
126
For details of this see Slater (1998: 53), as well as Marshall et al‘s study which argued that
―Partly because of these difficulties in arrangements and rights and partly because of [Australia‘s]
isolated position in the world there were only very limited broadcasts of the Melbourne Olympics
in 1956 on television internationally‖ (2010: 266).
127
I say ‗around this time‘ because there is some debate about when commercial television began
in Sydney, and indeed, in Australia. For an overview, see Bye (2006).
87
showing that as a consequence ―it became standard practice for [radio]
broadcasters to appeal not to the whole family [as television did] but to separate
audiences, especially the young‖ (ibid). This was achieved with the localisation of
an international form, as ―early 1958 brought the introduction of American-style
top-40 radio by Bob Rogers on 2UE Sydney‖ (ibid), an approach which was
copied by Rogers‘ competition in Sydney and gradually across the country. King
makes it clear that the Top 40 (and its predecessor Hit Parade) formats were not
pioneered in Australia, but his implication is that once they made it here, their
localisation was distinctive. Top 40 in Australia was different from its US
counterpart because, apart from starting at least three years later than the
American form,128 it drew on a much smaller pool of records than those played on
American radio. This meant that local artists were often overlooked as they had
not developed a solid recording base, a point made in Bob Rogers‘ (1975) own
account of Top 40 during that time.129 Top 40 radio in Australia was clearly
centred on recordings, and as such, it favoured international artists.130
Top 40 in 1950s Australia was also different from its international counterpart in
that it remained a relatively low budget business. US music radio during this time
was becoming increasingly commercially powerful, with payola scandals
demonstrating that unlike Australian DJs, American Top 40 was highly organised
and influential. Payola was only taken seriously as a possible threat to Australian
Top 40 when an American touring act was accused of approaching local
broadcasters,131 mainly because, as Rogers later described, ―the plain fact is that
128
Denisoff claimed that ―Todd Storz gave birth to ‗Top Forty‘ radio in 1955‖ (1988: 2, however
McCourt and Rothenbuhler (2004) trace the form back to the end of the Second World War.
129
Rogers wrote about his first meeting with Sydney group The Delltones, recalling that the band
―began auditioning their talents for me … but as they had not made a recording there didn‘t seem
much I could do for them‖ (1975: 37).
130
As Rogers recalled, ―In 1958, the Sydney commercial radio station 2UE, for which I was then
working as a disc jockey, introduced Top 40 programming and that had a galvanic effect on the
local rock ‗n‘ roll market. It both stimulated the competitiveness among the record companies and
their artists and emphasised the influential role radio stations had in conditioning of popular taste
and sales of pop records‖(Rogers, 1975: 35).
131
Shortly after 2UE‘s 1958 launch of Top 40 in Australia reports of pay-for-play scandals with
American disc jockeys appeared in the Australian press. For example, the Sydney Morning Herald
reported that an American radio DJ had received a death threat following his exposure of ―‗Payola‘
bribes paid to disc jockeys for plugging new tunes‖ (SMH and AAP, 1959: 20). The article, which
also noted that ―America‘s 3,000 radio and TV disc jockeys—each earning between 200 and 1000
dollars a week—are the men who make or break the hit parades‖ (ibid) also quoted Burton Lane,
the president of the American Guild of Authors and Composers, who argued ―There is no doubt
88
pay-for-play didn‘t exist here simply because neither the industry nor the market
was large enough to support or encourage it‖ (1975: 56). Australian radio had
remained relatively small and insular during its gestation prior to this, with, for
example, an absence of the racially targeted radio of the American market. While
race relations between music and radio helped develop American rock and roll,132
as Zion noted, the Australian market was so small that ―there were no equivalents
to America's 'race music' stations‖, a factor that ―certainly helped delay the
diffusion of rock'n'roll within Australia‖ (1989: 166). Australian radio‘s Top 40
developed its place in the wider music and broadcasting market by featuring
material not able to be shown on television (because television broadcast quality
material could not be obtained). Top 40 played international artists often based
solely on the individual announcer‘s recommendation, and in an effort to gain
ground against their competition there are stories of some DJs engaging in an
unofficial record importing trade to gain sole Australian access to international
sounds.133 Australia‘s relative isolation from the American and UK music scenes
did ensure, however, that when international artists did visit, they were met with
remarkable enthusiasm. This is demonstrated notably with The Beatles‘ 1964
Australian tour, where Top 40 radio was so effective in mobilizing fans that
according to Zion ―Paul McCartney claimed [the Adelaide reception] was 'greater
than our New York reception', while George Harrison 'described the wild
spontaneous reception as "the biggest we've ever received" (1987: 292).134
that commercial bribery has become a prime factor in determining what music is played on many
broadcast programs and what musical records the public is surreptitiously induced to buy‖ (ibid).
As well, In the article ―Disc Jockeys ‗Were Not Paid to plug U.S singer‘s records‘‖, the Sydney
Morning Herald reported a case investigating the alleged payment of Sydney, Melbourne and
Adelaide DJs to promote the music of an American artist who was touring. Although the article
did not name the artist or the DJs, the article, featured only a few days after reports on the
American payola trial (SMH and AAP, 1959: 20), implied that the practice also occurred in
Australia. (Sydney Morning Herald, 1959: 7).
132
See previous chapter with reference to Ennis (1992).
133
For example, in Episode 1 of the Australian documentary series Long Way To The Top (ABC
TV, 2001), it was claimed that some radio DJs obtained new international records by
commissioning Qantas flight attendants to procure them. This process of unofficial importing of
international records was also reported in the documentary Johnny O‟Keefe: The Wild One
(Warner DVD: 2008), but I have been unable to source any written accounts beyond these oral
testimonies.
134
Although Zion notes that there are discrepancies in the estimates of the exact numbers of
people who met The Beatles at the airport in Adelaide, however ―even by the lowest about a
quarter of the population was on the streets. This confounds what might normally seem an
appropriate suggestion that about 10 per cent of the population, most of them youth, were actively
interested in pop music at that time‖ (Zion, 1987: 293). See also Baker‘s account of this time
(1982).
89
In addition to the development of Top 40 in the 1950s and 1960s, John Potts
(1992) argues the importance of a distinct relationship between music and radio in
Australia during the 1980s. Potts argues that during this time in Australia a type of
radio playlist, that of ―Heritage Rock‖ (1992: 55), was used as a way to draw
audiences towards to medium using a particular type of music. Potts defines
Heritage Rock as ―an orthodoxy of popular music … which creates a smooth
lineage from the 1960s to ‗90s‖ (ibid);
135
this genre was thus born out of a
crossover between radio and music, and in direct competition from television.136
Specifically, he argues,
The 80s was the decade in which commercial radio lost its hold as the harbinger of the
new in pop music; this role was usurped by TV music video. … When the Heritage Rock
style format proved successful in the ‗80s, [radio] stations clung to it, and to the bevy of
big advertisers it attracted (Potts, 1992: 61).
Potts shows Heritage Rock to be a unique crossover between music and radio
developed to maintain audiences and advertisers. This process of differentiation,
or of a redrawing of borders to mark out new territories, has its most obvious
precedent in 1956, as Potts argues radio ―clearly needed to create a new profile for
itself, or risk becoming redundant altogether‖ (1992: 57). Potts incorporates 1956
into a death narrative of Australian radio; ―when TV was introduced to Australia
in 1956, there were many doomsayers who predicted the death of radio‖ (Potts,
1992: 57); a framing device chosen to demonstrate what radio stood to lose during
that period of change, and to set up his discussion of the 1990s Heritage Rock
environment. Potts argues that a collision of elements similar to that in Why
1955? Occurred in Australia during this time, as a distinct crossover between
radio and music was formed in 1956, through ―the transistor, the teenager, and
rock ‗n‘ roll‖ (Potts, 1992: 57),137 however he asserts the difference between local
and international markets. Most importantly, he maintains that ―Australia has
relied on its difference from other parts of the world‖, as, for instance, ―Australian
135
Potts describes Heritage Rock in more detail (1992: 55-7)
Internationally this crossover in the 1980s has also been explored, for example, in an American
study Phillips and Schlattmann (1990) argued that FM ―Top 40 comeback‖ (86) was directly
inspired by competition from music television MTV during the 1980s.
137
See also Inglis, who also explores this period in terms of ―Television and Transistors, 1956-66‖
(2006a 193-265).
136
90
radio in 1956 had the advantage of observing the earlier transition made by radio
in the US, where TV had been introduced in 1946‖ (Potts, 1992: 57).138
While Top 40 radio offered music dominated by international performers,
Australian music television drew its audience by focusing on local acts (albeit
often performing international songs). Writing as a historian but also as a
pioneering Australian Top 40 radio broadcaster, Bob Rogers described 1958
music television icon Bandstand as ―a cradle for the careers of many young
Australian pop singers‖, adding that the music television program ―become one of
the most durable life-rafts for pop music in Australia during an era when the
[local] business was constantly paddling a variety of leaky canoes‖ (1975: 84).
Television‘s birth (and its use of music), did expand on a radio/music crossover
model (a model that in 1956 was already being superseded), however in the first
instance television enhanced radio‘s domestic delivery of music (and other forms
of entertainment) by simply adding pictures. The connection to radio was clear in
the first music program on Australian television, the music quiz Name That Tune,
which was a direct adaptation of an existing radio format.139 It was followed by
TCN‘s 1957 music program TV Disc Jockey, a program whose name implied it
was simply a televised radio program (‗disc jockey‘). Music television was also
able to show audiences engaging with music rather than merely imply this as
radio had. For example, in a description of an early music television program TV
Disc Jockey, hosted by 22 year old John Godson, the newspaper emphasised what
visual interaction with music would be shown; ―teen-aged guests, dancing in the
studio to popular (and hi fi) music‖ (SMH, 1957a: 9). Interestingly this explicit
delivery of music and local audience interaction (ie: dancing) at first seemed an
unlikely success, however this crossover between the established format of
hearing recorded music, and the localised tradition of live dancing, worked well
when it was depicted on television. In her review of the show, Nan Musgrove
noted how relatively unusual TV Disc Jockey was for Australian television to that
138
It should be noted, however, that battles between radio and television had occurred in other
markets, but with different timing and contributing circumstances, therefore leading to slightly
different outcomes. For example, in Why 1955? Peterson also uses a death narrative, ―Radio did
not die with the advent of TV as the pessimists had predicted. In the years between 1948 and 1958,
however, the radio broadcasting industry was totally transformed‖ (Peterson, 1990: 105).
139
I shall discuss Name That Tune in more detail in Chapter 4.
91
point, asking ―Would you expect an empty studio, a turntable, and a handful of
teenagers enjoying themselves to add up to the promise of a good TV show? I
didn‘t. But I was wrong‖ (1957: 12). She continued to emphasise the program‘s
use of audio and visual interaction with music, as she explained ―every second
record is specially for dancing‖ (ibid), and notes that the show airs ―in previously
dull TV time—5.30 on a Sunday‖, and features an audience of 40 teenagers who
―listen to records, rock ‗n‘ roll, drink vast quantities of coke, and generally have
fun under the eye of the camera‖ (ibid). Musgrove argues that this is a refreshing
approach to Australian television, as the teenagers dancing to the music treat the
camera with ―disregard … apparently quite unconscious of the deep-freeze effect
it has on most people‖ (Musgrove, 1989: 12).
Although Musgrove doesn‘t articulate the target demographic she thinks TV Disc
Jockey was aiming for, she implies the show has a general audience, rather than
aiming at an exclusive demographic or deliberately being exclusionary.140
Interestingly, other commentators were not as appreciative of the show‘s
emphasis, with radio‘s Bob Rogers documentation of the television show critical,
perhaps because of the TV Disc Jockey‘s blatant attempt to compete for Top 40‘s
audience, ―[TV Disc Jockey was a] mish-mash of film clips, records, interviews
and ballroom dancing … a minor shambles which did little more than transmit
pictures of youngsters dancing‖ (1975: 84). Writing two decades after Rogers,
Turner articulated the competition between music radio and music television that
Rogers had hinted at, stating that television ―gutt[ed] radio of much of its
programming‖ (Turner, 1992b: 15). However, given both of these commentators‘
emphasis on radio (Rogers continued as a radio broadcaster and commentator, and
Turner continued to write about radio),141 their opposition to positive narratives of
television/music crossover during the 1950s can be easily understood as part of a
wider, more personal, agenda.
TV Disc Jockey was replaced by Accent on Youth (also featuring John Godson as
host presenting recorded music for dancing), which was itself eventually was
140
I make this assumption also based on what is omitted from this review, that is, Musgrove
doesn‘t comment on the music being too loud or threatening (as did many commentators of rock
and roll on television), nor does she comment on the dancing being immodest in any way.
141
See, notably, Turner (1993).
92
replaced with Bandstand (Harrison, 2005: 176).142 Like TV Disc Jockey and
Accent on Youth, Bandstand also featured live dancing in the studio, but this
physical display of musical enjoyment and personal interaction was markedly
more sedate. The new show also featured live143 rather than recorded versions of
rock and roll, most often performed by local artists. Bandstand was a crossover
between music and television offering something other than a visual version of the
Top 40 with dancing, and its use of local artists was the first time television really
offered something substantially different for the audience in terms of new music.
The music featured on Bandstand, irrespective of the ethnicity of the original
performer or songwriter, was reinterpreted by Bandstand‘s clean cut, usually
British immigrant, Australian cast. These regular performers were known as ―The
Bandstand Family‖144 and although they were rarely performing their own
material, through television local artists were at least given an audience to develop
their profiles as performers, while radio focused on international sounds and stars.
Historian John Byrell described the Australian version of Bandstand as a ―popvariety show‖ designed to appeal to audiences from ―13 to 80‖ (Byrell, 1995: 11).
Further to this, Turner described the development of live performance/variety
programs on commercial television as ―a good options for the channels: they were
cheap, live and necessarily repetitive; they attracted a large, loyal, and ‗family
viewing‘ audience; and they brought in new kinds of advertisers‖ (Turner, 1992b:
15). As such, the appearance of Bandstand on Australian commercial television
during the late 1950s can be understood as a deliberate attempt by TCN 9 to
142
I should note here that in 1989 Stockbridge presented a slightly different account of the
beginnings of Australian music television, suggesting that ―Australian TV had its first rock-and
roll show in mid-1958 on HSV7 (Melbourne) [with a program] called Your Hit Parade” (1989:
73). She goes on to describe the Melbourne show as a precursor to Bandstand (not mentioning TV
Disc Jockey or Accent on Youth at all). Given that I have been unable to find further details of
whether TV Disc Jockey was broadcast beyond Sydney, I simply note her alternative history here,
assuming that it didn‘t make it to Melbourne. This is a common problem in attempting to develop
national narrative for what was a localised medium, and indeed, demonstrates further the problem
of distance in Australia around 1956, and a problem I will address in the conclusion to this thesis.
143
I use the term live here to mean that these performances were presented as if they were being
performed by musicians present, as opposed to merely hearing records play, however I
acknowledge that many of these performances were actually mimed. The difference, however,
remains that on Bandstand a musician (or singer at least) was actively connected with the sound
and performing to camera, while in earlier music television the only performance was by guests
dancing and the host introducing records.
144
Henderson uses ―Bandstand family‖ to refer musicians like Col Joye, Patsy Ann Noble and
others (Henderson in Byrell, 1995: 22), while Cox also uses this term (2006: 14).
93
differentiate music television from the increasingly youth oriented form of Top 40
radio, and as a specific crossover between television and music in order to meet
the changing environment of the day. Bandstand was established in Australia six
years after the successful launch of American Bandstand on US television, and the
local version used many of the same ideas. However, while American Bandstand
and its host Dick Clark introduced American performers to American audiences
performing American songs, the Australian version of Bandstand still
predominantly featured international songs to gain the local audience‘s attention.
Local musicians were used to perform these international works (as I mentioned
earlier, the local Bandstand family), and as Zion described, this was Australian
music television‘s attempt to capitalise on the popularity of the emerging
international trend of rock and roll, but do so in a way that appeared local and
safe, as ―Channel Nine's Bandstand broadened rock'n'roll's audience while playing
an active role in sanitising the music‖ (1987: 172).
Bandstand‘s host in Australia, Brian Henderson, became a bridge between
television and music audiences, and ultimately he was fundamental in the
successful crossover between music and television that Bandstand achieved here.
However, he was selected as the music television program‘s spokesperson on the
strength of his commercial potential with a broad audience, rather than because he
had any existing connection to music.145 Henderson was articulate, polite, neatly
dressed in a suit and tie and with thick-rimmed glasses that made him appear older
than he was, and his appearance helped give him the reputation of being ―as wild
as the local librarian‖ (Cockington 2001: 78). Just as American Bandstand had
developed a way to present American audiences with rock and roll ―framed by the
family narrative‖ (Frith, 2002: 283) Bandstand in Australia presented a
―respectable sort of rock ‗n‘ roll‖ (Cox 2006: 14),146 a description that was
145
Henderson‘s background in music was not only limited, but likely non-existent. Henderson
began his broadcasting career as a radio announcer in his native New Zealand when he moved to
Australia to ―concentrate on becoming a top news presenter‖ (Henderson in Byrell, 1995: 22).
Following some small jobs (mostly doing booth commentaries) he was given a temporary role
replacing compere John Godson on Channel 9, and was offered a permanent position because
―Nock and Kirby, one of Nine‘s biggest advertisers, specifically asked for [him]‖ to continue on
air on the station (ibid).
146
See also Place and Roberts (2006) who also described Bandstand‘s success in terms of
Henderson‘s abilities, calling Bandstand ―the most music successful show‖ of it time due to the
94
directly opposed to the way Top 40 targeted young audiences and presented new,
exotic sounds. Henderson‘s role as the figurehead of the Bandstand Family was so
important that his word is often quoted rather than that of the musicians
themselves. Indeed, in histories of the time details of Henderson dominate
discussions rather than details of the actual music played on the show. Often
discussions about the music television crossover have tended to centre on the
hosts of these programs rather than the specifics of the music they present, 147 and
this is an issue I will explore in more depth in the next two chapters, however in
terms of music television as it emerged following 1956 this emphasis shows yet
another contrast with radio. That is, Australian Top 40 radio and its hosts
attempted to deliver the most diverse, unusual and international product it could,
often allowing youth audiences to set standards of acceptability. Top 40 was more
able to be manipulated from the bottom up, as demonstrated by an account of The
Bee Gees buying multiple copies of albums at particular record stores so as to
help secure a position in the chart and on radio.148 By contrast, Bandstand and
music television of its type dictated and influenced audience opinions from the top
down, making a point of curbing any potential threats so as to maintain
predictable standards of general (older audience) appeal, and ensure the regularity
of a different type of advertiser‘s support. As Henderson declared in 1960, ―We
see to it that nothing in the show smacks of juvenile delinquency . . . and that goes
for the music we play too‖ (cited in Zion, 1987: 172).
strength of ―Brian Henderson introduc[ing] a winning combination of overseas and regular local
guests‖(2006: 133).
147
The only exception is Bandstand and All That! (Byrell, 1995), which provided focused but
largely anecdotal accounts of particular performers and events from Bandstand. Curiously,
however, this account of Bandstand leaves out of its history the brief return of the program, when
Henderson was replaced by Daryl Somers as host, an omission that also demonstrates how closely
the value of Bandstand was tied to Henderson.
148
For example, Cook describes how the Bee Gees‘ gained their first Australian Top 40 single in
the 1960s. Their recording ―entered the radio 2UE sponsored chart thanks to some very specific
market research which the [Gibb] brothers had discreetly conducted themselves‖ (2004: 72). Cook
continues, quoting Robin Gibb, ‗First of all, we found out the shops of the radio station‘s survey,
Walton‘s, Woolworths, about six in all. That‘s all the information we needed ... We knew if we
could sell 400 records on that September‘s Saturday afternoon, by the next Wednesday chart, we‘d
be at number 35. We only had £200 so it could only be no higher than 35‖ (ibid), and although
Gibb does not admit directly here that the band bought all 400 units themselves, Cook implies they
did: ―Once in the Top 40, the disc began to receive airplay and, while there was no guarantee of
subsequent sales, at least the record buying public had the chance to decide for themselves. The
gamble paid off and the brothers were able to recoup their investment‖ (Cook, 2004: 72). This
need to manipulate sales of recordings is remarkable given that the Gibb brothers had previously
featured regularly on Australian television programs such as Bandstand, however it was perhaps
because of their profile as covers artists that they were not considered as songwriters.
95
Bandstand ended in 1972 after 14 years on Australian music television. Although
it was not the only music television program on Australian television during its
run, its longevity and influence were unequalled. Histories of 1956 and the
following period of early Australian television have really only offered one outlet
to rival Bandstand‘s influence in music television (and for music generally), the
short-lived but well remembered Six O‟Clock Rock (broadcast on ABN 2 19591962). As a music television program on non-commercial television Six O‟Clock
Rock could afford to segment its audience, and it presented rock and roll in a way
similar to Top 40, for a defined and almost exclusively youth audience. However
Six O‟Clock Rock‘s point of difference from music radio, and from Bandstand,
was its championing of local artists performing their own material, a tradition
established most notably with the program‘s association with pioneer Australian
rocker Johnny O‘Keefe. In a description of the period around 1956, Walker
(2006) places O‘Keefe at the centre of the rapid changes that had been occurring
in Australia during this time, arguing,
There's no doubt that Johnny O'Keefe was the Big Bang of Australian rock' n'roll. After
Bill Haley's huge hit with 'Rock around the Clock' in 1955-56, JOK was the first local act
capable of sharing a stage with such American invaders. In January 1958, when he
recorded 'The Wild One', the claim could reasonably be made that he'd cut the first truly
great and certainly the first hit Australian rock 'n' roll record. 'The Wild One' is one of the
few Australian tracks of its era that has survived as a classic, despite or perhaps because
of the fact it was one of the few local compositions of the era. But the road that led to
'The Wild One' is dotted with proto-rock'n'roll records‖ (2006: 5).
Walker‘s emphasis here is on O‘Keefe as a live performer and recording artist,
however it was exposure and support from music television, and Six O‟Clock
Rock, that helped to ensure his unprecedented success. In the same year that ―The
Wild One‖ was released O‘Keefe also developed a name for himself by first
appearing on, and then hosting, Six O‟Clock Rock, and as Bowden argued,
―O‘Keefe started on the show as a performer with his band, the Dee Jays, who had
backed him singing The Wild One, making him the first Australian rocker to have
a hit record.‖ (2006: 53). Zion called Six O‟Clock Rock ―the most important of the
early rock'n'roll television shows [because it] served as a forum for Johnny
O'Keefe‖ (1987: 172).
96
This use of a birth narrative, in the case of referencing a ‗big bang‘, highlights the
outcome of the period of change that O‘Keefe and Six O‟Clock Rock were
working with. Again, Walker‘s retrospective narrative, which was written (as I
will show in chapters 3 and 4) during a contemporary time of change for
Australian music and television, also can be understood as a way to understand
contemporary crises by exploring the nature and outcome of crises past. As well,
it should be noted that Walker‘s emphasis on O‘Keefe and his connection to Six
O‟Clock Rock is also at the expense of exploring (or at least acknowledging)
much of the rest of the history of the program and its original broadcast context.
Perhaps most pressing is his failure to acknowledge that O‘Keefe was not the
program‘s original host, but rather that the show was first launched with a female
presenter, Ricki Merriman, as its anchor. Although she was soon replaced by
O‘Keefe, Six O‟Clock‘s original format is commonly overshadowed by narratives
of O‘Keefe,149 as, similarly, there has been little written about Bandstand‘s 1970s
return to TV without Henderson.150 I will explore such emphasises (and
omissions) in more depth next chapter with relation to music video program Rage
and its hostless format.
Six O‟Clock Rock was ―based on the British program 6-5 [sic] Special”
(Stockbridge, 1989: 74).151 Like the BBC program, Six O‟Clock Rock was
developed in Australia by the national broadcaster, ABC, for the specific purpose
149
In many examinations Merriman is not mentioned at all (Stockbridge, 1992a and b), while
where she is, such as with Bowden (2006: 53), and Rogers (1975: 76-7), Merriman is mentioned
only briefly and this part of the chapter focused obviously on O‘Keefe. Even press material at the
time focused on O‘Keefe despite Merriman‘s presence, as, for example, Musgrove (1959: 74),
which only mentions her briefly. It does beg the question as to why she was omitted- a question
that is beyond the scope of this project, but would provide fruitful insight into the politics of
presenters on Australian television, particularly Merriman‘s position as the (likely) first female
music host on Australian television.
150
Indeed, Bandstand‘s return to television was completely overlooked in Byrell‘s 1995 history,
and as far as I can assertion only formally referenced anywhere in Harrison‘s (1980: 32) study as
part of coverage of the ―bandstand affair‖ relating to local content on Australian television.
Harrison refers to the ABCB report for 1974/5 here, and describes how, following rapid the
changes in the local content quota with relation to the production of drama, ―the Nine network
approached the Board and asked that that ‗Bandstand‘, a local variety program, be included
towards the extra quota. The Board agreed to this and allowed ‗Bandstand‘ 10 points, the highest
possible within the category‖ (Harrison, 1980: 32). While Nine had argued that Bandstand was ―a
high-budget series with high employment of artists, musicians and technicians‖ the ―special
allowance given the program was attached in the press‖ and eventually reviewed because of the
televised version was different to what had been described to the board and ―included a great
number of imported film strips‖ (Harrison, 1980: 32).
151
In all other accounts I have read the program is listed in full as ―Six Five Special‖.
97
of promoting local songwriters and performers on television, as well as attempting
to develop a youth audience for television more generally. However, there was an
important difference between the BBC and ABC shows. Frith reported that the
Saturday evening broadcast of ―Six-Five Special and subsequent British pop
music shows‖ were youth music programs ―also meant to appeal to parents‖,
adding that the ―youth music provided a bit of a laugh for grown-ups‖ (Frith,
2002: 283). In contrast, Bob Rogers described Six O‟Clock Rock‘s importance in
terms of how it excluded older viewers. As opposed to the sanitised artifice of
Bandstand, Six O‟Clock Rock depicted musicians performing on television with a
relative rawness, ―penetrating a lot of alien living rooms through ABC television
allow[ing] thousands of Mums and Dads at least to define the 'enemy'‖ (1975: 74).
O‘Keefe had control of the program as the host of a live program, also
contributing to the crossover between music and television with this program, as
here the musician was able to dictate the direction of the program would take as it
went to air.
Further to Walker and Rogers‘ accounts, in a 2006 retrospective Denise Young
wrote an article on Six O‟Clock Rock‘s influence, also measuring the program‘s
importance in terms of its difference from other music/broadcasting crossovers at
the time. Young wrote,
everything changed when my grandmother bought a TV, the first in our family ...
Initially, we got a diet of Perry Como and Dean Martin, just as on the radio. Pipe and
slipper music. And then came Johnny O'Keefe. Six O'clock Rock burst onto the screen
like fireworks, with skyrockets, Catherine wheels and double bungers all going off at
once. It was wild and raw, spontaneous and rough, and it was all our own. No kings of
England or American crooners here. The producers and performers readily admitted they
had no idea what they were doing, so they just threw one helluva party. They rehearsed
all day from nine till four and by six had to be ready to go out live. Anything could
happen. On one occasion a group of students released a box of mice among the dancers,
causing panic and high-pitched screaming that rivalled Johnny's (2006: 25).
Young shows how quickly Australian radio and television changed in 1956 and
the years following (as radio was still playing ―pipe and slipper music‖ rather than
Top 40 initially), but also emphasises a relatively chaotic period of change, as
those in charge ―had no idea what they were doing‖ (ibid). This depiction of
uncontrolled energy and unpredictability is a direct contrast to Bandstand and host
98
Brian Henderson‘s relative sedate approach introduction to music/television.
Young observed that Six O‟Clock Rock was ―everything that the rival show,
Bandstand, with its clean-cut compere and nice neat image, wasn't‖, (2006: 27)
arguing that Six O‟Clock Rock and O‘Keefe finally moved Australian music
television beyond general entertainment to more specialised viewing.152 Tim
Bowden
also
explored
this
difference
between
the
commercial/sedate
Bandstand/Henderson, and the ABC/edgy Six O‟Clock/O‘Keefe, arguing ―‗The
Wild One‘ was the antithesis of Brian Henderson, the smooth, bespectacled
frontman for the rival Channel 9 program Bandstand‖ (Bowden 2006: 53), noting
especially his performance style, ―O‘Keefe was rough, raw and loud, and gyrated
about with frenzied and overtly sexual stage antics, literally throwing himself into
each song. The fans couldn‘t get enough of him‖ (ibid). While O‘Keefe‘s
appearances on Six O‟Clock Rock were not as wild as Young and Bowden‘s
descriptions of his live show,153 their descriptions complement cycles of
exaggerated birth narratives elsewhere. Neither commentator used the term ‗born‘
to describe O‘Keefe‘s impact on the local music scene and in initiating a local
rock and roll tradition, but the way they accord him pre-eminence over other local
performers during this time shows how they consider him to be the originator of
the local Australian musical, and music television, tradition.
O‘Keefe‘s ability to cross between music and television earned him a reputation
as ―the antipodean Elvis and he (and Six O‟Clock Rock) paved the way for
Australian-made pop music,‖ (Bowden, 2006: 53), and his ability to achieve
success more or less simultaneously across the creative industries of television,
the record charts, in the live arena, and later radio, often by showcasing his own
material, has been considered remarkable. 154 O‘Keefe‘s place as Australia‘s first
rock music star, but also one of the first modern pop celebrities was also secured
with narratives of his untimely death, as Young called him Australia‘s ―first
152
Young continued, ―Before [Six O‟Clock Rock] erupted on our screens, parents and kids
watched more or less the same movies and listened to more or less the same songs. ... [but with Six
O‟Clock Rock] This was our music. Our generation. Johnny O'Keefe yawped our barbaric yawp.‖
(Young, 2006: 27).
153
I make this assertion based on clips of O‘Keefe from the documentary Johnny O‟Keefe: The
Wild One (2008).
154
O‘Keefe continued as a television presenter after Six O‟Clock Rock, also presenting music
programs on Channel 7 (The Johnny O‟Keefe Show/Sing Sing Sing) and 10 (Where the Action Is)
during the 1960s.
99
meteoric celebrity [who] suffered the burnout we've come to expect from such
figures: depression, breakdown, drug abuse, a serious car accident. Dying young
was also part of it: Johnny died at forty-three‖ (Young, 2006: 27). Indeed, this fate
was also something he shared with his international 1955 counterpart Elvis, a
comparison that has also been made by commentators attempting to mark out
1956 and its own tradition. As Clinton Walker noted, even O‘Keefe‘s death was
slightly late, ―O'Keefe died in 1978, a year after Elvis‖ (2006: 13). O‘Keefe was
the most spectacular embodiment of the ‗birth‘ of the category of crossover artist
that emerged from the transitions centred on 1956 in Australia, and even though
he could be compared to similar international births and crossovers (overtly with
this comparison to Elvis Presley above), his impact was at the time, and has
remained, distinct in Australia. As such, O‘Keefe‘s position as a crossover artist,
as one that who appealed to audiences both with music and television, can be
understood as a key to his identification with Australian identity and culture more
broadly. As I will discuss in the next chapter, among other period celebrations
such as Shout: The Musical155 and documentary Johnny O‟Keefe: The Wild One
(2008), his place as an icon of local music/television has been maintained with
footage of O‘Keefe used in the opening titles to music video program, Rage.
2.3 Building on the foundations of 1956: the ABC and the development of
distinctive Australian music and performers, as well as distinctive forms of
music television and music radio.
Two years after the demise of Bandstand a new program was launched that would
come close to duplicating its success in terms of longevity and influence as a
crossover between music and television. Countdown began on public service
broadcaster ABC on 8 November 1974. Indeed, Countdown‘s legacy beyond 1956
has become so iconic of TV/pop music crossover that Sally Stockbridge argued
that ―Australia has a remarkably long history of music programs on TV,
155
Shout was a jukebox musical performed live around Australia as a biography of O‘Keefe. It
debuted professionally in 1999 with David Campbell cast as O‘Keefe however has since toured
periodically with amateur and professional productions. I need to be clear, however, that the
O‘Keefe musical is different to Shout: The Mod Musical which is currently appearing in New
York, however which uses the same song ―Shout‖ by The Isley Brothers as a theme, and appears
to be a similar type of nostalgia retrospective (however from an American point of view and
without a central focus like O‘Keefe (http://www.shoutthemodmusical.com/, accessed 18/8/11).
100
remarkable because most people assume it all began with Countdown‖ (1992b:
68). While there were other music television programs shown on commercial and
non-commercial Australian television during the time Countdown was on air,156 I
want to focus now on why and how Countdown achieved this status. This section
will focus on television, partly as a point of departure for the later case studies,
but also because of the level of innovation that music television offered in the
1970s and beyond when compared to the greater homogenisation that
characterised pop music on radio (with radio really just continuing with its Top 40
and international focus). I will look here at the development of local musicians,
and thus local Australian identity, via this music/television crossover.157
Stockbridge argues that Countdown ―was significant for its national range and its
access to country viewers‖ (1992b: 73), comparing its seemingly overwhelming
influence across Australia to that of one of the international benchmarks of music
television that came later; Countdown was ―the closest Australian program to the
market position occupied by MTV in the US‖ (ibid). More recently, Shane Homan
also described the importance of Countdown for music and media audiences and
artists, arguing the program began ―as Australian audiences embraced the
introduction of colour television‖, and naming two local bands who ―constructed
specific images for maximum televisual impact ... Sherbet and Skyhooks‖
(Homan, 2000: 37).158 These 1990s and 2000s commentaries on Countdown look
at the importance of the music television crossover in establishing a place for
local musicians in Australia, a role ABC music television had established with Six
O‟Clock Rock. Countdown‘s approach to music television could also be
considered an evolution of O‘Keefe‘s program in the way it was drawn together
by music journalist/producer/host Ian ‗Molly‘ Meldrum, who like O‘Keefe, had
been chosen to host the program because of an existing profile in the music
156
Regrettably, it is beyond the scope of this work to explore these further, or indeed, even to
provide a good list of them here. However this is an under-researched area that would benefit from
further attention.
157
While I acknowledge that Countdown played a significant role in promoting international music
in Australia as well, this is beyond the scope of this project.
158
The importance of Countdown‘s coincidence with the introduction of colour television in
Australia has also been noted by Stockbridge (1992a: 139; 1992b: 73-4), with the program
reportedly used to demonstrate the potential of colour television in department stores selling the
new product.
101
industry rather than (or in spite of the lack of) any ability as a television host.159
Meldrum was an unskilled and unpredictable television presenter, but clearly a
music expert. Further, Meldrum‘s television presentation style was not only
informal, but often at times ―artfully incoherent‖ (Inglis, 2006: 356) in the same
way O‘Keefe had often been confident but perhaps at times confused. 160 While
some argued that Meldrum‘s on-screen persona was the result of his ignorance
about the demands of television,161 others suggested that he had developed a
―carefully cultivated bumbling presentation and interviewing style‖ which served
to avoid intimidating young audience members or musicians (Bowden and
Borchers, 2006: 158).162
Meldrum and Countdown, like O‘Keefe and Six O‟Clock Rock, presented a
different music television model from the one commercial television had
cultivated with Henderson and Bandstand. Meldrum was unprofessional in equal
measure to Henderson‘s controlled poise; Meldrum was as visually currently
fashionable as Henderson‘s neutral, business-like attire was not, and Meldrum
included himself in the music culture Countdown was promoting rather than
acting as a buffer to keep it under control as Henderson had. As Stockbridge said,
―Molly was the arbiter of quality‖ (Stockbridge, 1992a: 139), an authority based
on his experience with music prior to joining the show, but also his conduct
during Countdown‘s run. Reports of Meldrum ―holding record companies in
thrall‖ (Stockbridge 1992a: 138) with his demands for exclusive material for
Countdown demonstrate the influence he developed for the show, so much so that
at its height ―to be included on Countdown gave a band credibility as far as the
industry and the young viewers of the program were concerned‖ (ibid).
159
See Young‘s description of O‘Keefe as a ―woeful compare, regularly forgetting the names of
performers he was introducing‖, a point she adduces to argue that these unscripted lapses
maintained audience interest (2006: 27).
160
Meldrum was an established figure in the Australian music industry figure who had worked as
a record producer and as a journalist for the print publication Go-Set among other activities prior
to Countdown. See further on Meldrum‘s career prior to Countdown in Wilmoth (1993: 33-4).
161
For example, Countdown‘s producer Ted Emery commented on Meldrum‘s naivete about
television; ―He [Meldrum] had no sense of my timetable making a television show. I‘m dealing
with an insane person screaming around in a Jaguar with melting speakers in the back seat
bringing last-minute clips to the studio … We‘d work on it [Countdown] all day, rehearse bands,
fight with Molly, rehearse another band, fight with Molly, rehearse another band, fight with Molly
again, research bands…‖ (Ted Emery in Bowden and Borchers, 2006: 159)
162
Perhaps the epitome of this was Meldrum‘s interview with Prince Charles where he attempted
to create a rapport with the Prince of Wales by referring to the Queen as his ―mum‖ (ibid).
102
Meldrum‘s opinion about the music featured on Countdown was always overt, as
he provided commentary in between clips and interviews (both spontaneously and
as part of a regular segment, ―Humdrum‖). This demonstrated his close
engagement with the music on the show, and, in consequence, with his audience.
In contrast to Henderson‘s authority within the ―Bandstand family‖ (a family that
comprised the Bandstand-styled performers only rather than independent
performer/songwriters), Meldrum often handed hosting duties to artists, interacted
with the audience and encouraged artists to experiment with new visual and
musical styles. In contrast with Bandstand and ‗chaperone‘ image of Henderson,
Meldrum engaged his audience and the music by creating a sense of camaraderie.
As Peter Wilmoth argued, ―Henderson represented the generation gap and the
view that this pop stuff was all a bit of frippery. … Molly changed that. No longer
did a host condescend, or feign ignorance. Molly was assuredly one of us – a fan‖
(1993: 31). The role of the music television host in drawing audiences for
television and audiences for music together is one I will explore with crossovers
throughout the rest of this thesis.
Jon Stratton (2006) has also explored the impact of Countdown in creating an
Australian national identity via a music and television crossover. However,
Stratton‘s narrative was published nearly two decades after the program ended. As
I will show in Chapter four particularly, the period around 2006 was one of
renewed change and crossover for popular music and media in Australia, and as
such, Stratton‘s retrospective narrative of crossover was likely motivated (at least
in part) by a wish to better understand the changes that were happening as he
wrote.163 Stratton argued Countdown‘s impact in terms of its ability to promote
Australian musical and television content (and thus Australian identity) during the
1970s, with the program facilitating a ―construction and nationalizing of pop163
Stratton doesn‘t acknowledge the changes in Australian music and media in 2006 overtly in his
article, however I make this assumption based on the way he refers to contemporary analysis of
Australian music and culture such as Homan‘s 2003 study of live music (Stratton, 2006: 244-5), as
well as Stratton‘s reliance on examples of Australian music from the 1970s and 80s which has
remained popular in contemporary national discourses, such as his discussion of Men At Work‘s
1982 song ―Land Down Under‖ (Stratton, 2006: 250-1), which has continued to be associated with
contemporary Australian national culture with use in the Sydney Olympics closing ceremony in
2000, for example. Similarly, GANG-gajang‘s 1985 single ―Sounds of Then‖, which Stratton also
describes in this article (2006: 251), has also maintained its cultural value since the 1980s up until
the time Stratton was writing, and beyond.
103
rock‖ (2006: 246) during that time. Stratton explains ―the ABC‘s technological
integration by the early 1970s was the platform for Countdown‘s national reach‖
(ibid), and subsequently a music/television crossover was developed; ―the newly
developing national pop-rock sound championed by Countdown‖ (Stratton, 2006:
249). Stratton doesn‘t refer to 1956, but offers the same kind of argument in
relation to a later time period of comparable cross-industrial change, arguing that
the show
did not create the musical category of pop-rock, it legitimated pop-rock and gave it an
audience to love or hate, and react to it ... as in the decade 1975–1985 it was Countdown
that constructed the mainstream of Australian popular music and became the driver for
which songs would get into the [usually radio-determined] Top 40 (2006: 247).
This last point also identifies the uniqueness of Countdown internationally, since
with its national reach it exercised more influence than radio. As Stratton
continues, ―Countdown‘s ratings by the middle of its near-decade run were
roughly one-fifth of Australia‘s entire population‖ (ibid), however his account of
Countdown‘s influence, and the birth of this type of music crossover, also
recognizes the form‘s limitations and exclusions: ―Oz Rock, and Australia‘s
Alternative Rock scene that developed in concert with mid-1970s punk, hardly got
a look in on Countdown‖ (2006: 247-8). Certainly live music during this time
maintained its viability (indeed, live music in Australia has sustained many
important local subcultures, often without broadcast support), but this music was
often supported by a different music/broadcast crossover. Formed the year after
Countdown, the ABC‘s youth dedicated radio station Double J was established to
add to the local music/broadcasting landscape, and made a point of providing a
platform for music that was not being covered elsewhere. As Homan described,
Double J was an ―autonomous unit within the Australian Broadcasting
Commission, [and] the station catered to bands and listeners ignored by
commercial radio‖ (Homan, 2000: 37).
I have been focusing on television rather than radio in the last few pages because
since 1956 and the development of the Top 40 format the music/radio crossover
had remained relatively stable. Radio during the 1970s had come to be dominated
by commercial alliances between broadcasting and the music industry,
specifically recording, an alliance that was considered so important to each
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industry that the recording industry withdrew its support for radio in 1970 because
it felt the broadcast industry was benefiting unfairly from its contribution.164
However in the lead up to this dispute, and following its resolution, the
relationship between radio broadcasting and the record industry continued with a
strong, but relatively narrow focus. Commercial radio tended to champion
particular types of music and avoid others, something that helped secure its
audience (and therefore its commercial livelihood), but which also meant that
other aspects of the music industry remained unrepresented. As such, the
establishment of Double J (later to become Triple J) as part of the ABC in 1975 is
a key marker during this time of a birth of a new type of broadcasting/music
relationship in Australia, but it can also be understood as part of an initiative to
kill older alliances. Plate argued that ―the rapid growth of Australian bands and
music since the inception of 2JJ is evidence of the galvanizing effect of the ABC
initiative.‖ (Plate in Whiteoak and Scott-Maxwell, 2003: 19), with the importance
of Double J was its ability to draw music and radio fans together. That is, Double
J‘s crossover impact lay in the way it harnessed the relationship between
broadcasting (the wider purpose of the ABC) and music, a view also expressed by
Inglis who recounted the ABC‘s commitment to Double J as a station that ―would
cater for people from eighteen to twenty five, mainly given them a wide range of
popular music in the rock, jazz, pop and folk fields‖ (Inglis, 2006a: 375).
This relationship between music and broadcasting has also been noted by Albury
(1999), who argued that the music used on the station, particularly its opening
song ‗You Just Like Me ‗Cos I‘m Good In Bed‘, has come to represent the aim of
the Triple J as a cultural institution. As such, the relationship between
broadcasting and music is central to narratives of the station‘s launch,
164
As Agardy and Zion report, ―During [1970] the record companies challenged the previously
mutually convenient arrangement between themselves and radio stations. In the arrangement
record companies provided playlist material to the stations, which in turn provided needed
promotion for sales. In 1970 the record companies demanded compensation for the airplay of
Australian and British recordings, these being protected by copyright agreement. This dispute
resulted in the commercial radio stations banning these recordings from airplay. Since the ban
lasted some six months, and stations were obliged to fulfill the Australian composition
requirement, an opportunity arose for smaller independent Australian record companies to have
their material played on radio and thus gain a foothold in the industry. Eventually an agreement
was reached whereby radio stations would provide advertising time credits to record companies in
return for the use of their material. This arrangement predated the establishment of the commercial
FM stations that were not included in the agreement‖ (1997: 20).
105
It is customary to begin an article on Triple J by asserting that 2 Double Jay, Triple J‘s
AM forerunner, famously launched itself in 1975 by playing Skyhooks' 'banned' song
'You Just Like Me 'Cos I'm Good in Bed'. 'Good in Bed' represents a number of popular
Triple J mythologies: that Triple J plays Australian music, which the commercial stations
do not; that Triple J is irreverent and anti-censorship; and that Triple J is a radical, young
station. (Albury, 1999: 55).
Albury‘s Triple J birth narrative focuses on the relationship between broadcasting
and music, a relationship that has become symbolic of the station‘s ideology and
its wider place in Australian culture. ‗You Just Like Me Cos I‘m Good In Bed‘165
has been connected to the station because it was the first song the station played
on air, and because it was an Australian song that commercial radio had refused to
play.166 Albury also argues that the song has become associated of Triple J‘s
decline as well, suggesting that ―the 'legendary' status of 'Good in Bed' also
resonates with a number of recent criticisms of Triple J‖ (Albury, 1999: 55).
‗Good in Bed‘ has come to represent Double/Triple J in a number of histories of
the station,167 however the emphasis on the impact of this song alone shows the
construction of a birth narrative that differs from commentaries of the station‘s
birth at the time. The song, which was introduced briefly by announcer Holger
Brockman (who simply said ‗We‘re away‘ before dropping the track) has come to
be considered representative of the type of music Double J played during its early
period. However, ‗Good in Bed‘ was in significant respects atypical of the
station‘s playlist on its inaugural day. Following an introduction by DJ Holger
Brockman came The Rolling Stones‘ ‗Sympathy for the Devil‘. Unlike Skyhooks,
The Stones song was not featured because of its overtly controversial nature or
because of its national origin;168 it was chosen because it was considered too long
to be played on commercial radio. The point is that in addition to providing
airspace for local (and therefore commercially untested) and socially controversial
music, more generally Double J focused on playing music that listeners could not
165
Hereafter called ‗Good in Bed‘.
For further details see Inglis (2006: 376) and Albury (1999: 55-6), as well as the minidocumentary
―Double
J:
1975‖
available
via
http://www.abc.net.au/triplej/30years/video/default.htm, accessed 14/08/10.
167
In January 2005 Triple J ran a special series to celebrate its 30 th anniversary on air called ‘30
Years in 30 Days‘ during which contemporary musician Missy Higgins performed a cover of
‗Good in Bed‘. For details see www.abc.net.au/triplej/30years, accessed 14/08/10.
168
For details see the Triple J documentary ―Opener 1975‖, available via
http://www.abc.net.au/triplej/30years/audio/opener_1975.mp3, accessed 14/08/10.
166
106
hear broadcast anywhere else. The new relationship between music and
broadcasting, between hitherto supposedly unbroadcastable music and audiences
not targeted according to commercial criteria, was the station‘s real innovation.
Over its history suggestions have emerged periodically about the possible death of
Triple J and these have also highlighted the changing relationship between music
and broadcasting, and how this interaction has affected (created, or lost)
audiences. Albury explored a period of crisis for the station in the late 1980s: ―It
was widely believed that Triple J had become elitist, with a stereotypical listener
of the time described by one announcer as a '24-year-old inner-city male, tertiary
educated, and wearing black'‖ (1999: 56). The sense that the station‘s audience
was contracting to a kind of subcultural elite was seen as a threat to its funding,
as a result of which a ‗Save the Jays‘ campaign was mounted, with listeners
protesting against changes to Triple J‘s format and on-air content (Albury, 1999:
56-7). In particular, Albury noted that this period of change was marked by a
listener-driven reconfiguration of the station‘s role, ―The Save the Jays protesters
particularly disputed the repositioning of Triple Jay as a 'youth' station. They
claimed that the station should speak not to an age, but an attitude‖ (Albury, 1999:
57). Albury notes the proliferation during this time of commercial stations which
programmed music described as ‗Classic Gold‘ or ‗Hits and Memories‘, that is,
music that was chosen because of its proven commercial success. Albury suggests
that Triple J therefore made an essential and distinctive contribution to the
broadcasting landscape at the time in providing a platform for different types of
music, and different audience demographics. She also notes however that some
commentators did not consider the station to have succeeded in this respect.
3. CONCLUSION: INTO THE 1980S AND BEYOND
By the end of the 1980s and into the 1990s Australian media and music were
experiencing a new period of change. This change was coming about as many of
the established crossover forms of 1956 were being superseded as their audiences
aged, but also as new methods of delivery, production and dissemination across
great distances were beginning to be discussed internationally. My thesis has so
far focused on general patterns of music/media crossover, giving more or less
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equal attention to music/radio and music/television crossovers. Over the next two
chapters I will narrow my focus to the music/television crossovers that have
emerged in Australia since the 1980s. I do this in the interests of showing how
these crossovers, and the Australian markets, have developed in a way that is
distinct from their international counterparts. I shall also show how the lessons
learned from previous narratives of change and crossover, how narratives of birth
and death particularly, can be applied to an understanding of more recent
developments.
As part of an investigation into the genre of variety programming for the
Australian Broadcasting Tribunal, Herd (1988) explained that the variety format
has been an effective way of initiating performers and audiences into the new
media of radio, and then television, arguing that ―as each medium developed so
too did variety‖, and that there were ―countless examples of performers who
began in variety and who extended and created new popularity in one or more of
the electronic media‖ (Herd, 1988: 2). Herd‘s investigation chronicled the success
of the variety format on early Australian television, however the purpose of his
work was to discover why the format had declined in popularity during the late
1970s and into the 1980s. He argued that by 1987 the variety format as it had been
known in the 1950s, 1960s and 1970s had all but disappeared from Australian
television, with only ―three regular Australian programs that made use of variety
talent‖ still being broadcast, The Midday Show, Young Talent Time and Hey Hey
It‟s Saturday (Herd 1988: 7). However, this decline in variety programming did
not signal a decline in music on television, but it did indicate a change in how
music was considered and presented to audiences. Herd argued that variety
programming ended on Australian television as networks moved towards
programming that could be more easily targeted to specific audience types.
Suggesting that variety in the 1980s be considered as part of the broader television
category of ―Light Entertainment‖, Herd described 1980s variety programming as
―substantially based on music and/or non drama performance‖, with a reliance on
―a mixture of entertainment styles‖ and generally ―handled by a compare who
may also take part in the performance‖ (1988: 14).
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Within this new category of light entertainment programming Herd emphasised
the growth of recorded music on television as opposed to ‗live‘169 performance,
and in particular, ―music video programs‖ like Countdown (which, as I will
discuss shortly, initially featured live performances but came to specialise in
video), and finally Rage. These light entertainment programs were significantly
different in format from earlier types of music-rich variety programs, such as
Bandstand, a shift that Herd argued was due to a changed popular music culture,
and also a shift in the role of television in relation to promoting new music. Herd
emphasised a convergence of audiences for the new forms of popular music and
television, as ―the clip becomes part of the performance and helps project the
image of the performer and personality and star,‖ (1988: 12). This shift within the
international music industry during the 1980s and into the 1990s has been well
documented as part of the wave of music video research undertaken during this
time.170At the core of such discussions is the relationship between music and
television formats, with the music that was presented being fundamental to how
such television was considered by audiences. As I will discuss in the next chapter,
music video programming in America during this time was a key to drawing
younger audiences back to television at a time when their interest in the medium
was waning. Herd‘s analysis of the shift from variety to light entertainment on
Australian television in the 1970s and 1980s is significant because this movement
also identifies a movement of audience targets during this time. Following a
survey of broadcasters, Herd concluded that by the 1980s ―the audience for
variety tended to be older - i.e. in the 40-50 plus‖ (1988: 9), a factor that was of
particular importance to commercial networks wanting to guarantee advertising.
Bandstand and Countdown both ended when it became clear that television
audiences were beginning to favour other music television formats. In the various
histories of Countdown there is a range of theories about the show‘s demise, from
increased production costs (Stockbridge, 1992a: 140; Place and Roberts, 2006:
133) to simply change in audience preferences which no longer favoured the
169
I say ‗live‘ because it was well known that many performers actually mimed to recordings of
themselves during live appearances on 1950s and 1960s variety programs. See further Stockbridge
(1992a: 135).
170
There are numerous examples of this, but in particular see Frith, Goodwin and Grossberg‘s
collection Sound and Vision: The Music Video Reader (1993)
109
show‘s format and pop preferences (Warner, 2006: 140; Wilmoth, 1993: 244).
Bandstand‘s passing can also be attributed to a more general movement away
from variety programming, as well as what Herd called a change in ―popular
music tastes … to the extent that variety that rested on middle of the road
performance or older styles of popular music‖ (Herd, 1988: 9). Interestingly, too,
in terms of the decline of variety programming in general, Herd also suggested
that networks were finding it ―difficult to find new personalities around which to
package a show‖ (Herd, 1988: 10). Although there are some exceptions to this
assertion (with the continued popularity of variety hosts such as Daryl Somers,
and the introduction of new players like Andrew Denton during this time),171
Herd‘s argument does help to explain the emergence and continued success of the
next type of Australian music television program, music video.
A few years after Herd‘s report Sydney Morning Herald journalist Molitorisz
(1995) looked at the new music/television crossover that had replaced 1956initated models. He acknowledged that the music/television crossover remains in
relative flux by noting that, ―the debate continues about whether the Australian
music industry is as healthy as it used to be‖ (1995: 27). Lamenting the loss of
previous forms by using a death narrative; ―Countdown et al may be dead‖ (ibid),
Molitorisz still places hope in music video programs, noting ―Rage has
consolidated its late-night position after a decade on the ABC, pay TV's Red is
fast earning credibility, and Video Hits continues to cater for more mainstream
tastes on weekend mornings‖ (Molitorisz, 1995: 27). The next chapter will
continue to explore music video programming in Australia, focusing particularly
on Rage and demonstrating how each music/television crossover was developed
out of a particular time of change in Australia. I will show how Rage has
maintained its influence as other international versions of music video
programming have been superseded, and explore Rage as a unique form of music
video programming as it continues to be supported by public service broadcaster,
ABC, developed for television broadcast, as well as online, mobile and on
demand delivery. I will use the models of crossover engagement between music,
171
Denton went on to become a high profile host of Australian television in a variety of forms,
including developing a long interview format program in the late 1990s and into the 2000s. He
now heads a television production company Zapruder‟s Other Films, www.zof.com.au.
110
media and Australian identity as a framework for this contemporary case study
whose influence began in the 1980s, but continues to the present day.
111
CHAPTER THREE: MUSIC VIDEO PROGRAMMING AND THE
CURIOUS CASE OF THE ENDURING AUSTRALIAN MARKET
In the last chapter I detailed several types of crossover between music and
television in Australia. I looked at the development of music television within the
variety genre, such as Bandstand and Six O‟Clock Rock, then music television as
it was developed around the performance/host format (most notably with Brian
Henderson and Bandstand, and Molly Meldrum and Countdown) to be eventually
superseded by music video programming like Rage and Video Hits. This chapter,
and the remainder of this thesis, will focus on crossover between the music and
television industries, beginning here with music video programming, a form that
first rose to prominence in the 1980s, influencing both the music and broadcasting
industries within and beyond national borders. Like previous crossovers, music
video programming was developed during a period of change for the two
industries from which it drew, and as Simon Frith describes, a ―mutually
beneficial relationship emerged (music selling new TV services; new TV services
selling music) [and] soon developed its own economic momentum, a momentum
that was to lead to the current situation … [dominated by] interlinked features of
this new music/television arrangement‖ (1993: 71).
This chapter will focus on the appearance of music video programming in
Australian music and television markets, placing these in an international context
first, and then narrowing focus to explore the mechanics of this crossover for this
region specifically. I will show that music video programming is a crossover that
was ‗born‘ in response to a death narrative in the 1980s, the foreshadowed death
of youth engagement with television and radio, and the death of a singles-based
recorded music industry; however by the middle of the first decade of the twentyfirst century music video programming was itself said to have died due to
competition (or the birth) of online delivery of audio/visual content. I cover these
international birth and death narratives briefly, but then demonstrate that music
video programming in Australia is distinctive, having continued to remain viable
not only since it began, but also during the current period of industrial change.
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1. MUSIC TELEVISION AND MUSIC VIDEO PROGRAMMING: SOME
DEFINITIONS
I need first to define some of the most commonly used terms associated with this
area of study. Blaine Allan (2002) used ‗music television‘ as ―a general term used
to refer to a system through which programming is delivered‖, however he
acknowledges that ―music television [has come to] refer to programs and
segments broadcast on television series that are devoted to music, mainly those
that program videos‖ (2002: 219-220). Allan‘s first point covers the type of music
television that I have explored in the last two chapters (historical points of
crossover between the music and television industries such as the development of
variety and performance formats), and his narrowing of focus to refer to music
video programs is one I will employ in this section. However, here I want to also
be clear about how the term ‗video‘ is to be taken. I use video to refer to a
combination of audio and visual material packed as short presentations, regardless
of whether it has been produced using analogue or digital technologies (that is,
whether or not it has been literally delivered on video), but also being careful to
specify that music television involves not just music videos, but also music videos
programmed to meet a specific agenda.172 Here I need to also acknowledge recent
anthologies including that edited by Roger Beebe and Jason Middleton (2007)
who argue that the definition of music video could include audio video material
anywhere from the early sound films of the 1920s to contemporary audio visual
presentations able to be created and delivered through mobile devices like cell
phones.173 Unlike many of the entries in this anthology that look at music video as
an object of study in isolation, however, my study attempts to explore music video
in the context of its reception, specifically on television (and later online). While I
172
The idea of programming here does draw some inspiration from Raymond Williams‘
benchmark description of television ―flow‖ (1974: 78-118), however as I will demonstrate during
this chapter, there are marked differences between the programming of music video programming
and the flow of other types of television.
173
See also other studies of pre-MTV music videos, such as Hanson (2006) who nominates the
1949 short film ―Motion Painting Number 1‖ as a first for music video (2006: 13), as well as
Mundy who explores the pre-history of 1980s music video and its continued influence for other
media like film (1999: 221-2). Indeed, relationships between vision and sound on screen have been
developed for many years and with many genres, with films such as Disney‘s Fantasia (1940),
pioneering commerical surround sound as part of its production, a technique called
―Fantasiasound‖. While Fantasia‘s exploration of the relationship between music and film has
been widely discussed, for a contemporary assessment of the film‘s pioneering work more see
Kerins (2010: 23-4).
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am aware that music video can be understood as outlets for a particular directorial
or visual style solely, my concern here is not an individual music video artwork or
artist, but rather how music videos are presented with television broadcasting.174
Music video programming is a term I have developed to distinguish my study
from music television as a generalized category, and music video that can be also
studied as an individual unit without consideration of the context of its reception.
The term music video programming, then, specifies the two-step process that
acknowledges both a form of television presentation, and consideration of the
content of that programming. Here I have adapted Blaine Allan‘s description so as
to identify music video programming with a particular type of music television, as
―music television, a system, offers music videos, a specific form of production, as
the mainstay of its programming‖ (2002: 220).
1.1 Starting with one of the most powerful forms of Music Television – the
birth of American MTV and the eventual globalisation of the MTV franchise
MTV America was the one of the first examples of music video programming
internationally,175 and it began as a clear crossover between American cable
television and the popular music industry. Although MTV‘s influence throughout
its history has been well documented, birth narratives of MTV have become so
persuasive that for many commentators the birth of MTV has come to represent
the birth of music video generally: ―music videos were born of the union on Aug.
1, 1981, through a 24-hour-a-day cable television programming service called
174
For example, there are various examples of DVD compilations of music video now
commercially available, as well as recent studies dedicated to ‗music video auteurs‘ (Fidler, 2007:
62), which focus on the specific role of music video directors and the conditions of their
collaboration in this art form by focusing on key directors Chris Cunningham, Michel Gondry and
Spike Jonze. See also dedicated music video compendiums such as Matt Hanson‘s Reinventing
music video: next-generation directors, their inspiration, and work (2006), a collection which
explores music video as ―meta cinema‖, where ―music video is a place where avant-garde comes
alive, where it is translated into universal language‖ (Hanson, 2006: 11). Hanson goes on here to
cite a number of music video directors who have also won academy awards such as Spike Jonze
and Jonathan Glazer, further evidence of his emphasis on music video production as a prelude to
production in mainstream cinema (ibid), and further evidence of his formulation of music video as
an art form that can be removed from a music industry and broadcast context. See also the recent
documentary series Video Killed the Radio Star, focused on directors Russell Mulcahy, David
Mallet and Wayne Isham (2010: Ovation/3dd)
175
I say ‗one of the first because I will show shortly that music video is something that has had
various points of origin, and subsequently, music video programming on television can also have
been considered to have had various starting points.
114
Music Television, MTV‖ (Hartman, 1987: 17); ―music video is still in its
childhood, born out of necessity when the record business slumped for the second
year in a row and the lessening of appeal of radio was blamed‖ (Lynch, 1984: 53)
176
; ―it would be MTV, though that would revolutionise the music industry ... the
twenty-four-hour music-video channel created demand where none had previously
existed‖ (Austerliz, 2007: 30). Like many of the birth narratives I have explored
so far, such declarations often oversimplify the complexity of industrial changes
that were happening during the time a birth is declared. As Andrew Goodwin
argued,
accounts of music television that begin by telling us that music video was ‗invented‘ in a
given year (or that imply such a position by using a chronology that starts with the
moment of birth of MTV) miss out on an important step in thinking about the topic, what
is ‗music television‘ … what are the defining properties of music television?‖ (1993: 24).
Goodwin‘s point is that MTV was such a persuasive crossover between the music
and television industries that commentators working since the channel‘s
establishment take its success for granted. However, MTV‘s triumph (and the
triumph of similar types of music television internationally) was its success in
reconnecting these two industries after a period of relative estrangement. As Paul
Lopes described ―executives at MTV targeted the youth market (aged 18 to 24)
and promoted MTV as an alternative to the conservative playlists of radio‖ (1992:
68), a move sparked by the type of conservatism that had developed as ―the
individual, and often eclectic, disc jockeys of the 1950s and 60s were replaced [in
the 1970s] by station program directors who confined the stations‘ airplay to
single, narrowly defined formats‖ (1992: 68).177 Similarly, R Serge Denisoff‘s
account of MTV in 1988 begins with a cycle of birth-like statements relating to
the creation of MTV and previous crossovers. He argues, ―MTV is the third major
176
Although this author cites 1980 rather than 1981, and refers to music video here rather than
music video television, the rest of the article focuses on MTV in America.
177
See also Straw‘s examination of this period, particularly his articulation of the strained
relationship between radio and the music industry in 1970s America, ―By the late 1970s, it was
apparent that the objectives of radio broadcasters and record companies were in conflict in
important ways: advertisers urged radio stations to pursue audiences (those in their late twenties
and older) who were not actively engaged in the purchasing of records, though their overall
patterns of consumption made them attractive. By the early 1980s, radio stations were dominated
by Adult Contemporary (light pop and soul) and country music formats, neither of which had
significant reach among those most involved in buying records. At the same time, those stations
directed at the core of record-buyers (those in their late teens and early twenties) were increasingly
playing music which was not contemporary or in the charts (the 'classic' album-rock of the
previous decade), and therefore not contributing to a significant extent to the innovation or
turnover of performers, styles and individual records‖ (1988: 248)
115
breakthrough in music broadcasting, the first being when Todd Storz gave birth to
‗Top Forty‘ radio in 1955 and the second being the advent of ‗free form‘ or
‗progressive‘ rock at KMPX in San Francisco in 1967,‖ (1988:2), a cycle that
recognised again the period of change just prior to the establishment of MTV in
the US, as ―few would dispute the significance of MTV in resurrecting the music
industry from the throes of the ‗great depression‘ of 1979 or its [MTV‘s] impact
on contemporary film, fashion or radio‖ (ibid). As such, a cycle of birth and death
is established during this period of change (the birth of MTV following a relative
death of older models of popular music and media delivery), a cycle which bore
the music/media crossover of MTV.
Following narratives of the birth of MTV and the 1980s music/television
crossover came narratives of the apparent death of another crossover type, that of
music radio. The most famous of these death narratives was launched by MTV
itself as its opening broadcast screened The Buggles‘ ―Video Killed the Radio
Star‖. As Saul Austerlitz argued, the song, which had actually been released two
years earlier in 1979, functioned as ―a dart thrown in the direction of the fledging
form‘s then-rival‖ (2007: 33). Here MTV‘s producers have used the radio death
narrative as a kind of call to arms like that which pervaded Barthes‘ ‗Death of the
Author‘, using death to evoke demotion rather than to literally kill something or
someone (there were, as I have said, no actual fatalities due to music video). On a
practical level this was because MTV‘s reach in 1981 was limited as compared
with radio,178 however MTV was also offering a different service to a different
audience sector. MTV‘s birth, supposedly undertaken to strip radio of its power,
was not as devastating as The Buggles‘ song proclaimed, and evidenced by
Austerlitz‘s retrospective narrative, ―in the initial era of MTV, which lasted from
1981 until its debut in New York and Los Angeles in 1983, the channel was, more
than anything, starved for product to fill the gaping holes in its schedule,‖ (2007:
32). Indeed, Austerlitz explains that in the first few years of MTV, particularly
before it expanded nationally, MTV‘s music videos were often drawn from
178
As Gow (1992) explained, ―On August 1, 1981, a new network cable network, Music
Television, MTV, began showing brief promotional video clips designed to showcase the singers
and music groups appearing in them. Although this new type of programming service—something
akin to 24-hour-aday visual radio—initially could only been seen by 2.1 million American
households, just nine years later it was being offered on 5,050 of the nation‘s cable systems, with
some 46.1 million subscribers‖ (1992: 41).
116
―Britain (and, to a lesser extent, Australia), where bands had been making videos
for a number of years to be played on popular countdown shows like Top of the
Pops‖ (ibid).179 As such, Will Straw described MTV‘s role in the emergence of
the ―new pop mainstream in north America in the years 1982-83‖ (1988: 248), a
crossover not only of content (with international styles and individual musicians
finding audiences in America that they may not have had via radio), but
importantly ―an increase in the rate of turnover of successful records and artist
career spans; the recovery of the record industry after a four-year slump; and the
beginning of music video programming on a national scale‖ (ibid).
MTV allowed for a crossover of music and television audiences, a ―reenfranchisement of younger teenagers‖ (Straw, 1988: 248) with television
consumption and with the practice of buying records. Straw doesn‘t use the term
crossover here, but the process of engaging two markets and audiences with the
one product, of drawing music and television audiences together via MTV, is an
example of crossover as I have defined it. Straw‘s point was explored in more
depth by Austerlitz writing nearly two decades later, who described MTV‘s
impact in terms of direct crossover of audiences from music to television;
where earlier attempts to meld television and music had been doomed to failure because
teenage males, the primary purchasers of recorded music at the time, were
underrepresented in the TV audience, MTV attracted a female-heavy audience at its start,
and later bridged the gap through its emphasis on heavy metal—a bastion of male fans in
the music industry (2007: 32).
Although these commentators don‘t use the term crossover here, the effect they‘re
describing is exactly that phenomenon, as audiences for television were drawn
towards music, and audiences for a particular type of music were drawn to
television.180 Over time MTV America moved away from its reliance on
international music video products. As with the development of music/television
crossovers in the 1940s and 1950s, by the mid 1980s music video programming
179
Although Austerlitz doesn‘t elaborate here, the Australian program from which that material
was being drawn was most likely Countdown, which was responsible for the creation of video
clips for Australian artists including AC/DC among many others. See for example Austerlitz‘s
discussion of AC/DC‘s music videos made pre-1981 (2007: 27)
180
Music video programming via MTV and a link to youth market dominated discussions of the
channel‘s impact (both negative and positive). Frith also described the importance of the MTVlike relationship established with music video programming during the 1980s in his article
―Youth/Music/Television‖ (1993: 67-83). I will return to this concept later in this chapter.
117
via American MTV provided new opportunities for artists and audiences rather
than simply transferring limited resources from one medium to another. American
artists such as Madonna achieved success as both music and television artists,
achievements that were also described through birth narratives, ―Madonna‘s
success and popularity are linked to the birth of the cable television music
network (MTV) … She has been called ‗the firstborn child of MTV‘‖ (Wilson and
Marke, 1992: 76).181 In addition, MTV‘s influence was also overtly present in the
music itself, as, ―MTV quickly became an iconic presence in popular culture, not
only inspiring visual media culture (Miami Vice, for example) but also inspiring
songs about it‖ (Jones, 2005: 83).182 I will continue to explore the influence of
MTV directly on musicians later in this chapter.
Ann Kaplan (1987) argued that MTV‘s crossover between music and television
soon became seemingly all-encompassing. She described the crossover between
music and television in terms of ―consumption on a whole variety of levels,
ranging from the literal (ie: selling the sponsors‘ goods, the rock stars‘ records,
MTV itself) to the psychological (ie: selling the image, the ‗look‘, the style‘)‖
(1987: 143). Kaplan‘s study Rocking Around The Clock: Music Television,
Postmodernism and Consumer Culture (1987), was one of the first to explore
MTV and its effect, and importantly, it did so relatively early on in the channel‘s
(and subsequent franchises‘) history. These points have since been explored by
more recent commentators, with arguments over the development of an MTVaesthetic in the 1990s examined not just for television production, but also film
(Mundy, 1999: 221- 46; Dickinson, 2003: 143-54). As well, Kaplan‘s point about
MTV‘s power to sell goods, records and the MTV brand itself, has also been
developed to encompass discussions of musicians‘ selling advertising directly.183
181
The connection between Madonna and MTV has since been the subject of abundant and wellknown discussion.
182
Here Jones continues to cite ―two very different examples‖ of music inspired by MTV, Dire
Straits' ‗Money for Nothing‘ and Beck's ‗MTV Makes Me Wanna Smoke Crack‘ (2005: 83), and
although there is not the space to examine the specifics of these in depth here, in general terms
these can be considered examples of musicians expressing pro (Straits) and anti (Beck) MTV
sentiments respectively.
183
For example Savan‘s description of the pre-release of Madonna‘s ―Like a Prayer‖ music video
as an advertisement for Pepsi (1993: 87) explores the incentive that both musicians and music
television had in capturing interest (and money) from advertisers, while a view of music videos as
advertisements has also been offered by popular musicians themselves, such as Radiohead‘s
release of a collection of their music videos under the title ―7 Television Commercials‖ (2003).
118
The global franchising of the MTV format and brand that has occurred during the
late 1980s and into the 1900s has been described by many commentators as a key
example of the internationalisation of American commercialism alongside giants
like McDonalds and Coca-Cola, so much so that MTV and its delivery of music
video across the world has been described in terms of cultural imperialism.184 For
example, when describing the development of MTV Europe, Frith quoted CocaCola Vice President Bill Lynn who proclaimed ―music is one of the best ways of
breaking through linguistic and cultural barriers‖ (Lynn in Frith, 1993: 71), with
Lynn‘s continuing to explain Coca-Cola‘s subsequent use of Aretha Franklin‘s
‗Freeway to love‘ in their ads in non-Anglophone territories, because ―there are
no Japanese, German or Italian versions, it‘s not necessary because the song is a
worldwide hit – everybody speaks Aretha!‖ (ibid). Jack Banks (1997) also
described a ―globalization of popular culture‖ via MTV, describing in particular
the expansion of MTV Europe and the timing of its launch, arguing that ―MTV
Europe is taking full advantage of the collapse of the Soviet Union by expanding
into Eastern Europe and Russia, bringing the milieu of consumerism with a rock
beat‖ (1997: 47). More recently in a study of MTV international and in particular
its effect in Mexico, Josh Kun (2002) began an examination of the local artists‘
use of the international franchise by proclaiming; ―in September 1997 the news
was made official. MTV International—the conglomerate body of MTV affiliates
outside the United States … had conquered the world‖ (2002: 102). Finally, as
arts commentator Craig Shuftan (2011) recalled, MTV‘s influence across music
and media was also implicated by some with wider social and political changes.
Writing about MTV‘s impact, Shuftan begins with the following quote, ―‗We put
MTV into East Berlin‘, said Viacom‘s Sumner Redstone in January 1990, ‗and six
months later the wall came down‘.‖ (http://www.craigschuftan.com/home/newsounds-for-a-new-world/, accessed 14/8/11).185
184
For example see Freccero‘s discussion of Madonna and MTV, where she describes MTV‘s
influence as ―imperialism because MTV is not a democratic medium, equally avail-able to all
cultures and nations for use, but a specific creation of the United States for the incorporation of
‗world music‘ into itself and for the creation of global desires to consume the products of U.S.
popular culture‖ (1992: 165).
185
Although Shuftan does not give the source of this quote on his blog, following an email
correspondence with him he confirmed that this account was originally printed in Naomi Klein‘s
No Logo (2000). I include Shuftan‘s version rather than Klein‘s here because of the way he has
recontextualised this point, specifically as part of his argument about ‗new sounds for a new
119
1.2 Music Video in Australia
MTV‘s global reach extended to Australia in April 1987, with a version of MTV
launched here as an individual program on free to air commercial television
station channel 9, rather than via a dedicated cable network as was most common
for the franchise. As Tony Mitchell recounted, MTV in Australia broadcast for six
hours each week "in the early hours of Saturday and Sunday mornings, with a
local presenter (the New Zealand disc jockey Richard Wilkins), local news
segments and a considerable proportion of mainstream local music‖ (1993: 299).
However reports in the press in the lead up to MTV‘s local launch, and
immediately following, focused on the internationally recognized brand (and by
implication, more international product) rather than MTV‘s role expanding the
local artistic landscape. For example, Sun Herald reported a few weeks before
MTV Australia‘s debut that ―after weeks of speculation, Channel 9 has finally
announced the two local video jockeys for its link with the giant American cable
music network, MTV‖ (Purcell, 1987: 48). Purcell goes on to report that MTV
Australia ―will be a mixture of video clips, concert footage and music news as
well as lifestyle entertainment and fashion segments‖ (ibid), and while he gives
brief credentials for both expected hosts (particularly as actors), he makes no
mention of any local music content to be featured. In fact, given that the local
MTV is described as a ―link-up‖, from this report it is unclear if MTV Australia
would feature any local programming at all beyond its local hosts. There are no
playlists available to consult from these MTV Australia broadcasts in order to
check the ratio of local to international music,186 but if any local music did appear
on this first broadcast of Australian MTV, it was unmemorable, as evidenced by
Stockbridge‘s 2003 assessment of MTV Australia as simply a program which
―mimicked the American version in a Top-40, ‗high tech‘ format‖ (2003: 646).
world‘, that is, the exploration of a cross media and music influence during a time of great change
in Germany.
186
The main place such an archive would exist is the National Film and Sound Archive in
Canberra, which holds only one listing for MTV Australia, ―Unedited MTV footage of the Sons of
Steel premiere 07/12/1987‖, (based on a search performed online, 11/8/11). However, it should be
noted that this listing claims to feature a promotion for the Australian film Sons of Steel, with the
MTV program reportedly broadcast in December 1987 (as I have cited above), however that film
was not released until 1989 so there appears to be some difficulty verifying the original MTV
broadcast.
120
Despite an emphasis on delivering international music video content, MTV
Australia was closely comparable to existing Australian music video
programming forms developed here during the early 1970s and 1980s. Mitchell
argued that as a consequence of competition from the ABC program ―MTV has
attempted to respond to the challenge to its ratings offered by Rage by
programming more independent Australian and overseas music videos‖ (1993:
299), and in a rare situation internationally, he declared that the local program was
more successful that MTV.187 Comparisons between MTV and Rage had been
made since both shows began (with MTV debuting on 16 April 1987, only one day
before Rage‘s 17 April 1987 debut),188 however they were not the only overnight
music video programs on air in Australia during this time. On the night of Rage‘s
debut there were four music video programs on air: Rage (ABC 11.55pm7.30am), MTV (Channel 9 10.35pm-2.35am), Night Shift (Channel 10 12.55am5am) and The Noise (SBS 11pm-1.25am) (TV Week 11/4/87: 49; SMH 13/4/87:
13).189
In a 1992 study of music television in Australia Sally Stockbridge named 33
music programs on air (1992b: 72),190 a flooding of a relatively small five station
187
Specifically, Mitchell argued ―MTV in Australia is less successful than Rage‖ (1993: 299),
although this claim is made in unspecified terms. Comparisons between MTV and Rage that were
also noted by international commentators citing the Australian music video programming during
the 1980s and 1990s, such as Goodwin (1991: 199), and Banks (1997: 47). However, in the later
study MTV is the clear focus of the investigation with Banks‘ interest in Rage so minimal that he
mistakenly describes Rage as being broadcast on a station called ―ABS‖ rather than ―ABC‖ (ibid).
188
I have verified these by looking at TV guides from the time, with Rage listed as ―debut‖ (TV
Week 11/4/87: 49; SMH 13/4/87: 13- noting that the TV guides were printed a week before
programs aired)
189
It should be noted that MTV has actually appeared twice in Australia, first on Channel 9, where
it survived from 1987 until 1992, and then again on pay TV in 1995 (Whiteoak and Zumeris,
2003: 537). However, pay TV is arguably still yet to gain significant influence in Australia, mainly
because of the limited access available for Australians outside major metropolitan centres, and
recently because of increased competition from new free-to-air digital channels. For more on Pay
TV and its place in the Australian television landscape see Flew and Harrington (2010: 155-72),
and for more on MTV‘s relaunch see Eliezer (1996: 55).
190
I say ‗around this time‘ because Stockbridge does not specify the airdates of the programs
listed, instead only calling them programs ―from the ‗80s and ‗90s‖, (1992b: 71) and suggesting
more generally that ―none of these approaches/formats has lasted more than a few years‖ (1992b:
68). The programs listed were separated into two categories, ―conventional‖ and ―alternative‖,
with Music Video, Saturday Jukebox, Top 40 Video, Sounds, Countdown, Trax, Seven Rock, Music
Express, Solid Gold, FM TV, Simulrock, Clips, Afterdark, MTV, Between the Teeth, Rock of the
90s, Coca Cola Power Cuts and Video Hits listed as the former, while Rockit, Nightmoves,
Wavelength, Night Tracks, The Noise, Beatbox, Rock Arena, Beat Club, Edge of the Wedge,
Kulture Shock, Rock around the World, Continental Drift, Rage, MC Tee Vee and Racket included
121
free-to-air, pre-cable market that seems almost incomprehensible. In explanation
of the proliferation of music video programming on Australian television in the
1980s, Stockbridge noted that ―music video programs … were extremely cheap to
produce and also provided an ‗Australian‘ program component for the TV station‖
(1992b: 71),191 a pattern that was also noted in the press, and often unfavourably.
For example, Helen-Marie Dickensen, writing for the Sydney Morning Herald in
1991, gave a detailed account of seven main music video shows on commercial
and public service free-to-air television at the time of writing, a concentration of
content and form which allowed ―hapless music-vid junkies to flip from channel
to channel‖ (1991: 18). These descriptions suggest music video programming on
Australian TV in the 1980s and early 1990s was concerned with quantity not
quality, and also, that there was little difference between the many programs on
air. At the time of writing (2011) only two programs on Stockbridge‘s and
Dickensen‘s lists remain on air, with Video Hits due to end at the end of the 2011
season.192 However, that even two should survive is curious, given that so many
have since failed. This chapter will explore one of these programs in detail, but I
first want to briefly outline the character and purpose of these music video
programming survivors.
The two remaining Australian 1980s music video programs are Rage and Video
Hits, and although these programs both rely on music video programming, they
can be understood as markedly different as a result of their different broadcast
contexts. Video Hits has experimented with different types of music video
programming and often uses competitions, changes in hosts and other features to
draw audiences; Rage has maintained a largely consistent presence during its time
on air, right down to maintaining its original logo, intro and outro, and minimalist
branding. Also, Video Hits is broadcast commercially on Channel 10 mostly on
weekend mornings, while Rage is broadcast on public service broadcaster ABC
as the later. The only additional information provide on this list is a mark if these programs appear
on public service broadcasters ABC or SBS.
191
Although Stockbridge doesn‘t elaborate here on why ‗Australian‘ is in inverted commas, I
assume it is a reference to quota requirements which specify certain amounts of local material
must be shown on free to air commercial and non-commercial television.
192
The axing of Video Hits was announced on 5 July 2011 and at the time of submission the
airdate for the final episode had not been released. For details see Campbell (2011).
122
mostly overnight on Friday and Saturday nights,193 factors that allow each
program to feature different types of content and assume different audience
demographics. For example, Video Hits‘ morning broadcast means that it must
adhere to a ―general‖ or ―parental guidance‖ classification according to the Free
TV Australia code of practice,194 something that not only tends to associate it with
younger audiences, but also ensures that Video Hits must amend or omit any
material which is deemed too adult in nature.195 In contrast, Rage‘s predominantly
overnight broadcast time means that it is subject to a more liberal classification,
often attracting a ―Mature Audience‖ rating,196 and thus allowing it to show
material of a more adult nature. The type of the broadcaster for each program also
affects what type of music television programming each delivers, with Video Hits‘
commercial broadcaster allowing it to play clips that feature advertising and
political messages in a way that Rage on the ABC is not permitted.197
In a discussion of Video Hits‘ position in the Australian music video programming
landscape, and particularly its role as a breakfast/morning program in comparison
193
I have given approximate times for broadcast because Video Hits in particular has experimented
with its broadcast time, sometimes changing times of its morning broadcast and occasionally
packaging late night segments as ―Video Hits Up Late‖ (although these appear inconsistent and
aren‘t noted prominently in Video Hits‘ promotional material). For more detail see
www.ten.com.au, and www.videohits.com.au, accessed 20/3/11. Rage also varies its start and end
points, particularly chopping and changing its Sunday morning appearances, often not
broadcasting beyond 6 or 7am at all on Sundays. I will explore this in more detail shortly. As such,
while it does have a ‗weekend breakfast‘ presence, for the most part I will argue Rage‘s profile as
an overnight broadcaster, and Video Hits as an early morning one. Video Hits‘ association with
morning broadcasting, and a younger audience than Rage, can also be observed in the way the
program is referenced in Turner and Cunningham‘s The Australian TV Book (2000). There is a
brief reference to ―Video Hits‖ (Stockbridge 2000: 199), however this is only fleeting and as part
of a discussion of youth programming in a larger sense.
194
For further details see http://www.freetv.com.au/content_common/pg-code-of-practice.seo,
accessed 8/05/11.
195
These ratings were taken from Channel 10‘s television guide as it appeared online at http://tvguide.ten.com.au/sydney/search/program/163257, accessed 8/05/11. Although there is a version of
Video Hits broadcast outside this morning slot, Video Hits Up Late, according to the site it too
maintains a PG maximum rating even though its broadcast time of midnight and beyond would
easily accommodate more graphic material. While this could be as a way to maintain the
association between the Video Hits brand and a younger audience, this maintenance of a PG rating
despite late night broadcast also appears to be because Video Hits Up Late is often just a repeat of
parts of the normal Video Hits program.
196
The ABC and SBS rate programming according to their own code of practice, however it is fair
to equate an M rating here with the Free TV M rating in terms of the depiction of adult material
such as sexual or violent behaviours. For more on the relationship between Free TV and ABC/SBS
codes
see
http://www.ag.gov.au/www/cob/classification.nsf/Page/Community_and_ConsumersClassifying_
Television_and_Music, accessed 8/4/11.
197
See further the same source in the footnote above, as well as the ABC‘s editorial policies
document, available via http://www.abc.net.au/corp/pubs/edpols.htm, accessed 8/4/11.
123
with Rage‘s predominantly late night broadcast and target audience, producer
Garry Dunstan emphasised the need to deliver music video programming that was
appropriate for audience expectations of television broadcasting on weekend
breakfast/early morning; "Our classification is G. We have to be friendlier, less
alternative [than Rage] … [we present music video in a way that is] palatable at
that time of the morning" (Dunstan in Molitorisz, 1995: 27). As Dunstan
explained in another press interview a few years later, Video Hits‘ criteria for
playing music videos are constrained by a desire to stay within the G or PG
classification, but also by other commercial imperatives, ―Often there is no way
we can touch a video because of the visual content: it could be too risqué or
sensual, it could be that the wrong message is being portrayed or there may be
lyrical problems‖ (Dunstan in Holmes, 2000: 5). Interestingly, however, Dunstan
indicated that such problems did not necessarily restrict the airing of the song, and
in some in these instances Dunstan worked with record companies to make new
versions of clips (and supposedly their soundtracks) so as to allow their broadcast
on Video Hits.198 As such, while Video Hits functioned as a crossover between
music and television in Australia generally, often a new crossover product was
developed specifically for the program, as a particular version of the music video
to suit to classification restrictions of the show‘s broadcast time.
Dunstan argues that promotion on television will equal music industry success (ie:
exposure in the Top 10). However, what is not specified, but implied, here is that
Dunstan feels that some music videos (and their accompanying songs) will be of
such importance in gaining and maintaining Video Hits‘ television audience that
he puts the time into negotiating deals with record companies rather than merely
omitting them from Video Hits‘ playlists. As such, Video Hits‘ function as a
crossover between the music and television industries is clear, and in many ways
its function in the Australian commercial television and music industries can be
compared to other music video programming models internationally, particularly
the early success of MTV.
198
As Dunstan explained, ―I will ring the record company and say I truly believe we can get this
song in the Top 10, and it's then they take an interest and say, `What do we have to do?‘‖ (Dunstan
in Holmes, 2000: 5).
124
1.3 The death of music video programming on MTV, but is that the death of
music video programming everywhere else?
Frith argued that the success of music video programming in the 1980s and 1990s
was the result of a crossover with a specific motivation, ―[T]he music industry‘s
interest in television was simply an effect of following new investment and
promotional opportunities (here, at last, was an effective alternative to radio)‖
(Frith, 1993: 70-1). However, since his publication, the role of music television,
particularly music video programming, has changed again. Some commentators
have argued MTV is not an effective alternative to radio anymore, but that the
music television programming franchise offers a relatively narrow variety of
music videos. Indeed, some commentators were wary of MTV‘s apparent
marginalisation even prior to Frith‘s publication, as for example, when punk
musicians The Dead Kennedys demanded that ‗MTV Get Off The Air‘ in 1986
because they felt it was marginalizing large parts of the potential American music
and television audiences by showing only a very limited type of music and
musician.199 As well, Joe Gow further explored and critiqued MTV‘s relative
homogenisation with a study of MTV‘s musical history as represented with the
channel‘s tenth anniversary celebrations in the early 1990s (1992: 48).200 By the
mid 1990s MTV America responded to charges of its stagnation by beginning to
markedly change its format and brand approach, with the most important change
199
The song ―MTV Get Off the Air‖ was released by the band in 1986 and as the band‘s lead
singer Jello Biafra explained in an interview with Spin magazine that year ―We have a song ‗MTV
Get Off the Air‘ , MTV is the worst thing that‘s happened to music since Saturday Night Fever.
It‘s bringing back every stupid cliché, sexism, racism. ... The crux of MTV was stated by one of
the guys running it ... When asked why there wasn‘t any black music on MTV his answer was ‗We
don‘t want cater to fringe groups‘. And the colour of a person‘s skin determines whether or not
they‘re a fringe group. ... Part of the line in ‗MTV Get Off the Air‘ is when the DJ says ‗Don‘t
create, be sedate‘. That‘s what they‘re pushing: don‘t think, consume! Don‘t go outside and see
what our country is like. Sit inside and watch television. They‘ve finally worked out a way to get
people to watch television commercials 24 hours a day‖ (Biafa in Danny The Punk,1986: 48).
Although Biafa doesn‘t elaborate further here, the context suggests that he considers MTV‘s
playlist mere commercials rather than works of artistry (or at least, that he sees no more artistry in
the music videos than he sees in the advertisements). It is also curious that he uses Saturday Night
Fever as the example of the last ‗worst thing‘, as a film that featured a particular type of music,
disco, very heavily, and its movie soundtrack dominated the music charts following the film‘s
release.
200
In addition to noting the absence of non-white artists and non-pop forms, Gow also observed
here how music videos included in MTV‘s anniversary countdowns were dominated by the same
types of depictions of music, as ―Only two of the videos do not contain visual images of a song
being performed by a band or singer …. None of the 138 clips is predominantly categorical,
argumentative or associational. Among the most popular videos produced to date, then, purely
conceptual clips are quite uncommon‖ (Gow, 1992: 48).
125
being a move away from music video programming towards more stand alone
programming such as drama or reality programs. This change was also in
response to direct engagement with audience viewing patterns, and in particular
fear over the practice whereby ―people tuned in to MTV for only as long as they
enjoyed the clips‖ (Shuker, 2002: 190), a practice that was particularly worrying
in a commercial market because ―with [music videos] making up some 90 per
cent of the channel‘s broadcast day, negative reaction to a few clips can spell
problems for audience retention and the sale of advertising time‖ (ibid). As such,
by moving towards programs made up of longer units (that is, by delivering
programs that extended not only for a few minutes, but for half an hour or an hour
and were serialized), MTV was able to secure its commercial viability.
Interestingly, the change to MTV‘s commercial approach has been described not
as an industrial strategy but rather as an ideological change. Austerlitz argued that
by the mid-1990s MTV America on any given day, ―was probably not showing a
video … MTV had grown up, and left its adolescent infatuation with music
behind‖ (2007: 183). This move away from associating MTV with music video
also changed from an academic point of view during this time, as the connection
between MTV and youth culture became central to the attention the channel
received.201 MTV‘s apparent move away from music video programming has
since been described as a death for the channel, as Dana Milstein asked ―who
would have surmised that two decades later [the original 1981 MTV launch]
youth culture would ‗hand MTV‘s ass back to it on a silver plate‘, by announcing
the death of video by Internet?‖ (2007: 31). In particular, Milstein described the
launch of an explicit death threat to MTV as digital production company eStudio
created a song, a band and a music video to release online and gain publicity for
their cause (and indirectly, the products they produced. Called ―Internet Killed the
Video Star‖ and performed by fictional band ‗The Broad Band‘ ―comprised of
three animated girls performing with ‗Internet‘ instruments – a computer
keyboard as piano, mouse guitars, and Apple laptops as drums‖ (Milstein, 2007:
31). Milstein explained that the song and video dramatised the apparent frustration
201
As Jones argues ―the degree to which MTV became a phenomenon in the U.S in the 1980s was
probably matched by the degree to which it became a cultural formation available to those of us
seeking to use theoretical tools with which to construction understandings of music, image, and
popular (particularly youth) culture‖ (2005: 84).
126
of viewers bored with MTV-like repetition, as well as also offering an alternative
for audiences and artists wanting to explore a new crossover between music and
media; ―when a computer magically appears to provide an alternative: home
generated, quality music videos‖ (2007: 31).202 Although Broad Band and this
eStudio stunt are uncredited, the title of this song was re-used with Temporal‘s
study The Branding of MTV: Will Internet Kill the Video Star? (2008). Unlike
Milstein, here Temporal attempts to incorporate MTV into ―the new business of
music videos‖ (2008: 2) as bound by a need to embrace, rather than compete with,
online delivery, concluding that MTV can still maintain its global success as long
as it becomes ―a dominant, if not the dominant, distributor of music content in the
digital world‖ (2008: 223).
What these MTV death narratives really focus on is not the commercial demise of
MTV or its loss of influence, but rather the move away from music video
programming. While, unfortunately, there has been little study of MTV during the
1990s as it transitioned from music video to other forms of programming, 203 in
recent times there has been a relative revival of interest in music video because of
easy access and distribution available with online video sites such as YouTube.
Roger Beebe and Jason Middleton marked this change by referring to MTV as a
touchstone; ―MTV has increasingly focused on the TV over the M, [however]
music video has in actuality concurrently enjoyed a major renaissance in a number
of other places and other media‖ (2007: 1); and while they don‘t use the terms
birth and death, the evocation is clear as they outline how a new music video
interest is ‗born‘ while older forms of music video programming [classic MTV]
has been killed off, or at least overlooked as being unimportant.
Cycles of birth and death relating to the changing relationship between music and
media crossovers have also been evoked by Christopher Jacke (2010) who asked
―Who Cares About the Music in Music Videos?‖ (2010: 179). This was a question
202
From here, Milstein continues an examination of the type of music video that has gained
popularity and audience engagement after MTV‘s apparent demise, the creation of homemade
―unofficial music videos‖ (Milstein, 2007: 31-2).
203
For example, see Jones‘ study of MTV, where in particular he argues ―MTV‘s evolution and
development over several generations of youth has proven more interesting than its immediate
impacts on popular music, visual style, and culture. Unfortunately there has been too little
scholarly focus on the longer-term consequences of MTV‖ (2005: 83)
127
Jacke posed by focusing on the apparent death of MTV as a music video
programmer, and again using the internet as executioner,
‗Video Killed the Radio Star‘ sang the Buggles on the American music television station
MTV‘s first broadcast in 1981. Since then there has been a lot of discussion about
whether videos signified the end of pop music radio, whether music television has
replaced the record store on the corner and the music cinema, whether the DVD has
superseded the videotape and above all whether the new technologies such as MP3, iPod,
and the internet unite all previous media in the new form of a super medium thus making
them superfluous – that is to say, ‗Internet Killed All the Other Stars (2010: 179).
204
Like other death narratives I have cited in the last two chapters, here too Jacke
locates the current period of rapid change (and possible death) within a larger
cycle of such periods of change and death threats. Jacke immediately places this
death narrative in context so as to show it to be not a signal of futility and
hopelessness, but rather an unexpected marker of transference and evolution;
―‗killing‘ can be understood to be very integrating and accommodating‖ (2010:
179) if contextualized as a marker of change rather than one simply of demise.205
This narrative is also clearly positioned to emphasise one aspect of the interaction
of music and broadcasting over another and, using Jacke‘s logic, then, the only
death related to the development of audio-visual delivery via the internet is the
death of audio-only music delivery and creation, or, traditional broadcast radio
and its associated music. Speaking directly to Frith‘s 1988 discussion ―Why do
songs have words‖, Jacke calls for ―multiple perspectives and transdisciplinarity‖
(Jacke, 2010: 188) in the analysis of music video, noting that from his perspective
as a non-Anglophone academic, music video has begun to be explored by a
variety of ―German-speaking scholars, from art history to marketing research‖,
and ―[music video analysis] should not be ‗solely‘ about the analysis of popular
music and culture and their texts‖ (2010: 188). Jacke‘s study of music video
outside the dominant American and British centres of popular music and media
204
See also Wright, who also maps an evolution of music video, ―Music videos, for example, are
the cultural offspring of variety show performance and story-form television spots; the visual and
structural language they have spawned has, in turn, has co-opted by computer games, theme park
rides and by later television spots.‖ (Wright, 2003: 8).
205
In more detail, Jacke argues, ―Clearly, we still need images to go with sounds in order to create
a comprehensive sound image of pop music in the truest sense of the phrase‖, and as such, any
Internet ―‗killing‘ can be understood to be very integrating and accommodating … for whether it is
the good old LP album cover, the music (video) clip, or a band‘s presentation of itself on the
Internet via its own home page or MySpace, visualizations of pop music neither disappear nor are
they replaced, they change their media platform.‖ (2010: 179) .
128
studies shows then that birth and death narratives, and crossover products like
music video and music video television, cannot be assumed to be uniformly
influential in all regions.
Interestingly, studies of music video and music video programming that are
focused on regions other than America and Britain have also recorded birth and
death narratives, but these narratives have had different characteristics and
outcomes. Beebe and Middleton note that the ―lament about the ‗death of music
video‘ centred on the United States is further challenged by taking even a quick
glance around the world at various music television [programs and channels]
springing up in almost every corner of globe‖ (2007: 2), and the editors use this as
part of the motivation for their volume, to ―insist on the difference between MTV
and the broader array of music television(s)‖(ibid). This difference is
demonstrated not just with the examples in the volume, but also with the way
other births and deaths are recorded. For example, in Antti-Ville Karja‘s chapter
on music video and music video programming in Finland he describes a ―secured
otherness‖ (2007: 174), as locally produced music videos had been excluded from
transnational music video programming like MTV Nordic. Instead, these local
products rely on the relatively brief lifespan of the locally focused music video
television program Jyrki. Although Karja doesn‘t use the word birth for Jyrki‘s
launch, or death for its eventual close, these ideas are clearly evoked; ―the
beginning of 2002 was a gloomy one for Finnish music video … [because] Jyrki
was terminated‖ (ibid). Karja argues that in a post-Jyrki environment, where local
Finnish music video must compete with international product, there needs to be a
shift in the way music video and its value are considered, calling for an ―analysis
of Finnishness in (popular music) that not only examines what was said but also
what was done‖ (2007: 198). Citing ―the ease of seeing the local version of MTV
in light of the cultural imperialism thesis‖ (Karja, 2007: 191),206 Karja still
laments the loss of programs like Jyrki, but notes that despite its demise ―Finnish
206
MTV has been described in terms of cultural imperialism; see for example Freccero‘s
discussion of Madonna and MTV, where she describes MTV‘s influence as ―imperialism because
MTV is not a democratic medium, equally avail-able to all cultures and nations for use, but a
specific creation of the United States for the incorporation of "world music" into itself and for the
creation of global desires to consume the products of U.S. popular culture‖ (1992: 165). The
development of MTV international, and in particular its effect in Mexico, has also been explored
by Kun (2002: 102-17).
129
acts have gradually found success‖ (Karja, 2007: 194). As such, while MTV‘s
influence remains clear, Karja demonstrates that its international scope has not
been as all-encompassing as some non-geographically specific (and therefore
presumably American and British) birth and death narratives have suggested.207
More recently, in a study of the crossover between the popular music and
advertising industries, Bethany Klein described the increasing trend of popular
musicians drawing revenue by licensing material to advertisers. Klein declared
that this practice had come in ―response to [music] industry woe‖ (2009: 59) and
could be considered as the way to ensure popular musicians were able to remain
profitable in the face of competition from other forms. Interestingly, she named
this practice of exposure through advertising using the pattern of a crossover older
model, calling music advertising licensing ―the new radio‖ (Klein, 2009: 59), and
in particular used the exploitative practices of MTV to explain why musicians had
begun to bypass the former giant to find other ways to gain exposure and income.
As Klein asserted, while MTV has moved away from music video programming
towards other television forms (a decline which itself limits opportunities for
musicians), she adds that also ―MTV reserves the right to uncouple the music
from the visual component [of a video it is provided with] and use it as a
soundtrack to its [newly created] shows. Artists are rarely credited … and the
usual synchronization fees are not applied‖ (2009: 71). Klein explains ―many
artists have taken the steps to tip the balance of licensing [their] music to
advertising over working directly with major labels or MTV‖ (Klein, 2009: 71), a
pattern which if enough artists copy, will ultimately limit MTV‘s access to
musical material not just in the form of finished music videos, but also for music
they want to repurpose for MTV original productions.
207
In this same edited volume see also the regionalised history of music video television as
presented by Di Marino in relation to Italian music and media (2010: 67- 75), particularly his note
on the popularity of local programs Mister Fantasy (and presenters Carlo Massarini) in the 1980s,
as well as ―the birth of specialised TV channels like Videomusic, which delayed the arrival of
multinational MTV in Italy for a decade‖ (2010: 69). See also Hanke‘s study of MTV Latin
America (2006: 317-25).
130
2. THE DEATH THREATS TO INTERNATIONAL MUSIC VIDEO
PROGRAMMING, AND HOW THESE HAVE BEEN OVERCOME IN
AUSTRALIA
I want to narrow focus now to explore music video programming in Australia by
looking at the continued success of ABC TV program Rage. Although it is not the
longest running music video program still on air (Channel 10 program Video Hits
began a few weeks earlier), I engage with Rage here because of the program‘s
format consistency during its time on air. Rage‘s consistency has actually helped
to ensure its survival, and beyond this, can now be seen as part of a way to help
achieve constructive developments as the music and television industries in
Australia and internationally again experience a period of change. I will structure
this section around key threats to music video programming internationally, and
show how Rage has pre-empted these and maintained its position as a valuable
crossover between popular music and television in Australia.
2.1 Music video programming requires a particular, high cost, visual
aesthetic (and without it, it will die)
In ―It‘s the end of Music Videos as we know them (but we feel fine): Death and
Resurrection of Music Videos in the You-Tube Age‖ Gianni Sibilla (2010)
presents a death and birth narrative to explain the changes that have occurred
recently in the music and media markets. He laments the loss of music television
programs as mediators between audiences and musicians, and describes a move
―from Industry Made music videos to Hand Made music videos‖ (2010: 227), a
process whereby musicians make their own, low budget music videos and release
them directly to audiences online rather than relying on big budget productions
supplied by record companies and distributed to audiences via television. She
describes this current industrial change by evoking a pattern of birth and death;
music videos were one of the most interesting things that happened in the media
landscape in the eighties and nineties. However, the ‗golden age‘ of the music video is
long gone, and the Internet has caused the end of music videos as we know them. But
music videos are born again in a new form and in a new space: YouTube (Sibilla, 2007:
225)
131
With the above description Sibilla is very clear about what industrial change
occurred. Her narrative can be understood in terms of a former crossover (that of
music and television with music video programming), being threatened by the
development of a new one (music and online delivery). To support this claim she
cites MTV and its move away from music particularly, continuing, ―MTV and
other music TV channels have transformed into ‗mainstream‘ channels with less
and less space for music. In this sense, music videos are dead: they no longer
serve as a tool for launching an artist and/or expressing a form of visual creativity
that accompanies music‖ (Sibilla, 2007: 226).
Sinilla‘s declaration relies on an important assumption about the relationship
between music and television and the nature of music video programming; that is,
the assumption that music video programming appeared only (or most
importantly) on dedicated music channels rather than as one component in a
variety of content of a ‗mainstream‘ channel. This is to assume that music video
programming must function as MTV did, as a dedicated, 24 hour music video
(and music associated) programming form. However, music video programming
in Australia has almost always been delivered on mainstream channels as one of
many types of programs on offer,208 therefore Australian music video
programming can‘t be considered in the same way as its international
counterparts. Music video programming in Australia in the form of Rage
especially has also made a point of offering many different types of music for
different audiences as opposed to the narrow focus of international music video
programming like MTV. For example, on the night of its broadcast debut Rage
was described in terms of the genres of music played at various times; ―12 to 2am
as disco; 2 to 4 am as hard rock and contemporary dance; 4 to 6am as jazz, blues
and archival clips, and so on‖ (SMH Guide 13/4/87, p13), a breaking up of the
program‘s playlist that was not favoured by commercial music video programs
208
I say almost always because there does exist some dedicated music video programming on Pay
TV in Australia, mainly Music Max, Channel v and MTV, however over time these have also
come to include other types of programs including documentaries, reality programming and live
concert footage.
132
because of a fear that audiences might only tune in to part of the program to only
watch for music they like (or turn off during music they don‘t).209
The second part of Sinilla‘s ‗death threat‘ appears in the relationship formed
between music video and internet distribution, a relationship she argues will
damage music video programming on television. However, because it is delivered
by a publicly funded network Rage has never insisted on a particular moneydriven aesthetic to guarantee airplay, but rather, their music video programming
has often valued local musical and visual experimentation over budget. For
example, as part of an interview promoting his role as the host of the short lived
free-to-air version of MTV on Channel 9 in the late 1980s, Richard Wilkins
described the role of Rage in the Australian market,
We do play some indie stuff, not a lot, but some. The criticism is valid. What do you do
when you've got a new Michael Jackson or Jimmy Barnes video that may have cost
$200,000 and a video clip from a band playing the Harold Park Hotel that cost $1,000? A
program like Rage is probably better suited to be playing a lot of that stuff than we are. It
doesn't have ratings to worry about. … Welcome to the realities of commercial television
(Wilkins in Casimir, 1989: 3).
Although this comment was made only a few years after Rage‘s inauguration in
1987, Wilkins‘ comment about the ABC program‘s promotion of ‗indie stuff‘, or
material that is without major commercial backing (ie: significant financial
backing) highlights the uniqueness of Rage in the Australian market. Indeed, this
championing of local musicians and artists despite their relatively low budgets, or
necessarily ‗hand made‘ videos, has been a strength of Rage since the late 1980s
rather than something new to the channel since the advent of online delivery.
Partly this has been because of Rage‘s position within the public service
broadcaster, the ABC, an organisation that has built into its charter its
commitment to provide opportunities for local musicians and other artists (often
to compensate for the relative lack of opportunity available in commercial
media).210 However, like Countdown when it began, Rage was part of the ABC‘s
209
I have discussed this earlier in this chapter with particular reference to Shuker‘s explanation of
MTV‘s move away from music video programming in the 1990s.
210
I have already discussed the ABC‘s charter in relation to the development of music in Chapter
two,
however
for
more
details
of
the
ABC
charter
see
http://www.abc.net.au/corp/pubs/ABCcharter.htm, accessed 1/3/11. In addition, see commentators
such as Jacka who have argued that as a public service broadcaster the ABC‘s role is to provide
programming that may not be sustainable in the commercial media sector, ―Economists have often
133
commitment to providing equal access for Australian artists and audiences,
offering an opportunity for local musicians with relatively small budgets to gain
exposure via television alongside their international (usually much better funded)
colleagues. Rage provides a space for Australian musicians and visual artists
during their early years of production (often as they were still developing their
skills), as well as an avenue for exposure for local artists who had chosen to
remain independent or to work outside clear genre categories or target
demographics. For example, in the mid 1990s a music video for independent
Australian musician/comedian/activist Pauline Pantsdown helped to ensure a
delivery of the artist/activist‘s message to an audience who might have otherwise
been unreceptive (Bloustein, 1999: 19),211 while Rage and MTV have been
credited with helping to launch an Aboriginal Australian popular music identity
with the support of Yothu Yindi in the early 1990s (Mitchell, 1993; 303-4;
Hayward, 1998: 194). Rage has since maintained its support of contemporary
Aboriginal artists, particularly with its first dedicated indigenous special hosted by
Jessica Mauboy on 11 July 2009. This theme was expanded the following year as
Troy Casser-Dailey hosted a NAIDOC Week special on July 10, 2010. 212 Rage
has also been noted as a catalyst for the creation of independent Australian music,
with Brisbane band The Grates having cited watching Rage as a key point in the
genesis of their band (Nanvervis, 2010: 37).213
In addition to these accounts of Rage‘s ‗non-commercial‘ and ‗non-mainstream‘
influence, the music video program‘s commitment to providing equal access to
emerging Australian musicians was commented on less favourably in 2002 by
argued the need for PSB [Public Service Broadcasting] in terms of so-called ‗market failure‖
(Jacka 2006: 350)
211
As Bloustein wrote, ―The CD and video clip were played continuously on ABC radio and TV
(Triple J and Rage) until Hanson brought an injunction against their airing. In the meantime many
young people had watched and listened to the parody – even if they had failed to attend to the
original racist arguments.‖ (1999: 19)
212
Details
of
the
first
indigenous
special
are
available
here,
http://www.abc.net.au/rage/archive/s2619403.htm; while details of the NAIDOC week, an annual
celebration
of
Indigenous
culture,
is
available
here,
http://www.abc.net.au/rage/archive/s2949544.htm, each was accessed 5/5/11. By comparison,
Video Hits has only occasionally featured aboriginal artists (recently and most notably Dan
Sultan), and certainly not in a dedicated form.
213
While this story has been variously reported as evidenced by its inclusion by Nanverkis above,
The Grates have also had the following statement on their official website since 2008: they
―decided to form our band while watching Rage together one night‖ (www.thegrates.com,
accessed 10/12/08).
134
comedian John Safran as part of his infotainment program John Safran‟s Music
Jamboree. Safran attempted to test the limits of ‗what was acceptable to be played
on Rage‘, by suggesting that ―a dog could shoot a video and make it on Rage‖,
something he then proceeded to prove by sending Rage a music video he shot by
taping a camera to his dog‘s head as it walked around Melbourne. The sketch
concluded with Safran and the dog watching the video as Rage aired it. The
program segment was filmed initially as an attempt to make fun of the music
video program‘s open access policy, however the piece was revisited by Safran
and the current producers of Rage during a panel discussion at Australian Centre
for Moving Image (ACMI) on 23 August 2010.214 As part of this discussion the
skit was replayed first with Safran providing a commentary, and then with room
for Rage producers Sophie Zoellner and Madeline Palmer to respond. Palmer and
Zoellner accepted Safran‘s work as a joke, but their presence also constituted a
sense of support for the decision their Rage production predecessors had made.
Rage had honoured Safran as an Australian artist who deserved at least some
attention by the public service broadcaster, something that the new producers
appeared to be proud of.
Since the late 1980s there has been a continued push to maintain Rage as an
alternative to commercial music video programming, one made not just from
those within the media and music landscape like Wilkins, but also from within the
ABC itself. During the late 1980s Australian music video programming was
drawn into questions of a ‗pay for play‘ practice, whereby record companies
attempted to charge television stations for access to music videos, an action that
could be called an attempted crossover of the revenue. In ―Pay for Play: Or, you
can‘t have your music and screen it too‖ (1988), Stockbridge explored the issue
but emphasised the mutual benefit that music video programming gave to the
music and television industries, arguing ―Records on radio and clips on TV are
also there to be enjoyed for their own sake, even while they are promoting
themselves. They are advertising, but, unlike regular advertisements, they are the
product‖ (1988: 10). In a report from TV Week in April 1987, the month MTV
214
This discussion occurred as part of ACMI‘s ―Live in the Studio‖ series, with the Rage panel
staged on 26 August, 2010. A podcast of the evening can be accessed online via
http://www.acmi.net.au/lis_rage.aspx, accessed 2/04/11.
135
and Rage began, it was reported that a ―pay for clips ruling [was to be] mooted‖,
with the editor suggesting that ―Australia‘s longest running rock show,
Countdown, is in jeopardy if major changes to broadcasting costs are
implemented‖ and that ―the future of Countdown and other music shows is in
serious doubt if the planned ‗pay for play‘ system comes into effect‖ (TV Week,
18/4/87: 34). The same article cites then recent changes to Countdown‘s format to
include more live performances and quotes host Molly Meldrum as saying
―Countdown is one show that could survive‖ a potential pay-for-play scheme
(Meldrum in TV Week, ibid). It also reports that ―discussions about introducing
the [pay] system have been going on for over a year‖ and that ―negotiations
between television stations and ARIA should be finalized within the next two
months‖ (TV Week, 18/4/87: 34).
A few months after the TV Week article was published Countdown did end its run
on air, with many commentators since alleging the complicity of pay for play in
the show‘s demise.215 Meldrum‘s assertion that certain Australian programming
‗could survive‘ a change to the flow of money from or to music video was not
accurate regarding his own show, however this was true of Countdown‘s
successor, Rage. Rage was not affected by a threat of pay for play because it did
not rely on high budget international product, but rather often presented (often
locally produced) low budget music video. This point of difference meant that
Rage survived the 1980s period of change, but also changes that have happened
since. For example, the development of the ‗YouTube aesthetic‘ for contemporary
music videos has not affected Rage‘s style or audience appeal because such a low
fi approach has always been a part of Rage‘s presentation.216 As Rage producer
Sophie Zoellner explained,
215
See for example (Stockbridge, 1992a: 140), where Stockbridge notes that Countdown had been
declining in influence since 1984, however she argues that ―the actual demise of the program
occurred in 1987 and had to do with the introduction by the record companies of fees for the
playing of video clips for songs. Countdown‘s budget could not afford the expense and the
program ended‖ (1992a: 140). Other theories in Countdown‘s decline have also been explored by
other authors, including an ageing of the show‘s core audience and the music it played (Warner,
2006: 140; Wilmoth, 1993: 244).
216
I refer back here to Sinilla‘s argument that the postulated death of music video relies on
lamenting changes where ―music artists are now producing music videos solely for YouTube,
following different standards than in the case of clips intended for TV‖, concluding that such
music videos ―require less focus on technical quality and budget, and greater focus on ideas‖
(2010: 229).
136
one of the really special things about Rage is that we play not only major label clips, but
also a lot of independent clips that wouldn‘t have seen the light of day, possibly, on other
shows. For many Australian bands getting their clip played on Rage is a major milestone
in their career, and a lot of groups that are quite large now, you‘ll find that the first time
they ever appeared on TV was on Rage, so that‘s something that we can all be pretty
proud of. What indie clips prove, week in, week out, is that you don‘t need loads of
money to make a great video clip, you just need a lot of imagination or a great narrative.
A clip could be shot in your backyard and be funny, or just a really simple idea executed
perfectly. So we really like that we are a space where all kinds of clips can be shown, to
everyone around Australia.
217
Here Zoellner announces her music video program‘s acceptance of material that
may have been considered worthy of internet-only broadcast by Sinilla. She also
explains that Rage has applied these ‗alternative‘ criteria for television music
video selection for some time. Her assertion that many groups ‗who are quite
large now‘ first appeared on Rage demonstrates that music video programming‘s
role is providing exposure for musicians and music video artists as they develop
their craft. It also indicates that beyond Rage‘s obligation to its charter as a public
service broadcaster, there is a significant audience sector interested in discovering
these types of music videos via music video programming on Rage. Zoellner
doesn‘t mention online music video delivery here, an omission that indicates she
does not see this platform as a threat to her music/television crossover. I will
develop this idea later in this chapter, demonstrating how Rage has actively
engaged and encouraged music/internet crossover while maintaining a strong
music/television influence.
2.2 Music video programming needs a host (or predictable flow), and without
it, it will die
Much has been made about the importance of creating a type of flow for music
video programming, particularly in relation to MTV and other music video
programming. The role of the host, or the VJ (video jokey) in music video
programming has been argued to be central to drawing audiences and advertisers
217
I have included full details of this address later in this chapter, however this section was
transcribed
by
the
author
from
a
podcast
accessed
via
http://www.acmi.net.au/explore_podcasts.htm, with this section occurring between 8-12 minutes
into the podcast.
137
and maintaining the flow of the program, with the development from MTV‘s
global branding of what can be understood as ―demographically-grown VJ's‖, or,
"MTV spokes models would be a more accurate description‖ (Branwyn, 1996:
95). Frith (2001) further explained that the television VJ functioned in a
comparable way to the radio DJ, arguing ―it isn‘t music alone that draws together
a listening community, but music and the person presenting music and so, through
a tone of voice and use of language, presenting a sense of belonging.‖ (Frith 2001:
41) Although he acknowledges that music on television had often had more
options in delivering music, in particular he specifies that ―it was only with the
invention of MTV that a form of music television emerged that could be treated
like music radio‖ (Frith, 2001: 42), a point referring to MTV‘s pioneering work in
overtly targeting specific audience demographics (particularly youth), and
attempting to give these a sense of belonging through interaction with the channel
and its music, but also through a host, or radio DJ-like mediator.
In a study of the development of the international MTV brand, Temporal (2008)
described MTV‘s ―VJ Strategy‖. The strategy maintained that ―VJs need to
embody MTV‘s brand personality as well as their own individual personalities,‖
and that the ―qualities of MTV—being relevant, passionate, unpredictable, clever,
really funny, risk-taking, bold, open and no bullshit—are manifested [via the VJ]‖
(Temporal, 2008: 164). As such the MTV VJ serves as a mediator between the
audience and the channel, as ―the right VJ portrays the channel‘s image and
personality‖ (2008: 165). However, Temporal goes on to argue that this image and
personality are no longer bound to music, as to be a VJ ―a knowledge of music
isn‘t the only criterion for a successful MTV VJ; an attractive screen presence and
the ability to project a ‗cool‘ image on screen is equally important‖ (2008: 165).
Temporal then explores how MTV VJ‘s images have changed over time (for
example, to reflect different fashion trends, gender ideals and cultural ethnicities),
and the implication is that these changing images are created as new VJs replace
older ones. If a host is the ‗face‘ of a youth network, then it stands to reason as
faces age they need to be replaced if the youth aesthetic is to be retained. This
fountain of VJ youth has been maintained with MTV‘s ―VJ Hunts‖ (2008: 167-8),
a gimmick the channel also uses to ensure audiences feel a sense of participation
with the station. The VJ hunts have also recently been developed into reality
138
programming on the channel, thus providing content as well as a recruitment
service.218
This regular replacement of the faces of MTV is vital to the channel‘s success and
continued appeal to younger audiences. But it also begs the question of what
happens to these presenters when they become inappropriate, or too old, to remain
part of the music video program. One example was the development of a subset of
MTV‘s music video programming style, with the introduction of Martha‟s
Greatest Hits in 1990, a program hosted by Martha Quinn "‗one of MTV's
original VJs‘, as an MTV press release proudly noted, [who] in the short period
she had been away from MTV, she had grown up and was now a sexy broad
rather than a girl-next-door‖ (Burns, 1998: 136). Further to this, Burns explained
how the show had been put together ―to appeal to people who had watched MTV
five years earlier and who perhaps were less inclined to do so in 1990‖ (ibid), and
even though he doesn‘t specify Quinn‘s role in creating this, the fact that Quinn
was included with these original videos and their programming implies her role in
helping to recreate this. As such, here the VJ can be seen not only as a way of
marking a change in her audience (as she ‗had grown up‘), but also in helping to
draw them back to the channel by expanding MTV‘s audience scope.
Music video programming in Australia also began with the use of hosts, or VJs, to
mediate between television audiences and music videos. This was a tactic that was
drawn not just from radio, but also from existing music television. Not long after
Countdown (hosted by Molly Meldrum) ceased broadcasting in 1987, commercial
music television programs (and particularly music video programs) attempted to
not only take over Countdown‘s audience share, but also the cultural influence
that Meldrum had exercised during the program‘s peak.219 As journalist Jon
Casimir observed in 1989, this attempt to develop not just appropriate music
video programming, but an appropriate music video programming host, was a key
218
For example, MTV India developed its VJ Hunt into a makeover-like program, where audience
members were chosen to be styled as hosts, rather than chosen for pre-existing qualifications)
(Temporal, 2007: 168).
219
As Stockbridge explained, ―Molly Meldrum was said to hold record companies in thrall. If he
didn‘t obtain ‗first cab off the rank‘ status with a band and video, it was unlikely that they would
be given another chance on Countdown unless their popularity was so high he could not afford to
exclude them. (Stockbridge 1992b: 78).
139
concern for commercial television. Writing about Channel 9‘s initiatives in the
late 1980s with Wilkins and Australian MTV in particular, Casimir argued,
Richard Wilkins's face has become synonymous with the mainstream of Australian rock.
When Countdown turned up its toes two years ago, he stepped in to fill the symbolic void
for the average Australian record consumer. Job description: soothsayer and pop guru.
The changing of the guard was almost seamless (Casimir, 1989: 3).
Although it‘s impossible to ultimately determine Casimir‘s intentions here, given
how different MTV had been in comparison with Countdown in terms of musical
and artistic approach (and how relatively respected Meldrum had been not only as
a television host, but also as a former journalist and producer), it‘s fair to assume
that Casimir‘s comparison is ironic, and his final comment about a ‗seamless‘
changing of the guard is sarcastic. The role of a host, and importantly the appeal
of a host, helped secure the success of music video programming, helped to
differentiate one program from another during periods when Australian television
featured many music video programs, but also appears to have contributed to the
demise of most of these programs shortly after their initiation.
To provide an example, in a review of the relatively crowded music video
programming market in Australia in the early 1990s, journalist Helen-Marie
Dickensen identified each show‘s host (or lack of host) as a key to attracting
audiences to one program over its competitor. For example, in the case of
competing weekend morning music video programs, particularly Video Hits
(Channel 10) and Video Smash Hits (Channel 7), Dickensen argues that viewers
are attracted (and repelled) by whether each show has a host, ―Video Hits ... is
mercifully host-free, but Video Smash Hits labours under the weight of not one,
but two capering hosts‖ (1991: 18). Similarly in an analysis of the overnight
weekend music video programs Dickensen also focuses discussion on a host‘s
presence or absence, using this to link audience expectations for each show. Rage
is described as an unintrusive backdrop to other activities for audiences, as
something that ―provides moving wallpaper for teen seductions, bedtime mugs of
cocoa, drug-crazed inner-city parties, insomniac angst and countless other
domestic dramas‖ (Dickensen, 1991: 18). In contrast, she describes MTV as
―unavoidable‖, a comment that is closely followed by reference to the show‘s
―glitzy host Richard Wilkins [who is] permanently linked in some minds to the
140
words ‗hopeless dork‘‖ (Dickensen, 1991: 18). Dickensen‘s assessment of hostcentered music video television helps to explain how Rage and Video Hits have
survived on air until 2011. That Video Hits should be ―mercilessly host-free‖ is
considered a strength here, just as Rage‘s position as ―moving wallpaper‖
indicates it is familiar, unobtrusive, and ultimately inoffensive. Video Hits has
since experimented with hosts and different forms of mediation between music
videos and their audience,220 however Rage maintains its hostless position. Music
video remains the sole content on Rage, with the only exception being the use of
changing guest programmers to select these.
Unlike a music television program host, the Rage guest programmer format,
which began in 1990, relies on a guest being featured because of her or his
expertise as a musician and/or music fan. No consideration is given to how the
guest looks or whether they may have a particular extra-musical appeal or
attitude. Furthermore, unlike commercial hosts, the guest programmer is given
complete control of the show‘s playlist for the time he or she is on air,221 subject
only to the normal television classification restrictions222 and the ABC Code of
Practice concerning material of an overtly political or commercial nature.223 The
guest programmer segment begins with the programmers introducing themselves
direct to camera, usually without a themed set. There are regular breaks between
clips to allow the programmers to back or forward announce their choices. As
former Rage producer Narelle Gee explained,224 the guest programmer‘s music
220
As Huber recounts, ―The inaugural hosts [of Video Hits] were Axle Whitehead and Kelly
Cavuoto, two of the finalists from the first season of Australian Idol, further testament to the
powerful place this television show holds in the logic of the contemporary Top 40. Axle became
the sole host later that year, and began hosting the show live from mid-2005.‖ (Huber, 2007: 282).
As of April 2011 Video Hits had two hosts, Dylan Lewis (the former host of the 1990s ABC music
program Recovery), and Faustina 'Fuzzy' Agolley. See further www.videohits.com.au, accessed
20/4/11.
221
As Gee explained, guests are given the ―Rage Red book‖ which is a catalogue of Rage‘s video
library, however they are also ―free to come up with things out of their head and we‘ll search for
obscurities or anything that they want‖ (Gee, interview with author, 2008).
222
That is, they are accountable to the Australian Communications and Media Authority
concerning material suitable for broadcast on free to air television at particular times of day. For
more information see www.acma.gov.au (accessed 1/10/08)
223
For further information about the ABC Code of Practice see
www.abc.net.au/corp/pubs/documents/200806_codeofpractice-revised_2008.pdf, accessed 1/10/08
224
Narelle Gee was the head programmer for Rage from 1994 until 2008, and the comments
quoted here come from an interview conducted specifically for this thesis. However some have
also been since published in Giuffre (2010), and subsequently updated with follow up
141
choices and comments ―can be really revealing, much more than an interview
[with a host] just saying ‗so, what‘s you‘re new album like, tell us about it‘‖ (Gee,
interview with author 2008). Gee‘s distinction between Rage‘s guest programmer
format and a more conventional interview identifies the show‘s agenda of
maintaining a seemingly direct relationship between the show‘s viewers and its
participants. Through the process of choosing music videos unaided, insights into
the guest programmer‘s own music making or own music fandom can be revealed
to viewers, with the hostless format allowing the guests to describe their
relationship to music as part of a narrative they create, rather than as part of the
narrative created by a host as interviewer or presenter.
Hancock argued that the Rage guest programmer format allowed ―a rare chance
for the programmer to openly engage with the [Rage] audience‖ (2006: 167).
Hancock called this process the building of the ―artist[ic] persona‖ (Hancock,
2006: 166), a persona that may, importantly, be different from the way artists are
groomed by music industry promotions and publicity. To demonstrate this
Hancock cities the experiences of Australian musician and Rage guest
programmer Sarah Blasko, particularly Blasko‘s view of Rage as a rare
―opportunity‖225 to assert her own musical identity. For example, Blasko‘s choice
to feature music by the often drug inspired, brit pop band Pulp, is somewhat at
odds with her mainstream pop image.226 Through the process of guest
programming Rage Blasko was able to broaden audiences‘ musical perceptions of
her.
correspondence. I will indicate these updates as necessary; otherwise all references to Gee are
cited as per the original interview with me from 2008.
225
This wish to use Rage as an opportunity to display personal tastes and influences can be seen
in Gee‘s comments about the popularity of the guest programmer, not only by musicians who ―get
on the guest programmers couch and say ‗I‘ve wanted to do this since I was a kid‘, for some of
them it‘s been their dream for them, that‘s a fairly common thing from bands‖ (Gee, interview
with author 2008), but also with the viewing audience. As part of Rage‘s 20th anniversary
celebrations the show launched a competition to ―Invade Rage‖, whereby a viewer could be the
guest programmer for a night. Gee described the competition as hugely successful with ―an
enormous number of entries‖ (ibid). According a press release issued by the ABC, there were over
4000 entries to the competition, www.abc.net.au/corp/media/s1955223.htm, accessed 5/9/08
226
Blasko‘s music is often associated with mainstream pop in Australia, as demonstrated by her
winning the 2007 ARIA (Australian Recording Industry Association) Award for Best Pop Release
(www.ariaawards.com.au, accessed 10/10/08).
142
The guest programmer segment on Rage is also an opportunity to link material
that may otherwise have no logical genre or audience connection. For example,
the videos Blasko chose, which included Australian independent artists Frente and
The Underground Lovers, to Pulp and The Muppets,227 have little connection
musically or thematically except that each has appealed to Blasko as a musician
and fan in some way. Such diversity of material is celebrated by Rage and its
audiences, and is a key to its appeal with late night viewers in particular. The
guest programmer feature of Rage has also been acknowledged as important from
within the ABC itself. For example, through the ABC Advisory Council, the ABC
recommended that Rage reconsider its morning broadcasting so as to ensure it
continued to fill the gaps left by the commercial sector. For example, R7/2/03 of
the ABC annual report in 2003 included the following comment and
recommendation about Rage‘s place in the wider Australian music/television
landscape. The comment and recommendation were drawn from the 2003-04 the
ABC Advisory Council, who wrote,
Saturday morning Rage is indistinguishable from a commercial channel; it promotes
video clips suggesting young women need to look glamorous in bikinis to be musicians.
Rage should instead continue with its guest presenter (ABC annual report 2003/4, p 168).
Notwithstanding the slight mistake in terminology above (Rage features guest
programmers, not presenters) following this comment and recommendation Rage
stopped featuring the ARIA chart countdown228 and has instead included more
guest programmers in their morning broadcasts. This process has encouraged a
diversity and unpredictability in the show‘s music programming, and helped to
further differentiate it from Video Hits and a commercial countdown format. But
this is not to say that Rage stopped playing contemporary mainstream pop music
altogether. As Gee explained, contemporary pop remains on Rage, but it is
programmed as a discrete genre as opposed to being merely featured as part of a
commercially generated playlist,
The Head of the Arts and Entertainment area that we‘re part of [in the ABC] decided that
with the digital charts and different ways that people were purchasing music, that perhaps
that chart [the ARIA chart] wasn‘t so relevant anymore and maybe the ABC should move
227
Rage publishes and archives all its playlists on its website. To see Blasko‘s full playlist, go to
http://www.abc.net.au/Rage/playlist/archive/2005/20051105.htm (accessed 11/11/08)
228
The ARIA charts are national music charts compiled by the Australian Record Industry
Association, based on sales as they are measured by that organisation. For more information see
www.aria.com.au
143
on and do different things ... We still have a part of the show called ‗hits and new
releases‘, where that pop type of music and that sensibility is reflected as well, we like
that to be part of the mix. With our young audience that‘s the music they‘re passionate
about, and so I think Rage should reflect that as well. (Gee, interview with author, 2008)
Gee‘s description of ‗hits and new releases‘ rather than ‗commercial‘ or ‗chart‘
music demonstrates how music continues to be considered by Rage‘s producers.
A connection between the music featured on Rage and the show‘s audience is one
that has been made overtly during Rage‘s history. Although commercial networks
have similar concerns (indeed, concerns about ratings are direct links to the
audience), through its distinct format Rage has ensured that this connection has
remained relatively free of external interference.
In 2010 Gee released a book describing her experiences working on Rage and in
particular, her experiences sourcing, arranging and filming the musician guest
programmers. Called Real Wild Child: An insider‟s tales from the Rage couch
(2010), Gee provided further details of the unmediated interviews provided by the
guest programmer format on Rage. Although the book is a memoir rather than a
critical investigation, her personification of the ―Rage couch‖229 further indicates
the success of the Rage guest programmer format. Where a person might normally
be held with such high regard (usually a program‘s host), here the couch is offered
as the link between the audience, programmers and the music video program.
With the act of putting musicians on a couch the crossover between television and
music is represented symbolically as well as enacted through the program‘s
content and form. The ‗Rage Couch‘ is another demonstration of the program‘s
unique construction of music/television crossover.
2.3 Music video programming cannot compete with cross platform and
online delivery of music (or can it?)
Concerns about how music video programming, (and indeed any music
broadcasting), have been raised by various international narrators. Music video
programming‘s relationship to online music delivery can first be framed the
229
This is the red lounge chair that many of the guest programmers sit on when delivering their
program choices to camera, and arguably, the only reliable branding tool of Rage beyond its logo
and intro/outro sequences.
144
relationship between MTV and online music delivery, a frame that often suggests
a death of broadcast music video at the hands of online delivery. It should be
noted that one of the supposed nails in the MTV broadcast coffin was first
delivered by former MTV VJ Adam Curry, as Curry is often credited with having
developed the Podcast230, a music/online crossover that he developed during his
time at MTV.231 Perhaps more popularly (and spectacularly), claims of the death
of music video programming and the rise of a new music/media crossover have
been circulated since at least the rise of Napster and MP3, with the possible
replacement of MTV with these online formats noted with the re-appropriation of
the famous ―I Want My MTV‖ slogan from the 1980s to ―I Want My MP3‖
(Rodman, 2006; Garofalo, 2003).232 Music video programming‘s potential
obsolescence on television has also been tied to preconditions of the coming of a
post-broadcast era to be replaced by online many-to-many delivery, or what
Turner and Jay refer to as ―the ‗end of broadcasting/rise of broadband‘ narrative‖
(2009:8). These narratives however rely on assumptions about equivalent access
(particularly in the case of effective broadband), an assumption that simply
doesn‘t hold when comparing territories like Australia to that of the US and UK
for example. This is not to say, however, that such threats of birth and death
haven‘t been made in relation to Australian music video programming and music
and television generally, but rather that they have been different in this region.
The possible threat of online delivery to television (and radio) services, and
particularly radio and television music programming, has been present in
Australia since at least the 1990s. Of particular concern has been not only a
change in audience habits in terms of preferred method of access (whether
audiences want to use a computer screen rather than a television or radio to access
230
As reported in Wired, ―Adam Curry earned the nickname ―Podfather‖ not by inventing
podcasting, but by driving the digital-consumption model into the mainstream with his hit program
Daily Source Code … Actual credit for the invention of the podcasting model goes to Dave Winer
… But Curry‘s celebrity status as a former MTV video jockey catapulted him ahead in popularity,
and his podcast proved far more influential. Thus, in the podcast revolution, Curry played the role
of
pioneer
for
Winer‘s
invention‖
(Chen,
2009,
http://www.wired.com/thisdayintech/2009/08/dayintech_0813/, accessed 6/7/11.
231
During his time as an MTV VJ, Curry registered the domain ―MTV.com‖ under his own name
instead of under MTV‘s, and when he left the organisation Curry attempted to take the domain
with him. MTV sued him for copyright infringement and eventually settled the case out of court in
order to regain control of their name, but importantly, of the domain (Hamilton, 1995/6: 6).
232
I have discussed this in the last two chapters with regard to the influence of digital delivery of
music generally.
145
material), but more importantly how revenue will be secured for music and
broadcasting industries with online delivery in the face of relatively easy illegal
(and free) audience access. So serious was the threat of piracy that the
Commonwealth Government held a Contemporary Music Summit in April 1995
to allow music industries professionals, artists and other experts to air their
concerns and suggest action to address the threat. The Summit was first suggested
as part of the Keating Government‘s policy paper Creative Nation (1994), a paper
interested in assessing the state of the Arts in Australia at the time, and in which
the government articulated the relative decline of the sector, where the threat to
the music industry was again set out in terms of the problem of piracy; ―piracy of
music is as much a cultural abuse as it is an economic one‖ (Commonwealth of
Australia, 1994: 29). The piece again described the link between the music and
broadcasting industries, as it was acknowledged that previously ―the
Commonwealth has supported this industry through a copyright system which
assists the development of Australian product, and a broadcasting system which
supports its dissemination‖ (1994: 28), a type of support the government vowed to
maintain by promising to ―increase copyright protection to ensure a continued
basis for growth of the contemporary music industry‖ (ibid). Further, the paper
continued by proposing a system of ―rental rights for the owners of copyright in
sound recording. At the same time, it approved the extension of `anti-bootleg'
rights for performers.‖ (1994: 29).
As reported by Christie Eliezer in international music publication Billboard, the
Contemporary Music Summit not only drew attention to the problem of piracy,
but also further articulated the expectation that broadcasting should help the music
industry during its time of crisis. Under the title ―Australia Holds Music Summit:
Radio Panned For Not Playing Local Acts‖ (Eliezer, 1995: 44), Eliezer recounted
the events of the summit, ―In an immediate response to the concerns it heard, the
government has warned radio stations that they risk losing their licenses if they do
not support local talent‖ (ibid). While covering a range of other issues related to
the music industry‘s ‗crisis‘,233 Eliezer argued that in Australia especially ―current
233
Although Eliezer also describes issues relating to the major label‘s refusal to back Australian
artists, as well as noting that ―retail is nervous about the advent of home shopping. The production
146
anti-piracy and intellectual property legislation is out of step with technological
advances, particularly the broadcasting of digital information across national
frontiers‖ (1995: 44). In particular he described ―a remarkable stunt‖ and
―poignant statement of piracy via cyberspace‖, whereby a recording was made by
Triple J's mobile studio to be mixed in analog before a makeshift studio at the basement
car park digitized them into data files. They were then transferred to a modem-linked
computer and then sent to the Internet's potential 30 million-strong global audience,
which was told to download, broadcast, and bootleg to their heart's content. (Eliezer,
1995: 44; 46).
Irrespective of how many people may have actually taken up this offer at the time
(on a dial up computer the files would have taken a while!), what was important
was a call to arms for broadcasting to foster a relationship with the music industry
here. As summit participant and local manager John Woodruff argued,
A lot more people, no longer key players because they couldn't ride with the changes, are
saying the Australian music industry is no longer relevant … That whole event was to
show that we remain on the cutting edge because we can adapt to change faster than any
other industry. I wanted the public to know we were relevant enough to still spark huge
media attention. The media was incredibly supportive. I expected five TV crews--at one
point I saw 22 (Woodruff quoted in Eliezer, 1995: 46).
Although piracy has remained a concern for the music industry since this time, an
increased concern with the development of MP3 and the increased affordability of
fast internet connections, this expected connection between the broadcasting and
music industries is important - this ‗stunt‘ directly appealed to broadcasters for
assistance.234 As such, a crossover by music and television is not only
demonstrated as present during times of crisis, but here it is explicitly proposed as
a solution.
More recently, the Australia Council explored the impact of digital technologies
and delivery on the arts industry generally. While the term ‗death‘ was not used
explicitly, the report‘s title immediately indicated a sense of threat, ―Don‘t Panic:
the impact of digital technology on the major performing arts industry‖ (2008).
While ultimately the report aimed to help artists and industry harness
sector, its numbers halved to six studios, is battling massive sales and export taxes while trying to
remain globally competitive‖ (Eliezer, 1995: 44)
234
Significantly, during 1995 a major broadcasting response to this was the launch of Triple J‘s
―Unearthed‖ competition (a competition which launched a number of internationally successful
Australian acts including silverchair).
147
opportunities available to them via digital technology rather than merely deter
them from taking part, here the author was careful to spell out the perceived risks
to the traditional music industry particularly;
Make no mistake – industry sectors, sometimes entire industries, are deeply affected and
in some instances, left behind by technological advances. The impact of digital
technologies on the major record labels has been significant, resulting in a $3.5 billion
shrink in income from 1999 to 2006 (and this included digital sales) (Bailey, 2008: 2).
Bailey‘s account of the impact of digital technologies, and indeed, the threat of
being ‗left behind‘, serves first to gain attention by those who may be affected, but
in context has been constructed so as to convince existing performing artists to
revaluate their practices and update them rather than to scare them away. She
specifies her aim as being to ―encourage MPA [Major Performing Arts]
companies to begin scenario planning for the future of their businesses and
artforms‖ (2008: 4), a point which confirms that the most pressing threat (or issue
not to panic about) is a potential loss of income. Similar narratives of decline have
been constructed about the broadcasting industry, particularly commercial
television, as for example, the following from Sydney Morning Herald critic
Idato,
With declining revenue, shifting audiences and mounting debt, you could be forgiven for
thinking that our great love affair with the idiot box was about to hit a bump in the road.
During the last year the Packer family has sold its remaining stake in the Nine Network,
Nine and Network Ten have negotiated with their bankers to delay a swelling debt
burden, and the Seven Network, in a stunning though largely symbolic manoeuvre, has, in
effect, valued itself at zero (Idato, 2009: 3).
Like Bailey‘s lead in to the ―Don‘t Panic‖ paper, here Idato uses the threat of
obsolescence (or the ‗bump in the road‘) to draw attention to the problem, but in
doing so also to make his reader receptive to a solution. Idato places the current
threat in historical context in the same way other threats of death I‘ve explored,235
but concludes that rather than being in competition, ―Research published by
ACNielsen earlier this year suggests that … TV and the internet are frequently
consumed together‖ (Idato, 2009: 3).
235
Specifically, Idato argues ―Unlike the tectonic shifts of the past, such as the arrival of the
videocassette recorder, DVD and the introduction of pay television, free-to-air is now fighting on
three fronts - the fragmentation of its audience to new, nice channels (on free and pay), the rise of
internet video and its shift into full-length television programming and the shift from scheduled
programming to video "on demand"‖ (2009: 3)
148
Beyond this finding of concurrent media use, for the time being Australian
broadcasting and the traditional Australian music industry still remain relatively
safe from the threat of mass online takeover, simply because we have not yet had
significant online infrastructure put in place to really rival broadcasting‘s reach or
ease of delivery. For example, according to a report from the Australian Bureau of
Statistics [ABS] published on the 31st of March 2011, the number of ―Internet
subscribers in Australia climbed to 10.4 million in the six months to December
2010‖.236 While these numbers indicate the number of subscriptions rather than
the number of computers attached to each subscription (there might be 1, or there
might be 5 computers attached to one subscription, for example), even so the 10.4
million subscriptions (for a country with a population of 22 million)237 it is still
not really a major threat to the access to ABC TV, who as of their 2010 annual
report claimed to be able to reach 99.8% of the Australian population. In addition,
beyond looking at the theoretical relative access for internet versus broadcast
media in Australia, this doesn‘t take into account the significant changes that
would be required in terms of user knowledge and hardware knowledge and
uptake. While this gap is closing quickly (particularly with mobile devices
improving their internet service, meaning that users may bypass a computer
altogether and simply access ‗post-television‘ on their phones rather than on a
computer),238 it has not closed yet. If the time taken for other major switches, such
as the switch from analogue to digital television is any guide (this switch was
initially discussed in the late 1990s, officially began in 2008, and is at the time of
writing not yet due to be completed until 2013), as it stands Rage as it goes out on
a Friday and Saturday night on free-to-air broadcast, remains able to reach a larger
audience of Australians than content that is online only.
If and when Australian online infrastructure is developed to a standard that rivals
broadcast television‘s reach and ease of access, Rage will still not necessarily be
236
http://www.abs.gov.au/ausstats/[email protected]/Latestproducts/8153.0Media%20Release1Dec%20201
0?opendocument&tabname=Summary&prodno=8153.0&issue=Dec%202010&num=&view=
237
Also from ABS as of Sept 2010,
http://www.abs.gov.au/AUSSTATS/[email protected]/Web+Pages/Population+Clock?opendocument
238
The ABS also has these data, arguing “the second release of wireless internet connections via
a mobile handset. At the end of December 2010, there were 8.2 million mobile handset subscribers
in Australia. This represents an increase of 21% from June 2010.‖. via
http://www.abs.gov.au/ausstats/[email protected]/mf/8153.0/
149
left behind. As part of the ABC, Rage is in a unique position to experiment with
the possibilities of online delivery without fear of the consequences of possibly
diluting the influence (and importantly, the financial viability) of the traditional
music video program broadcast, and has been engaged in online delivery
experimentation for years. The ABC‘s aim is simply to secure the mass Australian
audience at some point, on some media platform,239 as opposed to the commercial
television need to secure mass audiences at specific times so as to ensure
advertising revenue. Rage has remained at the forefront of the ABC‘s
commitment to expanding across media platforms over the last two decades.
Indeed, Rage was initially introduced into the ABC‘s schedule as part of an
experimentation with a new delivery form, as a trial into overnight broadcasting
(ABC annual report 1986/7, 15), as a musical test pattern, of sorts. For example
Rage has helped to combine the ABC‘s television and radio resources through its
relationship to youth radio network Triple J,240 and following this success is also
helping to crossover audiences and content between broadcast and online. Unlike
commercial broadcasters who were initially resistant to crossovers between
different forms such as online delivery of television, or IPTV,241as Cinque
described ―of the Australian television networks, the ABC has been a leader in the
use of innovative technologies and at the forefront in the original migration online
... [when] the ABC established a Multimedia Unit (MMU) in July 1995 as a
means to initiate and coordinate multimedia activities within the organisation‖
(2009: 536).
239
This difference has been explored by Jacka as I cited earlier (2006), and was again reiterated
by ABC managing director Mark Scott in his paper The ABC in the Digital Age- Towards 2020,
which he opens by asserting that the ABC‘s aim; ―By reaching all Australians, with a presence on
all major delivery platforms, and a comprehensive range of news and quality, trusted
programming, the ABC ensures all Australians can participate in the national debate, and is
integral to the development of a population with wide-ranging intellectual and creative curiosity.‖
(2008: 1)
240
Rage has enjoyed a continued relationship with ABC youth radio network Triple J, with the
show simulcast on Triple J every week until 2003 (Sargent, V, published 9/5/03, p 3). More
recently Rage and Triple J have been involved in cross promotion initiatives such as the 4 Minute
Wonders program in 2003 (ABC annual report 2002/3, pg 56) and the annual ―Hottest 100‖ list
compiled by Triple J listeners
241
IPTV stands for ―Internet Protocol Television‖, and is a standard description of online
television delivery, however ―internet TV‖ is also in common usage. For more on this and on the
development of IPTV in Australia specifically see Peters (2010), but I say ―initially resistant‖
because most commercial broadcasters in Australia now do have a significant online presence,
including the ability to access large amounts of broadcast content via online catchup services.
However these started later than the ABC, who has been experimenting with such ideas since
2001, and formalised this with the launch of ABC iView in 2008.
150
Because of its relatively simple format and crossover appeal, Rage was harnessed
by the ABC to help initiate its wider crossover or ‗online migration‘. Rage
established an online presence early into the history of ABC online (initially
publishing music video playlists mainly), and eventually, as technology and
resources allowed, the pioneering (but short lived) online Rage channel was
launched as part of the ABC‘s broadband plan in 2001 (ABC annual report 20012, p 3). Rage has also been a key part of the ABC‘s experimentation into
broadcasting on mobile media, with a ―Rage music video streaming service on
H3GA mobile‖ phones launched in 2004 (ABC annual report 2004-5, 88), and
more recently with the launch of a Rage iPhone/iPad app.242 Rage‘s online
presence has continued with video on demand services and a more comprehensive
program online archive, including extensive playlist archives, behind-the-scenes
material and an online viewer forum.243 In addition, Rage now has a strong social
media presence not only represented through ABC blogs, but also official Rage
Facebook and Twitter pages.244
Debates about the birth of online music video programming also fail to
acknowledge key reasons why audiences may choose to engage with the relative
passivity of music video programming on television, in particular, with a music
video programmer‘s role in providing music education (both formal and
informal). While Rage is not the only Australian media outlet to regularly
broadcast older popular music to audiences (there are numerous ‗classic hits‘
radio stations that more than adequately supply this, and pay TV music video
outlets such as Music Max regularly featured older material as part of themed
playlists), its regular delivery of older popular music provides the viewer with
additional musical repertoire, something that has been noted particularly by
younger musicians who have claimed to have discovered older musicians and
styles via Rage. For example, in a special edition of Australian Rolling Stone
magazine celebrating the 1960s Australian band The Easybeats, contemporary
musician Ben Lee described Rage as key to his understanding of the band and
242
This app was launched in 2010 and is available free via http://www.abc.net.au/rage/m/,
accessed 11/8/11.
243
See www.abc.net.au/rage, accessed 1/6/08.
244
As of 8/4/11 these were available at www.facebook.com/pages/rage/195235013707?sk=info
and www.twitter.com/rage respectively
151
their historical importance,245 while Sarah Blasko also confirmed this audienceeducation aspect of Rage; ―there‘s bands that I like that I wouldn‘t have heard if it
wasn‘t for Rage. I‘m sure the first time I heard REM was on Rage … Belle and
Sebastian and Sonic Youth I encountered through Rage, Sparklehorse are another
band, Mazzy Star‖ (Blasko in Hancock, 2006: 167).
The use of music video programming as a specific tool for creating larger musical
and television crossover narratives has also often been employed by Rage guest
programmers, and has been documented as a key motivator for many industry
members to participate in the show. For example, as indicated in the liner notes
of the 2008 DVD Rage Most Chosen (a collection of music videos that are most
often chosen by guest programmers), although the programmers are invited to
play their ―favourite music videos‖, often artists choose videos they feel the
audiences should be particularly aware of. As the coordinators of the Rage Most
Chosen compilation, Narelle Gee and Chris Breach, noted, the music video ―I‘m
Stranded‖ by 1970s Australian band The Saints is ―the one [clip] that overseas
bands always seemed to want to pick to teach us about our own musical history‖
(Rage Most Chosen, 2008). Narratives of the birth of online music video would
suggest that there would be no need for this practice (as audiences can,
theoretically, search for The Saints at any time they like), however this note by
Gee and Breach demonstrates a key problem with online access to music video
content; a user must already know what they are searching for in order to retrieve
it. In comparison, the music video program requires no such specialist knowledge,
and as such, has remained viable.
This use of Rage as a platform to draw existing and new music and television fans
together has also been acknowledged by the program itself through the decision to
screen not only older clips, but also older music television programs like
Countdown and GTK. Since 1993 Rage has presented an annual ―Rage Goes
Retro‖ series each January, where the Rage programmers select and broadcast reruns of old Australian music shows like Countdown and GTK rather than
contemporary music videos. Through this event Rage provides a rare opportunity
245
As summarized by Toby Creswell in his article on Lee for the Rolling Stone Easybeats feature,
―Lee credits Rage as providing his main insight into the Easybeats‖ (Creswell, 2008: 58).
152
for this older musical material to be delivered to contemporary audiences, with
much of the material broadcast unavailable commercially. As Gee explained of
the annual event,
We try not to be repetitive and to find lesser played episodes but certain favourites get
repeated (eg. Iggy Pop not quite miming "I'm Bored"). [However] it can be a 'what we
can find' situation, as many episodes of Countdown were erased at the time. We also note
audience suggestions and play artists who may have passed away during the year (Gee,
interview with author, 2008).
Since Gee‘s departure from Rage the Retro segments have continued, as well as
an increase of themed Rage programs such as the aboriginal specials I mentioned
earlier. Interestingly, the themes for these have not always been straightforward,
with for example the dedication of a ―Rage Gets Hairy‖ program which ordered
music videos according to the hairstyles of the performers featured (broadcast
10/9/09) ―Rage Gets Animated‖, which programmed music videos according their
graphic similarities (broadcast 26/8/06), and ―Rage Unleashed‖, which
programmed music videos according to their connections with animals.246
This development of relatively unusual programming can be linked to a more
longstanding ideology with Rage and its music video programming appeal,
referred to affectionately as ‗the Rage Trap‘ by Gee and on Rage‘s website and
related commercial releases.247 With the Rage Trap seemingly random playlists
invite audiences to continue watching the program, to be ‗trapped‘ into seeing
what will be played next. Rage‘s diverse selection of music is unpredictable in
comparison with the audience targeted (and often repetitive) playlists of
commercial broadcasters. Thus the ‗trap‘ exists in Rage‘s ability to offer
audiences exposure to music clips that might not be aired anywhere else regularly,
but also provides a point of difference from online delivery, as such a process of
suspense and surprise would be hard to replicate with a search engine or portal
246
The
playlists
for
these
specials
are
available
respectively;
http://www.abc.net.au/rage/archive/s2705960.htm,
http://www.abc.net.au/rage/guest/2006/ragegetsanimated.htm;
http://www.abc.net.au/rage/archive/s3200369.htm, all accessed 3/5/11. In addition some of the
music videos featured on Rage Gets Animated were released commercially as part of a compilation
DVD of the same name in 2007.
247
See www.abc.net.au/Rage, accessed 1/10/08, as well as the sleeve notes for the 20 Years of
Rage DVD (2007).
153
such as YouTube which relies heavily on the user to enter search terms or artist
names in order to access material.
3. CONCLUSION:
CONTEMPORARY
AUSTRALIAN
CROSSOVERS
BEYOND MUSIC VIDEO PROGRAMMING
Stockbridge‘s work on Australian music and television from the 1950s until the
early 1990s (1988; 1989; 1992a; 1992b) remains the most significant in the field
to date. Having written a discussion of the mechanics of then emerging music
video television (1988), and a more general chronology of music programs of
Australian television (1992a), Stockbridge attempted to identify some key
characteristics of music on Australian television (1992b), and in particular, she
argued that music and television in Australia have historically consisted of a
―diversity in programming and attempts to make local interventions in spite of
outside, mainly US domination‖ (Stockbridge, 1992b: 68), noting, however, that
such innovations have generally enjoyed only fleeting success: ―none of these
approaches/formats has lasted more than a few years‖ (ibid). This chapter has
tried to pick up where Stockbridge left off, showing that while many music
programs have been created and cancelled on Australian television since
Stockbridge‘s investigations,248 two notable exceptions, Rage and Video Hits,
have persisted. These are notable for two reasons; first, they are both music video
programs, the type of programming that allows a crossover between music and
television in particular way; and second, Rage in particular has maintained its
position as a unique type of music program, providing relatively unmediated
interaction between audiences and music by continuing to broadcast without a
regular host. This chapter has demonstrated that music on television in Australia,
particularly music video programming, has been much more durable than
Stockbridge expected. Because of the unique conditions of the Australian
television and music markets music video programming in Australia in the form
of Rage has also survived not one, but two death threats, with the crossover
between these two being the key to this program‘s success.
248
For example, Recovery (ABC TV, broadcast 1996-2000) and Take 40 TV (Channel 10,
broadcast 1993-4).
154
In the next chapter I will explore another crossover between music and television
in Australia, that of the music quiz program. While I will provide a brief history
of such programs and their importance for each industry to date, in particular I
will focus on the resurgence and renewed success of the form in 2005 with the
development of programs Spicks and Specks (ABC TV) and Rockwiz (SBS). As
before, I will explore the timing of the very similar categories of broadcasters,
have been able to maintain their audiences and continue to expand. While other
regions have engaged with music quiz programs on both radio and television over
time, the appearance and success of Rockwiz and Spicks and Specks around the
same time immediately suggests that there is a demand for such programming in
Australia currently, and it is this demand, and the conditions that have created it,
that the next chapter will explore. In the next chapter I will also look at the
success of Rockwiz and Spicks and Specks beyond a traditional music quiz format,
as these programs have now successfully launched live tours, various
merchandising and standalone projects like DVD releases.
155
CHAPTER FOUR: THE RESURGENCE OF TELEVISION MUSIC QUIZ
PROGRAMS IN AUSTRALIA
Television researcher Craig Collie argued that as of 2007 in Australia ―FTA [Free
to Air] television currently provides more programming of quiz shows about
music than shows featuring music‖ (2007: 73). Notwithstanding Collie‘s omission
of music video programming, this chapter will take his observation as its point of
departure. Here I will explore the development and success of two contemporary
Australian music television quizzes, Spicks and Specks (ABC TV) and RocKwiz
(SBS),249 as examples of contemporary crossovers between music and television. I
will show that like music video programming, the music quiz show is a crossover
that has triumphed over several past periods of crisis, having been presented
successfully also on radio prior to television. This chapter will examine Spicks
and Specks and RocKwiz as crossovers between existing music and television
forms, as well as crossovers into new territories as music/television250 engages
with the post-broadcast and post-record industry dominated era. I will show how
these crossovers also attract audiences from the live music sector, as well as those
interested in DVD releases, online content delivery and interactive games.
Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz continue to engage music and television
audiences in Australia in distinct ways.251 Importantly, each provides a place for
musical performance, as well as a platform for discussions of music history, music
fandom and other forms of reception. In this chapter I will explore the character of
both of these programs, showing that the relationship between them is not so
much competitive, but rather each continues in its own way to expand possibilities
for audiences and resources to crossover. The crossover appeal of these music
quiz programs has helped to ensure that each maintained its place on free-to-air
television during a time when many programs only last for one or two seasons;
249
The show refers to itself with a capital K.
I use music/television here, and throughout this chapter, to clearly distinguish this chapter‘s
discussion from music television forms such as music video programming.
251
At the time of writing each program had been on air for seven seasons, however in May 2011
Spicks and Specks announced that this season will be its last.
250
156
but crossover has also ensured that each has been able to continue to enliven the
local television and music industries.252
In this chapter I focus on music quizzes on television.253 In doing so I am mindful
of Simon Frith‘s suggestion that generally the music/television relationship is
―uneasy‖ (2002: 277). Frith argues ―Music television means charts, awards, lists,
quizzes, rituals, contests ... ways to engage viewers who might not otherwise be
very interested‖ (2002: 288), and indeed, I will show that the music television
quiz‘s ability to crossover audiences interested in television and/or music has been
vital. Frith also describes the tension between intimacy and distance in the music
television address generally, arguing that music television ―involves a
combination of presence and distance that is significantly different from the music
experience of radio, records or live performance‖ (2002: 288). Frith‘s separation
of the culture of music performance and the television depiction of music is one I
shall challenge in this chapter, showing how in Australia, the crossover of music
television has become a powerful entity in its own right. I will demonstrate that
music television in Australia has crossed over music and television audiences by
using devices specific to music and to television devices (like live performance, or
the quiz format), but also by drawing on a collective audience memory of older
Australian music television by referencing programs like Countdown.
The Australian contemporary music television quiz program has also developed
existing music/television models to actively incorporate comedy in its crossover.
Humour is an aspect of the music/television crossover with which Frith seems
252
Throughout this chapter I will use ‗quiz‘ to describe Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz, however
there has been some sustained discussion by other writers as to whether or not game and quiz
programs can be differentiated, and on what grounds. For Moran and Keating, quiz shows were
defined as being ―categorised by primary reliance upon questions and answers based on
knowledge, either general or specific‖, while game shows are ―characterised by a primary reliance
upon random chance (the spin of a wheel, draw of a card or ‗pick from the board‘) or physical
prowess‖ (2003: 24). More recently, Hoerschelmann (2006) articulated the difference between
game and quiz show in terms of the different roles played by knowledge and luck, and noting that
although the ―quiz show and game show are often used interchangeably ... these terms also
correspond to important changes in the history of the genre‖ (2006: 17-18). Despite this,
Hoerschelmann settles on the term ―quiz‖ for his study ―for practical purposes, denoting an
overarching, descriptive term of the genre of a whole‖ (2006: 18). In a study of Spicks and Specks
and RocKwiz published elsewhere I suggested that Spicks and Specks be considered a ―game‖, and
RocKwiz a ―quiz‖ (Giuffre, 2010: 134-6), however for the purposes of this argument I will
describe both using the more generic term ‗quiz‘.
253
However I acknowledge that music quizzes have had a wider broadcast history, and I will
discuss this in detail, shortly.
157
particularly uncomfortable, as he argues that via television ―music that once
mattered to people can now be presented at a distance, as a bit of a joke‖ (2002:
288). Music on music television quiz programmes in Australia is regularly the
subject of jokes and laughed at, but this does not necessarily diminish its value as
music. Rather, the music television quiz has helped to maintain the popularity of
music, and television, by combining comedic and musical forms of address and
engagement. As such, I will show that Australian music television functions
differently from international forms such as Frith describes. While he maintains
that music television leaves music vulnerable, (―we are normally absorbed in and
by music – it draws us into its own space and time – television‘s account of music
resists such absorption‖ Frith, 2002: 288), I will show that Australian music
television quizzes are able to use comedy to draw audiences closer to music rather
keep it at distance. Music does, as Frith suggests, become ‗a bit of a joke‘, but this
joking is affectionate and inclusive rather than derisive and exclusionary.
Finally, this chapter will explore the timing of this Australian music/television
crossover, as the period from 2000 to the present has witnessed significant change
in the local and international music and media landscapes. As I have shown
throughout this thesis, periods of change have often facilitated crossover between
music and media, but also threatened existing crossover models, as evidenced by
the ending of UK program Top of The Pops in 2006, a music/television crossover
that had been on air since 1964. In the death narrative, ―The Decline and Fall of
Top of the Pops‖ (Wickham, 2007: 80-1), changes in patterns of consumption for
television and music, as well as changes in audience preferences generally, were
offered as explanations. Phil Wickham describes the success of Top of The Pops
in terms of crossover between music and television, demonstrating how the
program drew on music singles charts in order to present ―a diversity of talent and
a reflection of the times‖, but that it also ―took its strength from the television
medium‖ (2007: 80) as it showcased this music with both audio and visual
components. However, he also notes that over time ―the format of the show
became a hindrance rather than a help‖ and it became ―a symbol of what old-style
mixed-schedule TV at its most powerful could do – suddenly stun an audience
with something unexpected.‖ (2007: 81). Wickham argued that Top Of The Pops
served a music/television audience that was relatively passive, and as such, it
158
succeeded as a music/television crossover, introducing audiences who may not
have been seeking new music (or different types of television) to new artists.254
However he concludes tentatively, noting that ―it remains to be seen how the new
TV environment shaped by our changing patterns of consumption will [deliver]
that [innovation]‖ (Wickham, 2007: 81). This chapter will show how television
music quiz programs have gained prime time success for music/television in
Australia in this new environment.
1. EXPLORING CONTENT AND FORM: THE MUSIC QUIZ PROGRAM
Quiz programs have regularly been presented on international radio and television
since each medium was introduced. They are program formats that are cheap to
produce, easy to target to specific audiences, and allow advertising to be
integrated directly into content with relative ease. These features have helped the
quiz to maintain its popularity, but also afforded it little respect. As Su Holmes
argued, there is a common international perception that ―if you are rubbish you
work in quiz or game shows‖ (Holmes, 2008: 3), a perception that has also
travelled to the Australian market.255 Broadcast quizzes began as a crossover
form, as broadcasters drew on ―an existing cultural appetite for games‖ (Holmes,
2008: 34) in order to attract audiences. Quizzes were developed to suit the
characteristics of each medium and target audience, and as Holmes continued
―while broadcasting did not ‗invent‘ quizzes and games, it was radio and
television which transformed them into programmes‖ (2008: 35).256
254
Specifically, Wickham wrote Top Of The Pops ―took its power from its position in the middle
of prime time, somewhere between the news and a sitcom, and its ability to insert the
uncomfortable into the cosy‖ (2007: 81).
255
As Moran and Keating asserted in their study of Australian quiz scene, despite ―game shows …
[having] … been broadcast since the 1930s, at first on radio, them from the 1950s onward on
television ... they are at best ignored and at worst scorned.‖ (2003: 4).
256
Specifically Holmes describes how, ―Quiz and game shows on radio and television also
appropriated an existing cultural appetite for games, and they find their roots in the diverse
contexts of the fairground sideshow, the Victorian/Edwardian parlour game, and the popular
press‖ (Holmes, 2008: 34). See also Fiske‘s description of the development of quiz shows for
television, which also acknowledges the TV form‘s ―roots in radio‖ (1987: 265).
159
Studies of broadcast quiz programs remain rare when compared to the attention
paid to other genres like the sitcom, drama or reality TV.257 Some of the most
focussed scholarship on quiz programming has concentrated on the corruption
scandals associated with 1950s American commercial television. These quiz show
controversies have been used as signifiers of a wider birth and death for network
television in the US at that time, as, for example, William Boddy (1990) argued
that the quiz scandals led to ―the death of the networks as reformist heroes‖ (1990:
244).258 Further, in an updated study of quiz programs in a post-broadcast
television, Boddy notes that commercial innovation is again being led by using
the quiz to attract audiences and maintain advertiser confidence during a new
period of crisis.259
1.1 Australian music quizzes as a cheap form of local programming, and a
crossover between music and radio, then music and television
Quiz programs were important features of early regional Australian commercial
broadcasting, with the famous Colgate-Palmolive radio unit, for example,
providing a large number of successful quiz programs over several decades.260
257
Some notable exceptions are Holmes‘ study based on the UK television market (2008), studies
of the American market television (Hoerschelmann, 2006), and Moran and Keating‘s study of
Australian quiz and game programs (2003). And, although it is not the focus of this study, there
have also been dedicated studies to the radio quiz, such as Mittell (2002).
258
In particular, Boddy describes how ―the hearings around the quiz show scandals provided a
summation to the final important theme in the rise and fall of television‘s golden age‖ (1990: 244).
259
Specifically, Boddy writes ―the recent spectacular popularity of quiz programs and reality TV
shows in U.S. network prime time ... [has] encouraged more intrusive product placement, greater
creative roles for sponsors, and increased experimentation with commercial applications for
interactive television‖ (2004: 122-3). This point has also been made by other commentators, as for
example in a study of a contemporary US prime time television, where Moore also noted the
―increasing pressure‖ being placed on network television by ―stressful changes in ownership ...
and increasing challenges from emerging media‖ (Moore et al, 2006: 249). He also presented a
retrospective birth and death narrative of the quiz, perhaps by way of helping to explain the
contemporary television market; ―the quick birth and near-death of prime-time quiz and game
shows mostly took place during the 1952-1959 time period, although the ramifications of the
demise would affect all of television for decades‖ (Moore et al, 2006: 95). More explicitly,
Abelman argued the popularity of television quiz programs and their subsequent corruption ―had a
dramatic, long-term impact on the television industry as a whole‖ (Abelman, 1997: 242), so much
so that after it the quiz program fixing was retold via subsequent histories (including a major film
of the incident, Quiz Show), a ―dark chapter in media history suggests an infatuation bordering on
obsession‖ (Real, 1996: 209), particularly as these sparked further questions of media-based cover
ups, ―was the quiz show ‗scandal‘ a preview of numerous scandals to come, from the Profumo
scandal to the Gulf of Tonkin to Watergate, Iran-Contra and beyond?‖ (Real, 1996: 209).
260
Griffen-Foley notes that the unit produced many quizzes as a way of ―reflecting the public‘s
desire for light entertainment during the war‖ (Griffin-Foley, 2009: 218), but also many other
quizzes including ―Ask the Army, which capitalised on the appeal of radio quizzes, involving
160
However it was a music/broadcasting crossover that pioneered the genre‘s spread
across Australia, with the first nationally sponsored radio quiz (that is, a quiz
aimed at a national rather than state based audience) being ―a ‗name-that-tune‘
show called Rinso Melody Riddles, offer[ing] ten shillings plus a packet of Rinso
[soap]‖ to the winners (Kent, 1990: 164) and launched in 1939.261 Radio music
quizzes also provided opportunities for supporting existing and emerging
musicians. Programs like Musical Clue on 3KY Melbourne and The Graveyard of
Forgotten Song on 2SM Sydney for example helped to provide the ―cornerstone
of radio music in the 1930s and 1940s [as they featured] studio accompanists and
personality pianists‖ (Jones and Whiteoak, 2003: 558).262
When television appeared in Australia it was again a music/broadcasting
crossover that was used to pioneer a new territory, with the music quiz Name That
Tune featured on the first official night of Australian television (Moran and
Keating, 2003: xii; Harrison, 2006: 366).263 Based on an American radio program
of the same name, Name That Tune drew audiences with an interest in music
towards the then new medium of television. The television quiz, like the radio
version before it, centred on the performance and recognition of music, with
contestants asked to ‗name the tune‘ in order to win. This invitation to participate,
based on a crossover engagement between television and music, was confirmed in
the way Gyngell welcomed the audience in the studio and at home to the program,
saying, ―Good evening and welcome to Name That Tune. This of course, is the
audience participation and cash prizes,‖ as well as ―the best-known of all … [,] … Quiz Kids,
whose 1942 launch was planned meticulously by Macquarie and the Colgate-Palmolive unit. The
youngsters, who became household names, were chosen with the help of the NSW Department of
Education.‖ (Griffin-Foley, 2009: 219).
261
Newspaper previews of the program at the time also confirm the importance of the music in the
program, with a report in the Brisbane Courier Mail from 1939 describing ―Melody Riddles‖ as ―a
new novelty session ... a high class variety show that goes much further than the usual musical
comedy production. A dramatic element is introduced in which both the listening public and onthe-spot audience can participate for valuable cash prizes. The featured artists in tomorrow‘s
programme will be the Weintraubs, the famous Continental orchestra, and the Four Harmoniques,
who have been called the Mills Brothers of Australia‖ (Courier Mail, 12/4/39: 11). Although the
issue of money is mentioned here, there is much more detail given to the musical performances,
suggesting that these were more attractive to listeners.
262
Jones and Whiteoak name these musical personalities as Douglas Gamley on Musical Clue and
Maria Orminston on Graveyard respectively (2003: 558).
263
It was broadcast following the famous This is Television documentary on TCN 9 in Sydney in
1956 (and also hosted by that documentary‘s host, Bruce Gyngell). Notwithstanding debates about
whether this was indeed the first television broadcast in Australia (see Chapter 2), for details
regarding this broadcast and Gyngell‘s influence see (Hartley et al, 2007: 18).
161
quiz game that everybody can play, all you have to do is recognise the songs
you‘ve heard all your life and we‘ll give you a run for your money‖ (Gyngell
featured on 50 Years of TV, 2006).264
As I discussed in chapter two, the changes to the broadcasting industry brought
about by television‘s launch were accompanied by claims of radio‘s looming
industrial starvation, or, as Turner put it, ―television gutted radio of its most
popular programming -- quiz programs, talent quests, situation comedy‖ (1992b:
15).265 Opposition to television quiz programs was particularly strong from those
with conflicting vested interests, like, for example, would-be television drama
producer Hector Crawford. In the late 1950s266 Crawford published a pamphlet in
an attempt to rally support for the development of local content and industry on
Australian television, but he was selective in his approach. He argued,
quizzes, panel shows, cookery demonstrations, sports, talks interviews, news and
weather, and amateur talent shows do little to employ our creative and interpretative
artists in the fields of music, drama and other aspects of the arts (Crawford in Harrison,
1980: 6).
Crawford‘s opposition to the quiz program (and others like it) was strategically
selective. Like death narratives that exaggerate the impact of new technologies on
existing patterns of creation and consumption, Crawford‘s claim that quiz
programs did not provide opportunities for local artists was misleading. Writing in
response to Crawford‘s 1950s opposition to television, Moran and Keating (2003)
argued, ―in the early days of Australian television ... technicians, producers and
performers were already hard at work making a modestly high volume of
264
Name That Tune‘s early broadcasts have not been documented beyond brief listings in TV
guides of the time and passing mentions of TCN‘s opening, however sections of the program were
reproduced on the Channel 9 compilation DVD 50 Years of Television (2006). I have also
previously mentioned (Moran and Keating, 2003: xii; Harrison, 2006: 366) brief references to
Name That Tune‘s debut, and also attempted to find evidence of the program using Trove, the
online newspaper database hosted by the Australian National Library (trove.nla.gov.au). A search
of this database conducted on 4/5/11 did uncover some very brief editorial from The Australian
Women‟s Weekly on the program (the magazine was a major sponsor of the program) such as that
from 17 October, 1956 which reported that ―furniture and fashions seen this week in The
Australian Women‟s Weekly TV show ‗Name That Tune‘, were from Mark Foy‘s Ltd‖ (1956: 45),
however there was no further detail on the program‘s form or impact.
265
For example, ―established radio stars, such as Bob Dyer and his Pick-A-Box quiz show, which
began in 1948 on Australian commercial radio, simply moved their programs to television, which
Pick-A-Box did, moving to ATN7 in Sydney and GTN 9 in Melbourne in 1959‖ (Dunn, 2005: 128)
266
I say ‗late 1950s‘ because there is some confusion over exactly when this was published.
Harrison claims it was 1959 (1980: 6), however Moran and Keating claim it was 1958 (2003: 13).
I have been unable to obtain details beyond these sources.
162
inexpensive game shows (Moran and Keating, 2003: 12-13). Crawford‘s
comments also contradicted his own professional practices prior to Australian
television‘s official opening, since in the late 1940s and into the 1950s Crawford
produced a radio talent quest, Mobile Quest (from 1949), that featured a variety of
artists including musicians and a live orchestra (that Crawford himself
conducted); ―in the mid 1960s, Hector Crawford adapted Mobile Quest for
television, changing its name to Showcase‖ (Halper, 2003: 470). While these
programs may not have provided the same type of work as other program serials,
they did feature local artists of a high standard and with strong potential, with, as
Halper noted, ―among [the] winners [of Showcase] was operatic soprano Joan
Sutherland‖ (2003: 470). It seems, then, that Crawford‘s 1950s opposition to
television quizzes was fuelled by his inability to capitalise on the form at the time.
Music quiz programs have continued to feature on Australian television since the
1950s, albeit with interruptions. While it is not my purpose to provide a
comprehensive list of all of them here,267 the introduction of the reality/game
program Australian Idol (Channel 10, 2003- 9) did the most to re-establish the
music quiz-style program (as defined by Moran and Keating below) in postmillennium Australian television programming. At the time of its introduction in
2003 Australian Idol could best be understood as part of the wider tradition of
competitive game and quiz programs as defined in a study of the Australian
market by Albert Moran and Chris Keating (2003), where they categorised 241
Australian quiz programs including those described as ―quiz‖, ―game‖, ―hybrid‖
and ―reality‖ programs (2003: 24).268 Australian Idol drew on an international
267
As I will explore in section two of this chapter, such a list has already been provided by Moran
and Keating (2003).
268
Along with game and quiz programs, Moran and Keating also include ―Hybrid‖ programs,
which combine aspects of the quiz and game shows, a type that has come to be used most often in
children‘s programming, as well as ―Reality‖ programs, which are ―primarily characterised by a
reliance upon an artificially generated group (or individual, as necessary) situation
(marooned/isolated, ‗traitor-in-our-midst‘) in which members of the group are eliminated one by
one by attrition, a panel of judges or at the decree of their fellows. Despite their external situation,
all possess the common thread of contestants vying for an ultimate prize. The examples are all
recent and include The Mole, Popstars, Australian Survivor, Australian Temptation Island, Big
Brother and Fear Factor.‖ (Moran and Keating, 2003: 24). At the time of writing Moran and
Keating argued that ―in the last decade ... most examples of the genre are now hybrids‖ between
game and quiz programs, however they also note the development of ―reality‖ programs as part of
the wider game/quiz style of programming, arguing that these are ―primarily characterised by a
reliance upon an artificially generated group ... [and] despite their external situation, all possess the
comment thread of contestants vying for an ultimate prize‖ (Moran and Keating, 2003: 24).
163
franchise269 and presented music on local television, however it was not an equal
music/television crossover in the same way that music video programming had
been. There was an uneven weighting of the televisual element of the show when
compared to the music, as reflected in the program‘s description of ‗contestants‘
rather than ‗musicians‘ (Flew and Gilmour, 2006: 184; Holmes, 2004: 151).
Further, Fairchild argued that, ―[Australian Idol] contestants are not seen as ‗real‘
musicians in large part because their experience [through the program] appears to
be so transparent and so transparently commercial‖ (2004: section 5 online).270
Although Australian Idol was a television program that used music as a tool, the
televisual element of the program remained dominant over the music. As
journalist Jon Casimir wrote towards the end of the first series, ―the Idol winner
will not be the person most likely to succeed in a pop career. It will be the person
most likely to win a television contest‖ (Casimir, 2003, accessed via
www.smh.com.au/articles/2003/10/31/1067566068572.html,
6/5/10).271
In
addition, in a study called ―new media, new audiences‖ Fiona Martin (2006)
expressed a preference to consider Australian Idol primarily as a television rather
than music/television crossover. In particular, she described the program as ―an
event television hybrid format‖ (2006: 321), a category that may include music,
but certainly doesn‘t seem to prioritise it.
Since 2006 and the publication of Moran and Keating‘s study, reality
programming has come to be considered as clearly distinct from quiz
programming.272 As such, examinations of programs like Australian Idol have
come to be considered as beyond the television quiz genre, with examinations of
international versions of the Idol franchise exploring the music/television
269
For details of the international Idol development see Holmes (2004). I acknowledge that there
is also an obvious connection between Idol and the tradition of talent programs on television and
radio, as well as the links between Australian Idol and find-a-band programs like Pop Stars which
began prior to the Idol franchise. However, exploring this connection in more depth is beyond the
scope of this project.
270
Similarly, in a study of the British version of the program, Pop Idol, Holmes acknowledged the
show‘s function as a ―mediation of popular music‖, but argued that a ―cultural construction of
stardom‖ was the show‘s emphasis (Holmes, 2004: 148).
271
While some of the final round contestants on Idol have since gone on to enjoy some measure of
success in the music industry (such as Guy Sebastian and Shannon Noll), overwhelmingly, those
who have done well in the television competition have not continued in any conspicuous way in
the music industry (as in the cases for example of 2004 winner Casey Donovan, 2005 winner Kate
DeArgaugo and most recently 2009 winner Stan Walker).
272
Murphy (2007) for example dedicated an entire volume to Australian reality TV programming.
164
crossover in international markets in depth.273 However, I include a discussion of
Australian Idol here because at the time it gained significant attention because its
focus on music was close to unique in the Australian music and media landscape.
Moran and Keating have yet to return to the subject to engage with the program
themselves.
1.2 The importance of timing: why a music television quiz crossover, now?
Australian Idol was a television program that featured music, and although the
televisual element often overshadowed the music element of the show, its success
was an indication that Australian audiences were ready for a music/television
crossover at this time. As music promoter Michael Chugg observed with his
characteristic cut-throat directness,
We had a couple of f—king decades where hardly any new kids got into music at all
because we, the music industry, had our f—king heads up our arses ... Sure, [Australian
Idol‘s] a talent quest on television, but it‘s selling millions of records (Chugg quoted in
Jinman, 2004: 31).
Here Chugg admits that the local music industry was having problems engaging
local audiences on its own, and while he is clearly rather grudging in his praise for
the television show, he delivers this praise as an acknowledgement of the
music/television crossover‘s ultimate commercial success. Chugg continues in
this article to admit that many members of the music industry had found the
television crossover
form ―uncool‖ but maintains that the Australian Idol‘s
audience impact should be celebrated because ―a whole new generation has been
turned onto music [by the show] and will grow into the more mature music as
they get older‖ (Chugg quoted in Jinman, 2004: 31). Most interesting here is
Chugg‘s expectation that the actual music produced by Australian Idol would be
overtaken by ‗more mature music‘. He implies an acceptance, even from within
the music industry, of Australian Idol‘s only ephemeral engagement with music
itself, acknowledging that it is the televisual drama of Australian Idol that has
attracted audiences, and hoping that audiences drawn to the program in this way
273
For example, when describing the British Pop Idol, Donnelly describes a new wave of
opportunity for both television and music industries, Donnelly argues ―the success of primetime
search-for-a-star programs Pop Stars and Pop Idol ... [has] mutual influence and cross-pollination
between music and television,‖ (2002: 341). For one of the first examinations of Australian Idol
and its initial impact, see Stratton (2008).
165
will also develop a curiosity for music generally. Chugg‘s comments also confirm
how the Australian popular music industry has been affected by an international
crisis, with audiences and musicians seeking forms of engagement with each other
beyond the major record company-led infrastructure.274
A year after Chugg‘s comments were published Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz
debuted on ABC and SBS respectively. These were still hybrid forms with a clear
television lineage (each used quiz formats to deliver music, rather than just music
performance), however they were also a significant jump from programs like
Australian Idol where musical content was ultimately overshadowed. This
departure was first evident in the program‘s names. While Australian Idol
emphasised national fame and celebrity (indeed, ‗Idol‘ doesn‘t even necessarily
indicate music, but could refer to any number of entertainment or artistic
endeavours), Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz draw clearly on music, with ―Spicks
and Specks‖ named after a Bee Gees song and ―RocKwiz‖ referencing the rock
genre. Introductory newspaper articles about RocKwiz and Spicks and Specks also
used Australian Idol as a clear point of departure, to demonstrate what the new
music/television crossovers would not be. For example, Spicks and Specks
producer Paul Clarke referred to the success of Australian Idol as a platform to
argue that ―a new format [like Spicks and Specks] can deliver audience numbers
while promoting local music and culture‖ (Clarke in Donovan, 2005: 3); while
journalist Paul Donovan argued that RocKwiz is ―a long way from the gloss of
Australian Idol‖ (Donovan, 2005: 3).275
In 2005 Australian television and music audiences were ready for local crossovers
like Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz for three reasons. Firstly, around this time
there was a growing unease about the relative flooding of the local television
market with international programs and franchises. This was a point that Spicks
and Specks‟ producer Paul Clarke identified when describing how his program
might fit in the Australian television landscape at the time, as he argued, perhaps
274
As I chronicled last chapter, this crisis has been discussed in Australia since the mid 1990s. See
in particular the discussion of the Creative National Federal Government initiative (1994), and its
development at the Contemporary Music Summit (1995).
275
In the same article this difference from Australian Idol was also confirmed by SBS' head of
programming, Matt Campbell, who argued that, ―[RocKwiz]'s rough around the edges ... we're
trying to be as broad as we can.‖ (Campbell in Donovan, 2005: 3).
166
only half jokingly, ―less people looking at CSI and people cracking on to each
other on Backyard Blitz‖ (Clarke in Donovan, 2005: 3).276 Secondly, the relative
sparseness of music (and particularly, non mainstream commercial music) on
television during this time was also a key to Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz‘s
initial commissioning and subsequent success. This was demonstrated for
example with the types of music used as examples of what Spicks and Specks
would feature; ―personalities from the local and international entertainment
industry [will] answer questions, such as finding the connection between Brahms
and the tango‖ (Donovan, 2005: 3). Finally, music/television crossovers like
Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz were designed to allow different audiences to
engage with music; ―RocKwiz takes its music seriously, like a Radiohead fan,
Spicks and Specks has more in common with fans of the jovial band The
Presidents of the United States‖ (Donovan, 2005: 3).
Donovan‘s comment was designed to differentiate audiences and musicians in
terms of genre (with Radiohead commonly associated with rock and its offshoots,
while The Presidents of the United States are more often considered pop or punk).
However this comment also distinguished the programs in terms of musicians‘
and their audiences‘ approach to music, as Radiohead and their fan base have
often been implicated in dialogues about relative elitism and the importance of
challenging expectations in popular music through often abstract lyrics and
visuals,277 while The Presidents of the United States fit more easily (and happily)
into the commercial mainstream by releasing short, simple guitar-based pop.278
Interestingly, Donovan‘s examples drew on international rather than Australian
musicians and their fans, something of an oversight given that both RocKwiz and
Spicks and Specks have often featured more local Australian artists than
internationals. These international bands used in this preview lead me to conclude,
276
This unease was reflected by enthusiastic celebrations of the 50 th Anniversary of Australian
television in 2005-6, celebrations which, as I argued in chapter two, were partly launched to help
reinvigorate original local productions and audience interest in these. I discuss these in section 2.1
of Chapter Two.
277
While this idea has been circulated for some time, a prime example of this can be seen in the
way Radiohead was later discussed academically in the edited collection The Music and Art of
Radiohead (Tate, 2005).
278
Somewhat ironically, the lead singer of The Presidents of the United States, Chris Ballew,
appeared on RocKwiz but not Spicks and Specks during their tour to Australia in 2008. I will
discuss his appearance later in this chapter.
167
then, that as of 2005 useful comparisons could not be made in with the local
scene, perhaps further evidence of the need for a music/television crossover to
reinvigorate interest in the local market.
1.3 The advantages of broadcasting music television on PSB
In the last chapter I discussed the advantages of PSB music/television crossovers
with ABC TV‘s Rage, and I want to expand on this now with Spicks and Specks
on ABC and RocKwiz on SBS.279 In Australia, and overseas, quiz programs have
long been presented by public service broadcasters (PBS),280 however they have
been delivered differently from their commercial counterparts. For example, in
her discussion of quiz programs on public service broadcasters (specifically the
BBC), Su Holmes (2008) argued that PSB quizzes didn‘t flaunt expensive prizes
as commercial quizzes do, but instead display ―a deliberate performance of
restraint, [in] an attempt to shape the public perception of how the BBC spends its
funds‖ (2008: 53, italics in original). Quiz programs on PSBs can also be
understood as a response to some sense of crisis for these broadcasters, as PSBs,
experiencing ―downward pressure on budgets‖, produce ―inexpensive quiz shows
and lifestyle programming‖ (Walker, 2000: 79). In the chapter ―broadcasting
under threat‖ written nearly a decade earlier, James McDonnell also described a
similar use for quiz programs during periods of crisis at the BBC, arguing,
it is as much a component of the public good that the quiz show be a
suitable family treat as that the news keep the electorate properly informed
of world events. [However] to the more cynical broadcasters, the role of
the quiz shows is to bring in the size of the audience necessary to justify
the license fee (1991: 84-5).
279
I should point out here that SBS now does also have some commercial investment, but it
remains part of the public service broadcasting industry in Australia. For more on the specifics of
this hybrid see Ang, Hawkins and Dabboussy (2008: 254-75).
280
In Australia, quiz programming on ABC radio had begun in 1940 with the program Out of the
Bag, a program that incorporated a variety of live performance styles and introduced ―a form of
entertainment so unfamiliar to Australians [presumably those with little access to commercial
radio] that it was often given quotation marks, ‗the quiz‘‖ (Innis, 2006a: 89). Johnson described
the ABC‘s initial ―concern that these programmes might appear to condone inappropriate or
irreverent attitudes to the knowledge being tested‖, and more directly, that these programs might
be ―insufficiently formal or serious‖ for the national broadcaster (Johnson, 1988: 135). A
compromise was the development of educational quizzes like Spelling Bee and The General
Knowledge Bee which operated under ―strict prescriptions about the proper conduct ... insisting
that no prize money be offered‖ (Johnson, 1988: 135). Quiz programs have continued regularly on
ABC radio and television in various forms since then, however more detail on their subsequent
development is beyond the scope of this project.
168
While I don‘t want to explore the possible birth and death of public service
broadcasting as a political and industrial model in depth here,281 I do want to
consider how quiz programs have been used as a way for PSBs to show their
difference from commercial broadcasters in the wider media landscape. In
demonstrating how quiz programs helped to negotiate times of crisis for PSBs
historically, I will thus establish the importance of the form in the contemporary
Australian market. Indeed, in the lead up to Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz‘s
debuts, Australian PSB the ABC were also said to be experiencing a rapid period
of change. Specifically, the ABC was said to be in crisis in the late twentieth
century because of continued budget cuts, but also ―two new and complementary
sources of danger: technical and ideological [expectations and competition]‖
(Inglis, 1997: 10). My study of Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz will show that the
music/television crossover was part of the ABC (and SBS)‘s strategies to
overcome the problems that contributed to the 1990s crisis and help ensure that
the PSB in the twenty first century would regain its previous strength.
2. SPICKS AND SPECKS AND ROCKWIZ: OVERCOMING THE ‘UNEASY’
MUSIC/TELEVISION RELATIONSHIP
In the introduction to this chapter I referred to Frith‘s description of the ―uneasy
relationship‖ of music and television (2002: 277), and I now want to return to this
essay. At stake for Frith are questions of what is actually gained, or lost, when
television and music interact, and the ‗uneasy relationship‘ is born out of this
tension.282 Frith notes ―[i]t is rare to watch a television programme without music,
and just as rare to watch a programme that is really about music‖ (ibid), and he
used these asymmetries as grounds to argue the problem of music/television‘s
crossover; ―[i]f it is arguable that television was the most significant medium of
political and commercial communication in the twentieth century, it is not clear
281
I have noted some of these general birth and death narratives in chapter one, I will explore
public service broadcasting later in this chapter.
282
Frith framed his 2002 music/television discussion by describing that state of music/television in
the UK at the time, specifically noting that ―the best-selling single in Britain ... [Will Young‘s
‗Evergreen/Anything‘] was the effect of a television programme, Pop Idol, an elaborate talent
contest, based on audience votes‖ (2002: 277). He uses this event to show the opposing ways that
the relationship between music and television can be viewed, arguing ―[t]elevision makes pop stars
and yet its treatment of music seems strangely detached ... Television matters for music in some
ways and, for the same reasons, not in others‖ (2002: 278, italics in original).
169
that it has been a very effective means of musical communication‖ (Frith, 2002:
278). Since Frith‘s comments in 2002, developments in music television
scholarship have not invalidated Frith‘s claims.283 Certainly there has been
negligible attention paid to music/television in Australia. Therefore, I will use
Frith‘s investigation as a framework to explore RocKwiz and Spicks and Specks
and their engagement with Australian music and television audiences since 2005.
The two sections to follow, music/television and history and music/television and
comedy, are responses to Frith‘s claim that ―music television is less often heard
for its own sake than as a device to get our visual attention ... Music is
omnipresent on television, in short, but the television experience is rarely just
about music‖ (2002: 280). In its original context Frith‘s observations were
presented as evidence for the relative failures of music/television interactions;
however I will demonstrate here how the crossover music television experience in
Australia, as it demands both visual and sonic attention, has benefited both music
and television audiences and artists. Furthermore I will develop beyond Frith‘s
frame of reference to focus specifically on PSB broadcasters, something that his
study only does briefly. 284 As I discussed in the last section and last chapter, the
strength of the public service broadcasting sector in delivering music television in
Australia is currently without significant commercial competition.
283
I base this assertion on the summary of the field offered in the recent collection Music in
Television: Channels of Listening (Deaville ed, 2011). In his introductory essay to the collection,
―A Discipline Emerges‖ (2011) Deaville notes how studies of music television are still in their
infancy despite nearly a decade having now passed. He does acknowledge specific types of music
television analysis, such as studies of individual programs (2011: 18-21), of music television
programming like MTV and Eurovision (2011: 13-16), and of the way music is used to create
metanarratives in television (―the extradiegetic realm of television music‖, 2011: 21-22), however
Deaville concludes ―television-music studies has yet to attain to its maturity‖ (2011: 25). I also
note here that Frith‘s 2002 essay has also been reproduced in his 2007 collection Taking Popular
Music Seriously.
284
Frith does reference the BBC from time to time, but his primary focus is on the commercial
market, as exemplified in the following comment, ―Because of TV‘s promotional power, record
companies have been willing to foot the bill for TV music programmes showcasing their acts.
Television companies now take this for granted: music programmes are only made with such
financial support. They do not feature acts or genres that do not have a promotional budget behind
them‖ (2002: 282).
170
2.1 Music/television and history
Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz both heavily rely on engagement with music
history. The majority of the questions and musical examples on each program
have specific historical groundings, and part of the appeal of these programs is a
shared acknowledgment of this history between the participants in each show, and
the audience at home. Given that each program is pre-recorded when it goes to air
(and each is often repeated or made otherwise available post-broadcast), in one
way Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz are always engaging with a sense of history.
RocKwiz, as its name suggests, engages its contestants and audience in a quiz
about rock music and its history.285 Knowledge of rock music history is used as a
selection criterion for participation in the show, with teams made up of musicians
and audience contestants who have to demonstrate their skills prior to the show.286
As an icebreaker question prior to the quiz‘s formal commencement, both the
audience and musician RocKwiz guests are also asked to reveal aspects of their
personal musical histories, as well as asked by host Julia Zemiro to name the first
record they bought with their own money. Similar to the ―becoming-a-fan‖ stories
common to music fan communities as ―popular forms of introduction between
fans‖ (Cavicchi, 1998: 42),287 the first album stories help to create a sense of unity
between the professional musicians and their amateur team mates, but also align
each participant in terms of their own musical tastes and age groups.
With RocKwiz there is a strong recognition of the value of the history of rock
music, a point that has also been acknowledged by Frith. In particular, he notes
285
I acknowledge here, as Keightley argued in 2001, that term ‗rock‘ has become so familiar to
contemporary audiences that it is now at once ―instantly evocative and frustratingly vague‖ (2001:
109). However, as I will explore later in this chapter, rock as it differs from other forms such as
pop, opera and jazz does function as a meaningful descriptor for RocKwiz.
286
The audience participants appear on RocKwiz after successful completion of a series of prebroadcast quiz heats centred mostly on the rock music canon. The musicians who appear as guests
on the program are also asked to engage with music history, as they are invited to nominate a
particular area of rock to be quizzed on during the show (such as ―the songs of Motown‖).
287
For Cavicchi ―becoming-a-fan‖ stories are a way music communities such as fan communities
are consolidated, as becoming-a-fan stories, as well as other displays of music knowledge, are part
of the process of musical engagement, as ―fandom is not some particular thing one has or does.
Fandom is a process of being‖ (Cavicchi 1998:59). This assertion of a process of being evokes a
sense of identity; fandom as a way of discovering and rediscovering identities.
171
the emergence of ―the instant nostalgia show‖ (2002: 277), music/television
programs which engage historical materials such as interviews and clips and are
proof that ―television producers have found a new way of using music to get
ratings‖ (ibid). While RocKwiz certainly deploys a sense of instant nostalgia (as
the quiz asks participants to recall something from rock music history, then
rewards them for this recollection), this music television crossover provides more
than a museum piece. Over the course of each program host Zemiro asks music
questions, often historically based. These are a mixture of straight questions (such
as ―What year was Live Aid staged?‖), or questions based on performances from
the onstage band, The RocKwiz Orkestra. These performances, which most often
function as a name-that-tune question (renamed ―Million Dollar Riff‖ for
RocKwiz), work as a shared discourse between the guests and the audience present
on the show, but also for the audience at home. As host/writer Brian Nankervis
joked in a preview of the show, ―we are performing a great public service. All
those people who spent years trying to refine your knowledge - we're here for
you‖ (Nankervis in Donovan, 2005: 3), while more recently RocKwiz‘s official
website also invites feedback based on music knowledge and history, with the
―contact us‖ link beginning with the invitation, ―Did we get some fact wrong ...
send an email to the RocKwiz team here‖ (www.sbs.com.au/RocKwiz/contact,
accessed 1/3/11).
Following the quiz section of RocKwiz, the musician guests perform a prerehearsed duet of a cover of their choice, an evocation of rock music history via a
re-performance. The performance is commissioned by RocKwiz and is
subsequently made available on the show‘s website for free, and later made
available for multi-platform commercial release. The quiz program commissions
performances both for its show and subsequent reproduction elsewhere in order to
differentiate it from other music television. But this is a direct engagement and
experiment with music history. For example, in the DVD commentary that
introduces RocKwiz commissioned duet performances, RocKwiz Orkestra
members and hosts Nankervis and Zemiro discussed the pairings of musicians on
the program specifically in terms of history. Orkestra member Peter ‗Lucky‘
Luscombe described the process with good humour and sincere conviction:
172
The thing is, at the risk of blowing our own trumpet here, and not make a huge
overstatement here, in some ways [RocKwiz] is musical history. There‘s documentation
of things here that are never going to happen again [and] never have happened before,
and you look at some of the airings that have happened over the years, [and you think]
when is that person ever going to sing with that person again? (Luscombe on DVD
288
commentary for The Beat Goes On, 2009).
Following Luscombe‘s comments members of the group offer examples of
unlikely pairings, including examples of international and local artists working
together as well as artists whose musical career highlights were decades apart.
Host Zemiro agrees with Luscombe during this discussion, also asserting the
importance of such histories being created locally, ―the nice thing is [these
pairings are being staged] not on an American show or a European Show or an
English show, where they do this kind of thing a lot. It‘s on an Australian show,
and that‘s pretty great‖ (Zemiro on DVD commentary, ibid).
In an interview promoting RocKwiz‘s seventh season on air, Nankervis explained
the process of commissioning the duet performances. Specifically he described
the program‘s reasons for pairing musicians who might be expected to appeal to
different generations of music fans,
We do tend to put together performers that certainly have something in common so the
duet at the end works really well but often they're different ages ... For example in the
first show there's Marcia Hines so lots of the mums and dads and 50-year-olds who are
watching will love seeing her...and we've paired her with Old Man River who is in his
late 20s and very spunky and a great part of the contemporary music scene. I think [that
mixture is] a really important part of the show (Nankveris in Williams, 2011: AAP
online, accessed 15/3/11).
This anecdote provides several insights into RocKwiz and its place in the
contemporary music and television industries in Australia. The two musicians
who started their careers decades apart (Hines began performing in Australia in
the late 1960s) were brought together by performing a cover of the 1960s Motown
staple ‗Ain‘t No Mountain High Enough‘. 289 This interaction between older and
younger musicians shows the regeneration of music history as indeed, even if an
288
This comment is made as part of the introduction to the duet between Amanda Brown and
Glenn Richards.
289
The episode discussed was broadcast as episode 113 of RocKwiz, aired on SBS TV on 19/3/11,
and subsequently available online via http://www.sbs.com.au/RocKwiz/watch/1292/RocKwiz-Ep113---Marcia-Hines-&-Ohad-Rein, accessed 1/5/11.
173
artist like Hines is no longer considered part of the current music scene in
Australia, through her participation in RocKwiz she re-enters it.290 The duets
staged for the show are not only broadcast on television, but are also, as I will
explore in the last section of this chapter, released as separate CD and DVD
releases.
Music history was also paramount in the specially commissioned and themed
edition of Rockwiz, RocKwiz Salutes the Bowl. Put together to celebrate the 50th
anniversary of Melbourne live music venue the Myer Music Bowl, 291 the program
was originally staged in February 2009, broadcast a month later and later released
in full on DVD (2009). Questions for the quiz were also based on the history of
the venue (relating to key performers, performances and types of music), while
the program also featured contemporary and older musicians performing ‗iconic‘
Bowl performances. These spanned genre and era, and included not only popular
music (such as the recreation of Abba and Neil Young songs by local Australian
musicians Jeff Duff and Paul Kelly respectively), but also acknowledged the
annual Christmas Carols By Candlelight concert and broadcast staged at The
Bowl. The Carols‘ regular performer Denis Walter was introduced by Zemiro as
―a man who has performed here [at The Bowl] more than anyone else, at an
astonishing 25 Christmas Carol spectaculars ... he‘s Santa‘s main man‖, then
Walter performed Neil Diamond‘s ―Crunchy Granola Suite‖ as a tribute to the
Canadian performer‘s former appearance at the Bowl. Like the weekly cover
duets featured on RocKwiz each week, here Walter is allowed to explore and
demonstrate his musical ability beyond what the audience may expect.292 The
regular format was changed slightly with the usual ‗what was your first record‘?
question amended to ‗what was your first gig at The Bowl‘?, and although there
290
Younger audiences may be aware of middle-aged Hines from her appearances on Australian
Idol from 2003-9, however it‘s unlikely they would be aware of her previous place in the
Australian music industry, including previously recording ‗Ain‘t No Mountain High Enough‘ in
1975 with the Daly Wilson Big Band. Details of this release available via
http://www.discogs.com/Daly-Wilson-Big-Band-Featuring-Marcia-Hines-Daly-Wilson-BigBand/release/1058852, accessed 5/5/11.
291
RocKwiz was invited to stage the event by the Victorian Arts Centre as a celebration of the
history of the venue on the 50th anniversary. Details of this are available in the RocKwiz Salutes
the Bowl DVD insert (2009).
292
Zemiro confirmed how unusual Walter‘s performance was in her back announcement of his
performance, by saying excitedly ―Who knew [he could do that]?!?‘‘.
174
were some less serious questions,293 the clear objective was to celebrate the
variety of music that Australian audiences had been able to experience at the
Bowl, with recreation of these musical episodes for the program‘s live staging and
subsequent broadcast.
Spicks and Specks also draws deeply on history, but in a way that is different from
RocKwiz, often engaging with history in order to defamiliarise and recontextualise
music and the musicians featured on the program. This is exemplified right from
the Spicks and Specks theme, which is a cover version of The Bee Gees‘ original
song performed by local artists The Dissociatives and specially commissioned for
the music quiz.294 The cover is performed in a similar style to the original, but is
mostly instrumental, creating a marked difference from the original. Second,
Spicks and Specks also engages with Australia/New Zealand music history
through its set design, as Noel Crombie, former Split Enz costume designer and
band member, is credited with creating Spicks and Specks visual styling.295
Crombie‘s influence is most obvious in the set‘s bold colour scheme. Throughout
the show Spicks and Specks also draws on music history for many of the quiz
questions, and invites guests to participate who are currently active in music or
media (including international artists who are on tour in Australia) alongside those
who are long retired.296 The effect is, as with RocKwiz, an attempt to draw crossgenerational television and music audiences.
By engaging with music and other entertainment histories Spicks and Specks has
also been able to create a new type of music/television crossover event. For
example, during September 2009 Spicks and Specks staged four consecutive
293
For example, the question, ―In the late 70s it was a rite of passage for teenagers to sit outside the
fence at The Bowl during concerts. Primary objectives were? A) to have formative sexual
experiences, B) smoke and drink, C) wear flares, treads and connie cardigans, D) listen to music or
E) all of the above?‖, was posed, with the answer given as ―E: all of the above‖, given.
294
The Dissociatives was a short-lived, one album collaboration between electronic artist Paul
Mac and silverchair singer/songwriter Daniel Johns. Although I have been unable to verify if they
released their cover of Spicks and Specks elsewhere, this is unlikely given that both Johns and Mac
have since moved onto other projects and the cover did not appear on their only release The
Dissociatives (2004).
295
For details see http://www.abc.net.au/tv/spicksandspecks/txt/s1530492.htm, accessed 3/3/11.
296
There are many examples of this from the show‘s history, but a relatively recent example is the
episode which aired in 2010 which featured retired industry veteran Kahmal, alongside up and
coming music theatre
composer Casey Bennetto. For further details see
http://www.abc.net.au/tv/spicksandspecks/txt/s2999688.htm
175
episodes focused on the 1950s, 1960s, 1970s and 1980s.297 These programs
featured regular host Adam Hills, team captains Alan Brough and Myf Warhurst,
and their guests dressed in period costumes. In addition at least two of the four
guests for each program were drawn from each respective era, and during the
course of the program they were invited to share their memories from that time.
The 1950s episode for example began in black and white and featured fake 1950s
period advertisements, while during the 1970s episode promoter Michael
Gudinski and host/producer/journalist Molly Meldrum were encouraged to
recreate the professional rivalry between them during that time.298 Also during the
1960s program, retired musician and music host, Ian Turpie,299 was invited to sing
some of his material from this era (if only briefly), and Denise Drysdale, who
appears on current morning television, was invited to relive her 1960s persona as
a ―go-go dancer‖. In addition to the costumes and sets, each program focused on
music and culture from the era which it commemorated, allowing the guests from
that era to draw on their memories of the time, and inviting the younger guests to
engage with music history of which they might otherwise have been unaware.
Spicks and Specks drew on television history as well as music, with the restaging
of an iconic 1970s Australian television show Blankety Blanks as part of a 1970s
297
These were originally broadcast in September 2009 and released on DVD as on the Up to Our
Eras compilation (2009). For more details of the original broadcast see
http://www.abc.net.au/tv/spicksandspecks/txt/s2689921.htm, accessed 1/5/11.
298
This is not to say, however, that there was no purpose behind these games, as in the case of
Gudinski and Meldrum particularly, the final question for the game ―who was the most important
man in Australian music in the 1970s?‖ was deliberately set up to activate the competition
between the men, but also highlighted how fundamental both had been in their different roles in
the music industry during that time (Gudinski with his work signing and promoting Australian
bands like Skyhooks, and Meldrum as the host of Countdown and champion of much local and
international music).
299
Among other things Turpie hosted a music television program called The Go Show in the mid
1960s on commercial television however this is, sadly, one of the many Australian music
television programs that has been overlooked in terms of research. There is some exploration of
this program on ABC TV documentary Long Way To The Top (episode 2) and interviews with host
Ian Turpie (Johnny Young was also a host, but did not appear on the documentary. Here there is
some suggestion that the program was connected to pioneering Australian rock magazine The Go
Set, but I have been unable to find further information to support this. There is also a brief mention
of the program in Harrison (2006: 287-8), who noted the program was broadcast on Channel 10
from 1964-7. Here the hosts however are all that is noted rather than the music featured,
―entertaining Melbourne-produced pop show initially hosted by Englishmen Allen field, then Ian
Turpie, and eventually singing hunk Johnny Young.‖ (2006: 287).
176
themed episode.300 Spicks and Specks parodied Blankety Blanks by creating a
historical/contemporary hybrid, ―Spickety Blanks‖ as Hills named it, and included
questions for which the contestants had to fill in the blank left from a saying by a
well known musician, similar to the practice of filling in blanks in the original
program. While the guests did this, Hills paced around the panel with a large
microphone prop chosen to help recreate the 1970s show and further imitate the
look of the original Blankety Blanks host, Graham Kennedy. Here Hills also
adopted Kennedy‘s style of address and comedy in addition to recreating
Kennedy‘s look, telling ‗dick jokes‘ in between the music questions.301 Hills
directed these jokes to guest Noeline Brown (who had been a regular on the
original Kennedy program), who responded by answering directly and apparently
naively ignoring the double entendre (as she had in the original), and also
addressing Hills directly as ‗Graham‘. This pastiche of the original program was
designed to appeal to audiences who remembered the original Blankety Blanks but
also functioned as an entertaining piece of television in its own right as the
program‘s music/television crossover present in the form of music themed ‗blank‘
questions.302
Spicks and Specks has also drawn on music/television history by referring to
Australian music program Countdown on a number of occasions, both when
discussing music from the show‘s era, and when discussing the Australian
television and music industries generally.303 The connection has been made
explicitly three times over the show‘s history, first in 2006 when Spicks and
Specks staged a ―Countdown Special‖ featuring Molly Meldrum on the panel,304
and then again later during the program‘s 1970s special where Meldrum was
300
Originally broadcast in September 2009 and released on DVD as on the Up to Our Eras
compilation
(2009).
For
more
details
of
the
original
broadcast
see
http://www.abc.net.au/tv/spicksandspecks/txt/s2689921.htm, accessed 1/5/11.
301
Although Kennedy was well known for comedy based on double entendre, on Blankety Blanks
he developed a particular style of telling jokes which played on the double meaning of the name
―Dick‖. See further McColl-Jones (2008: 50-2).
302
For example, one of the ‗blanks‘ the questions had to guess was ―Rod Stewart said instead of
marrying someone next time he will just find someone he hates and give them a blank.‖
303
This lineage to Countdown has been acknowledged even more overtly by Hills in his recent
program In Gordon St Tonight, which is named after the ABC Studios in Gordon St, Melbourne
and features ―Gordon St Classic‖ musical performances, which are contemporary artists
performing songs that were originally screened on Countdown or 1990s music television program
Recovery.
304
Originally screened 5 July, 2006, with full broadcast details available via
http://www.abc.net.au/tv/spicksandspecks/txt/s1674764.htm, accessed 5/5/11.
177
again a panel participant,305 and finally as Hills dressed as Meldrum in a Stetson
hat and a ―Countdown‖ T-shirt to host the Australiana special of Spicks and
Specks.306 In addition to these references, in interviews with Hills and his co-hosts
references have been made to previous Australian television, and especially
Countdown. In an interview with ABC local radio in Canberra in 2008,307 for
example, Hills, Warhurst and Brough were asked about their program‘s
relationship to Countdown, and specifically, the interviewer asked if Hills was a
modern day Meldrum.
308
In response to the interviewer‘s recounting of
Meldrum‘s interview with Prince Charles (where Meldrum famously swore in
front of the Prince as he repeatedly gaffed his introduction), 309 Warhurst argued,
someone like Molly existed in a television landscape [that has now passed] ... If you were
like Molly [on air now], if you made the mistakes that he made and just the beautiful
naturalness that he had, the whole television landscape has changed too, people are far
more polished. (ABC Local, 2008).
This acknowledgment of Countdown‘s place in the history of Australian music
television exemplifies how the program functions. For viewers who remember
Countdown and other older forms of music television in Australia, Spicks and
Specks is obviously a different type of music television, one which, as Warhurst
suggests, is ‗more polished‘. However viewers who are too young to have
watched Countdown when it originally aired in the 1970s and 80s are also
encouraged to investigate music history (including music television‘s history)
because of Warhurst, Hills and Brough‘s recommendation.
305
I will provide full details for this program below when I discuss this episode in more detail.
The was first aired on ABC TV in September 2010 and later featured on the release Spicks and
Specks World Tour (2010). For more details of original broadcast see
http://www.abc.net.au/tv/spicksandspecks/txt/s3011437.htm, accessed 1/5/11.
307
While this was originally a radio program broadcast locally, I have accessed an online podcast.
For reasons of space, here I will reference it as ABC Local, but full details of the online access and
original airdate are provided in the bibliography under the title ―ABC Local‖.
308
In response to the comparisons radio host Ross Solly made between Spicks and Specks and
Countdown, which were made as part of an assessment of the relative importance in Spicks and
Specks of music and television, Hills replied, ―I have to say I don‘t think that makes me a modern
day Molly, I think that makes all of us [himself, Warhurst and Brough] contributors to being a
modern day Molly, I think we are all different parts to Molly‖, a comment Brough supported,
adding, ―And I think that‘s a tribute to Molly, that it takes three of us to be Molly.‖ (ABC Local
2008). This quote comes specifically from the audio file named ―Adam, Alan and Myf on
Countdown‖ which is embedded at http://www.abc.net.au/local/stories/2008/12/11/2443762.htm,
accessed 18/6/11
309
This encounter has been recounted a number of times in histories of Countdown, however in
this interview the host refers to watching it via a ―great video streaming website‖, presumably
YouTube. The official ABC YouTube Channel has also reproduced an edited version of the
interview it via this link http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BNknaz4KVBc, accessed via 18/6/11.
306
178
Frith argued that music television draws audiences who might be interested in
either music or television, bringing them together uneasily because ―the television
audience is rarely conceived as a music audience‖ (2002: 277). However Spicks
and Specks draws on a new model, the existing music television audience.
Whether or not music television began with an uneasy crossover as Frith
suggested generally, Spicks and Specks‘ appeal is partly based on its appeal to
Australian audiences who have come to accept music television as a viable form.
By referencing Countdown, Spicks and Specks plays on a sense of nostalgia for
the show felt by older audiences, as well as recontextualising the older form so as
to make genial fun of it and engage younger audiences. The effect, it must be
emphasised however, is not disrespectful, but to consolidate rather than diminish
Countdown‘s legendary status. Countdown is not the only older form of
Australian music television Spicks and Specks invokes, as the program also
includes regular references to Young Talent Time as Hills closes each show with
―Goodnight Australia‖ as opposed to just ―Goodnight‖, or ―Thanks for
watching‖.310 Furthermore, during the 1980s era program Hills, and the rest of the
Spicks and Specks cast also joked that much of the 1980s themed set had simply
been recreated using old props of the other past ABC music television shows like
The Factory.311 In 2011 Hill continued to use this tactic of referencing older
Australian music television as a basis to develop contemporary music
programming by hosting a new variety/talk show In Gordon St Tonight (ABC TV
2011- ongoing). The program is named in honour of the ABC Gordon St studios
in Melbourne which housed past music television programs Countdown and
Recovery, and in addition to acknowledging this legacy in the show‘s title, the
program also featured a regular segment called ―Gordon St Classics‖, where
musicians were invited to recreate performances original broadcast as part of a
past, Gordon-St based music television shows.312
RocKwiz‘s contemporary development can also be understood in terms of current
music television practices in Australia, however RocKwiz has actively sought to
310
This was the phrase famously used by Johnny Young at the conclusion of very episode of
Young Talent Time., a youth music performance program that aired on Channel 10, 1971-1988.
311
This was on air on Saturday mornings from 1987-9 on ABC TV.
312
The details of each of these are listed on the In Gordon St Tonight website,
http://www.abc.net.au/tv/adamhillsIGST/episodes/default.htm, accessed 5/7/11.
179
develop a new form rather than imitate previous models. RocKwiz‘s musical
performances (and the music quiz) for example are staged in a live music venue
rather than a studio, onstage at The Esplanade Hotel in Melbourne. This venue
was chosen in order to maintain a connection to live performance rather than
something obviously staged for the conventions of television, and unlike much
music television, the performances are shot simply (with only minimal camera
changes), are performed live and without significant editing. This emphasis on
creating an atmosphere which would make musicians comfortable to perform in
(as opposed to the artifice of studio-based music television), was first developed
with an earlier music television program that Nankervis worked on, Hessie‟s Shed
(ABC TV, 1998). Hessie‟s Shed was also filmed live at The Esplanade with a live
band onstage throughout (including some of the players who went on the become
part of the RocKwiz Orkestra) and it was an unashamedly experimental music
television project which sought to showcase musical performances and interviews
in a way that wasn‘t happening elsewhere.313 Although Hessie‟s Shed was only
short lived, it remains a clear inspiration for the relatively uncluttered and
spontaneous approach to music television staging now used on RocKwiz.
2.2 Music/television and comedy
Both Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz engage audiences using the music television
quiz form. They also constitute a further music television crossover by
incorporating a comedic form of address. Frith was uncomfortable with the
possible relationship between music television and comedy or light entertainment
in his 2002 study, warily noting that new forms of clip and nostalgia shows often
seemed to feature ―a mocking voiceover [and] an underlying sense that musical
313
The experiment and its aims were articulated explicitly during the show‘s debut episode, where
musician/host Paul Hester talked onstage with his former Crowded House band mate Neil Finn as
part of a pre-performance interview. Finn and Hester discussed their previous experiences on
music television as performers. Finn bemoaned most music television‘s visual emphasis; ―you‘d
spend the day rehearsing and then you get to a cold TV studio and everything was a slave to the
technique, it was all the cameras and no one really cared if the performance was any good‖ (Finn
on Hester, 1998). Finn therefore congratulated Hester on developing a music television form
which created a much more agreeable platform for performance (and by implication, a much more
agreeable way to watch music performance). Particularly, he praised Hester‘s informal approach to
the normal television formalities, recalling, with good humour, that when he arrived for set up ―no
one knew what the fuck was going on‖ (ibid) a form of relative disorganisation that clearly
provided a much more normal musical environment than the more antiseptic studio music
television staging.
180
passion is ridiculous‖ (2002: 278). He concluded his study by warning against
music television‘s potential to undermine the value of music by taking it out of
context, and therefore, as I noted in the introduction to this section, he is
concerned about the historical and contextual distance that the delivery of music
via music television creates, since ―music that once mattered to people can now be
presented at a distance, as a bit of a joke‖ (2002: 288).
Comedy is present in both Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz and it is a critical part
of the crossover appeal of these programs. Humour in relation to music is a
significant part of the experience enjoyed by audiences and participants in both
programs, but it is a point of shared access rather than a distancing mechanism as
Frith suggested. RocKwiz producer Bain-Hogg described the use of comedy in
both music/television crossovers,
There is a degree of tongue in cheek about some of [RocKwiz] but we love music, and
music‘s at the heart of it. I don‘t want to hang shit on Spicks and Specks but what they do
with music is they kind of invert it [music] and take the piss out of it. What we always
say is Spicks and Specks is a comedy show about music while RocKwiz is a music show
that happens to be funny (interview with author, 2009).
As an advocate for RocKwiz, Bain-Hogg of course has his own agenda in this
comparison. Bain-Hogg‘s explanation of the difference between his show and
Spicks and Specks is good-humoured, making clear that he had no disrespect for
his rival‘s approach. Bain-Hogg‘s view is that RocKwiz laughs with the music,
while Spicks and Specks laughs through music. By extension, he describes
differences in how music is valued on each program. Bain-Hogg‘s view can be
directly compared to Keightley‘s academic articulation of rock, and in particular,
its difference from pop based on greater seriousness; ―pop is understood as
popular music that isn‘t (or doesn‘t have to be, or can‘t possibly be) ‗taken
seriously‘. Rock, in contrast, is mainstream music that is (or ought to be, or must
be) taken seriously.‖ (Keightley, 2001: 128) While Keightley doesn‘t use the term
comedy explicitly here, the connection is clear. As such, the differences between
these contemporary forms of Australian music television can also be understood
in terms of the latter‘s relationship to comedy: RocKwiz might be said to be a rock
music television program that laughs with the music, and Spicks and Specks as
pop music television program that laughs at it. Nonetheless, the good-humoured
181
engagement both programs make with popular music history remains generally
and fundamentally respectful and affectionate, and through such tactics as the
guest participant and performer mix, the programs locate themselves within that
history rather than distanced from it.
The press previews of Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz in 2005 also drew parallels
between comedy and music television. RocKwiz producer/host Nankervis argued
that ―music is the most important thing ... We're not bending over backwards to
write gags ... our aim is to celebrate music‖ (Nankervis in Donovan, 2005: 3),
while Spicks and Specks producer Paul Clarke explained that his show would be
―trying to look at different ways to get people into music via TV,‖ noting
specifically that ―music history is so ripe for parody and playing with its
interesting characters‖ (Clarke in Donovan, 2005: 3). In the course of these
introductory comments both Nankervis and Clarke also referred to a comedy
program already on air, Good News Week,314 however they used this comparison
to foreground different things. Nankervis was clear that RocKwiz‘s relationship to
music would be ―not ironic, like Good News Week‖ (Nankervis in Donovan,
2005:3), while Clarke aligned Spicks and Specks with the news panel program
more enthusiastically. Clarke also argued that his program would add something
new to the television landscape; ―it's more like Good News Week meets The
Panel, with parlour games and pantomime to take it into the absurd‖ (Clarke in
Donovan, 2005: 3). Given that Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz are both music
quiz programs, a format that had been around in Australia and internationally well
before Good News Week, it is telling that each producer uses this comedy
comparison. The implication is that audiences were expecting a type of comedic
delivery, and indicates yet another realm of music television crossover between
music and comedy.315 Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz‘s focus remains music and
314
Loosely based on the British news panel program Have I Got News For You, Good News Week
is a comedy program hosted by Paul McDermott that began on the ABC in 1996 and was moved to
commercial television, Channel 10, in 1999. It also regularly features musicians and occasional
musical performances; however these are only isolated, irregular segments.
315
From this point of view the Australian television music quizzes can be compared to British
television music quizzes such as Have I Got News For You, Mock of the Week and Never Mind the
Buzzcocks. However these programs, particularly Buzzcocks, have been described as part of form
of ―laddish‖ television and caters to quite a distinct audience using music as only a loose
drawcard. For further discussion of Never Mind The Buzzcocks as ―laddish‖ programming see
182
the entertainment industry, and seeks out as wide an audience demographic as
possible by taking music out of its original context in order to raise its profile.
The music/comedy/television crossover in RocKwiz and Spicks and Specks draws
on the expertise of each program‘s hosts as well as the genre of music each
engages with. Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz both have comedians as hosts, with
Adam Hills and Julia Zemiro/Brian Nankervis respectively, however each has a
different comedic style. Zemiro and Nankervis both have a background in live
improvised character comedy, with Nankervis having developed his skills most
markedly in the 1980s/90s theatre then television show Let The Blood Run Free
(Harrison, 2005: 335), while Zemiro has worked extensively as a skilled comedy
improviser.316 In contrast, Hills is a stand up comedian who has developed (in
Australia and England) an autobiographical style, characterised most obviously by
storytelling. Given that Nankervis and Hills are both writers/hosts, these different
types of comedy engagement are particularly evident. In RocKwiz music is given
a primary focus, almost as a character in its own right, and the sovereignty and
independence of this character is maintained in the way Nankervis and Zemiro
mediate between the program‘s guests and live audience (and of course, the
audience and home) with spontaneous comedic comments, targeting most often
the show‘s guests or themselves, rather than the music. Indeed, Nankervis and
Zemiro appear as disciples to the tradition of rock, not questioning the
peculiarities of the details they present about its performance or history, but
always praising and validating it. This respectful recognition of the music and its
infrastructures is further heightened, with affectionate comedy, as Nankervis and
Zemiro hand over authority to roadie/sound man Dugald as he appears on stage to
deliver the scores at the end of each round.317 Here there is a comedic inversion of
the traditional view of a stagehand as a relatively unimportant character, with
Mills (2011: 141), Edwards (2003: 137) and Redhead (1997: 99). Interestingly, music is not
mentioned at all in these discussions, despite Buzzcocks purporting to be a music quiz program.
316
I note here that Zemiro is reluctant to be labelled a comedian because she feels that
improvisation is a different skill to stand up comedy, however I use the term comedian to describe
her in this thesis to indicate her ability to host RocKwiz in a clearly humourous manner. For more
see Giuffre (2011a: 32).
317
Dugald‘s full name is never announced on the show, but he appears in each episode as well as
on the virtual RocKwiz scoreboard on the program‘s webpage, www.sbs.com.au/RocKwiz.
183
Nankervis and Zemiro framing him in this context as an expert because of his
closeness to the performance action.
Spicks and Specks frames music differently from RocKwiz. Hills often presents
music out of its original context, with many of the segments clearly pre-planned,
involving elaborate props to present the jokes.318 Since the show started Hills,
Warhurst and Brough have regularly described their personal histories with music,
including unfashionable musical styles and genres. In an episode in 2008 Hills, for
example, confessed to a childhood affection for 1980s musician Adam Ant. The
episode then showed a picture of Hills as a young boy dressed as Adam Ant, and a
clip of him performing ―Ant Music‖. Hills introduced the clip with good humour
but also acknowledged the performance and his fandom to be ―embarrassing‖,
apologising before the clip aired for the quality of his performance, but by
implication, also his taste in music.319 The point here is to laugh at Hills‘ personal
investment with what was apparently music unworthy of such devotion. However,
it also demonstrates a type of engagement with music that is often acknowledged,
but rarely celebrated: the idea of ―bad music‖ or inappropriate music.320 The
primary target here, the cause of the audience laughter, is Hills himself and the
musical gaucheries of youthful taste. He locates himself within the field, rather
than superciliously outside it. Audiences are invited to laugh at Hills and his tacky
taste, or with him if they recognise something of this in themselves.
Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz both also blend music and comedy via their
guests. For RocKwiz, comedy is generated most often from the enthusiasm of the
members of the audience who participate. The audience-contestants‘ level of
music knowledge (and their obvious enthusiasm for delivering this knowledge) is
a key part of the music quiz and provides comedy, since often these contestants
provide something that Zemiro, and presumably the rest of the audience at home
318
For example, during the 1970s era program a bowling alley was set up as part of the quiz with
disco balls used to knock down the pins of 1970s musical stars.
319
The program was originally broadcast in 2006 with details of it available at
http://www.abc.net.au/tv/spicksandspecks/txt/s1582328.htm. Hills‘ introduction and performance
of Ant Music can also be seen at, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YDUC2LaCYq4/, both links
were accessed 7/7/11.
320
Although ‗bad‘ music is rarely celebrated form, however one notable exception is the collection
Bad Music: The Music We Love To Hate (Washburne and Derno eds, 2004).
184
and on set, were not expecting. Zemiro‘s interaction with the obviously
unprofessional, but clearly enthusiastic audience-contestants provides comedy
because of an unexpected incongruity between people normally characterised as
passive and secondary in the TV discourse, who then demonstrate a more
comprehensive knowledge of music than the ‗experts‘, the professional musicians
present. In The RocKwiz Salutes The Bowl quiz, Nicolas, a contestant who
initially appeared relatively young, nervous and particularly uncomfortable on
stage, soon showed a near encyclopaedic knowledge of rock music that he could
recall with remarkable speed. As the quiz commenced he not only matched the
confidence and audience appeal of the musicians on stage, but at times
unexpectedly surpassed them. Again, the humour is thus directed back at the
presenters, rather than at the music.
Unlike RocKwiz which insists that all participants must have a clear connection to
music (as practitioners or knowledgeable fans) Spicks and Specks often features
comedians who have no formal connection to music. Spicks and Specks welcomes
comedians as guests partly because of the show‘s commitment to presenting
entertainment practitioners in general (the show has also featured record
producers, journalists, as other television and radio presenters), but comedians
also provide another point of access for music television. For example, on an
episode where actress/comedian Magda Szubanski appeared and described her
own music fandom (re-enacting her time as a 1970s ‗sharpie‘321 by performing a
dance from that time), host Hills responded to Szubanski‘s fandom with a display
of his own.
Calling himself ―a music lover, but a comedy nerd‖, 322 Hills
explained how pleased he was to have Szubanski on the show,
We always get musicians on the show, and there‘s always moments where Alan goes
‗oooh‘ [faking a fan-like squeal], and Myf goes [impersonating a high pitched voice]
‗ooooh‘. But I‘m a comedy nerd, I grew up watching and listening to comedy. So of all
321
Sharpies were a type of Australian sub cultural group largely associated with Melbourne in the
1960s and 70s. For more detail see Arrow (2009b: 92).
322
This is a phrase he has repeated in a few interviewers, but notably as part of an interview Hills
did with Hamish Blake for the ―Spicks and Specks: Behind the Scenes‖ special, that was also
featured on the Spicks and Specks Very Specky Christmas DVD compilation (2008), and originally
broadcast
in
October
2008.
For
original
broadcast
details
see
http://www.abc.net.au/tv/spicksandspecks/txt/s2380699.htm, accessed 4/ulle05/11.
185
the musicians on [for me] it‘s like ‗oh yeah, I remember your stuff‘, but then when you
[Magda] were dancing, I was like ‗Oh! That‘s hot‘‖.
323
Although Hills demonstrates a slightly different category of fandom from his
colleagues, his reactions of admiration and appreciation are the same. Thus Spicks
and Specks also facilitates displays of fandom that go beyond music: Szubanski
showed her fandom as a sharpie, and then Hills his fandom for Szubanski. Here,
then, comedy fandom and music fandom are juxtaposed and equally celebrated,
with the music/television crossover encouraging participation from those who are
fans specifically of music, or who can recognise fandom for other art forms as
Hills does for comedy. In addition, comedians on Specks and Specks are also
invited to display their musical enthusiasm, rather than their music knowledge
necessarily. Broadcaster and comedian Hamish Blake for example is a regular on
Spicks and Specks and often jokes about how few of the music questions he can
answer,324 however such displays of relative ignorance are celebrated by Spicks
and Specks as part of the game, with entertainment regularly drawn not from
getting the right answer to a question about music, but from how creatively the
panellists can engage with the topic.
Finally, comedy is generated in Spicks and Specks through a recontextualisation
of live music performance in the regular segment ―Substitute‖.325 Here guests are
asked to perform a song using the text of an unrelated book as substitute lyrics
(and often the show‘s producers attempt to draw very unlikely musical and written
texts together, such as a car manual and a Bob Dylan tune). The panel are asked to
solve the puzzle of what song is being performed, while the guest performing the
substitute is given an opportunity through this exercise to reveal a different side to
her or his artistic persona (much like the process of guest programming Rage that
I discussed last chapter). This play with music also allows audiences who may or
may not be familiar with the guest or the song that is being ‗substituted‘ to equally
323
Originally aired in 2010 and also included on the Spicks and Specks: The Remixes DVD
(2010). For original broadcast information see
324
For example, in the behind the scenes special that Hamish Blake hosted for the show, he
introduced himself by saying ―because I‘ve been on the show over 30 times and got over 7
questions correct, I‘ve been picked as the person to take you Behind the Scenes of Spicks and
Specks‖ (Behind the Scenes feature, part of the Spicks and Specks Very Specky Christmas DVD
compilation (2008), and originally broadcast in October 2008. For original broadcast details see
http://www.abc.net.au/tv/spicksandspecks/txt/s2380699.htm, accessed 4/05/11.
325
Like much of the show, this segment‘s name is drawn from a popular song. In this case, The
Who‘s song from 1966.
186
engage in the show‘s action (as the performance itself is often entertaining,
especially if the guest performing the substitute is usually a very accomplished
singer now presented out of their comfort zone). A similar play with live
performance also takes place in the segment ‗Look What They‘ve Done to My
Song, Ma‘326, as a group of non-pop musicians are invited to perform songs which
the panel must guess (in a ‗name that tune-style‘ segment). The result is a mixture
of comedy and musical play as the Spicks and Specks‘ performance is in comic
contrast to the song‘s original performance, with, for example, gum leaf player
Wayne Thorpe invited to perform the ―The Boys Light Up‖ by Australian Crawl
and ―Physical‖ by Olivia Newton John.327 The audience, and those participating in
the program live, can thus be entertained in a number of ways; by trying to
recognise the original song, by marvelling at the skill of the new performance, or
simply by witnessing the spectacle of the play with music. This play with music
and its decontextualisation for comedic effect is in direct contrast to the
performances on RocKwiz, which attempts to present faithful and professionally
competent renditions of the songs it features. Spicks and Specks presents a
music/television crossover that is completed by the programmed inclusion of
comedy, while RocKwiz‘s music/television crossover does play (and make fun of)
music fandom at times, but maintains a professional standard of music
performance in its crossover audiences.
In response to Frith‘s reservations about the distancing effects of music on
television, what needs to be emphasised repeatedly here is that, notwithstanding
their differences, in all respects including the use of comedy, these two programs
do not alienate audiences or participants from popular music and its history. The
stronger and more engineered comedic element in Specks and Specks is directed
primarily at those participating in the present – the panel members. The ‗joke‘ is
not at the expense of the music, but in the nature of the show itself. In both
programs, comedy is deployed in a way that enhances rather than diminishes the
sense of a community of musicians and fans and the traditions which unite them.
326
Like much of the show, this segment‘s name is drawn from a popular song. In this case,
Melanie‘s song from 1971.
327
This appeared on the Australiana special of Spicks and Specks, first aired on ABC TV in
September 2010 and later featured on the release Spicks and Specks World Tour (2010). For more
details of original broadcast see http://www.abc.net.au/tv/spicksandspecks/txt/s3011437.htm,
accessed 1/5/11.
187
Far from fragmenting and demeaning music and its traditions, these multiple
music/media crossovers also construct ‗bridges‘ between audiences, panel
members, musicians, and collective musical memory.
3. MUSIC TELEVISION IN THE POST-BROADCAST ERA: THE
SUCCESS OF ROCKWIZ AND SPICKS AND SPECKS ON DVD, IN PRINT
AND IN THE WIDER MULTIMEDIA MARKETPLACE
In Show Sold Separately: Promos, Spoilers and Other Media Paratexts (2010),
Jonathon Gray argues that there is a need for contemporary studies of media and
related fields to go beyond existing understandings of individual programs and
texts. In particular, he develops a study of ―Paratexts‖, that is, texts that were
originally developed to support a primary text (such as a five minute promo for a
feature film). Gray argues that television programs or films can no longer be
considered to have begun or ended with broadcast transmission or a particular
screening, but that by virtue of these paratexts, notions of beginnings and endings
are more complicated. He argues the need to consider ―the true beginnings of
texts‖ as defined not just with individual items, but rather ―as coherent clusters of
meaning, expectation and engagement‖ drawing particular attention to ―the text‘s
first initial outposts, in particular trailers, posters, previews and hype‖ (2010: 47),
as well as questioning narratives of end (or death-like points) for texts, arguing
that an end point for a text is almost impossible when the paratexts (and their
circulation) are also considered, as ―there is never a point in time where a text
frees itself from the contextualising powers of paratextuality‖ (2010: 45).328
In addition to regular music quiz television programming. Spicks and Specks and
RocKwiz have each developed various paratexts during their time on air. These
materials have been specially developed carrying clear Spicks and Specks or
RocKwiz branding, but often appear in formats other than broadcast music
television. Using Gray‘s model of paratexts and their uses, I will explore several
328
Gray writes ―especially thoughtful reviews may cause us to reflect once more upon an alreadyseen film or television program; academic articles and close readings may open up whole new
realms of texts for us; toys or games might place a text in a while new setting, bit by bit shifting
our understanding of it; and so forth. In other words, there is never a point in time where a text
frees itself from the contextualising powers of paratextuality‖ (2010: 45).
188
of these now, showing that paratexts help to further extend the televised music
quiz text, and thus extending the crossover between music and television
continues as these industries develop in the current period of change. In addition,
here I am drawing on the principles of what is now commonly called the ―postbroadcast‖ television environment, that is, in which television programs are
developed with a view to being delivered beyond their initial broadcasts for DVD
and other types of release.329
3.1 Interactive quizzes and games
Spicks and Spicks and RocKwiz have both released interactive quizzes and games
on various platforms, including DVD-Roms and board games (Spicks and
Specks); and paper based quiz books and iPhone/iPad applications (RocKwiz).
While I will explore the specifics of these shortly, I first want to locate this pattern
of multimedia music quizzes within a wider context and discuss the history (and
success) of paratexts in the popular music and television markets to date. Some of
the most famous (and lucrative) cross market paratexts, for example, have been
released in relation to the popular music industry, including the short films created
for The Beatles in the 1960s (which came to be viewed as precursors to music
video), as well as more recent cross-media engagements such as the development
of The Beatles‘ Rock Band game (2009).330 The latter has been marketed as a
particularly important paratext as it encourages both new and older generations to
engage with this seemingly already maximised popular music icon, and has
inspired questions of whether The Beatles can again provide salvation during a
period of rapid change as Time Magazine Online asked ―Can The Beatles- Rock
Band
Save
the
Music
Business?‖
(Corliss,
2009;
accessed
http://www.time.com/time/magazine/article/0,9171,1920294,00.html,
via
5/6/11).
Cross market paratexts for television have proven extremely lucrative when
developed for character-driven television programs especially with science fiction
programs like Doctor Who maintaining a strong audience via paratexts like books
329
For more on the Post-broadcast television environment see studies such as Television Studies
After Television: Understanding Television in the Post-Broadcast Era (2009: Turner and Jay eds),
It‟s not TV: Watching HBO in the Post-Television Era (2008: Lavette et al eds).
330
Released on 9/9/09, this is a dedicated Beatles version of the previously established Rock Band
video game franchise.
189
and published fan fiction even when the television program itself was not in
production for extended periods (Perryman, 2008: 23-4).
In more recent times paratexts, especially those that appeared online or in video
gaming, have been viewed with some caution by traditional popular music and
television industries, most obviously because of a fear these new platforms for
delivery may overtake the popularity (and influence) of the older forms.
Narratives of birth and death relating to the music and television industries
particularly have been tied to narratives of new ways of engaging with these texts,
or, as Gray argued, the possibility that ―some audience members will find that the
universe [of paratext] is more interesting‖ than the core texts they reference
(2010: 46). However, as I have shown thus far, fears of birth or death are not
necessarily actually founded on a real threat to individual categories of content or
artistic expression, but rather threats to profitability as industrial structures change
over time. For programs like Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz, programs whose
viability on broadcast television is not based on a minimum financial return, the
construction of commercial paratexts does not pose a threat to the original text,
but can only serve to enhance and promote it. Further, by entering the commercial
market via paratexts, Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz can actually enter the
commercial music and television (and post-television) markets as crossover
products in their own right, as opposed to being mere vehicles to deliver material
to these markets.
In a study of video games developed around existing television games and films,
Gray (2010) offered two possible criteria ―to understand the videogame
‗adaptation‘ or extension‖ (2010: 192) First, he argues it is important to consider
―how well it [the game] would fare if its characters, plot and world were not
rooted in the film or television program‘s diegesis‖ (ibid), but also he argues that
video games based on television programs need to offer the player an opportunity
―of being able to ‗inhabit‘ the world and its characters and to enjoy a different
relationship to them than the film or program allows‖ (Gray, 2010: 192). Both of
these criteria are present in the interactive games created for RocKwiz and Spicks
and Specks. For example, the iPod/iPad RocKwiz app (Hardie Grant Publishing,
2011), is marketed directly in relation to the television music quiz (―Think you
190
know your music trivia? Then try the new RocKwiz app, based on the hit TV
show‖), and offers the player the opportunity to simulate the experience of
participating in music in the same way that those on the television program do
(―RocKwiz is a fantastic music trivia game that will test even the most serious
music lover's knowledge‖), but with the additional capacity to allow this
interactivity to cross from the local to the international arena, ―The app features
over 2000 multiple choice questions and lets you compete for the highest score
against other RocKwiz players across the world‖.331 Similarly, the Spicks and
Specks interactive DVD games (Hopscotch, 2007; 2009) also offer players the
opportunity to interact with music in the same way that the television program
does, with the DVD commentated by Hills who urges players to organise
themselves into groups as ―Team Alan‖ and ―Team Myf‖, and then reads the
questions and gives the answers as the game progresses. At the conclusion of the
game a specially produced message by Spicks and Specks captains Warhurst and
Brough is also delivered direct to camera, so as to simulate the experience of
being part of the program and winning (or losing) with these regular players.
Spicks and Specks has also developed two more traditional paratexts, releasing
two board games (2008; 2010). Like the interactive DVDs, these mimic the
television show by asking participants to join teams and answer musical questions
according to nominated categories, as well as perform the ―Substitute‖ game
where the players choose a book to provide makeshift lyrics to mash with a
nominated song. This low tech version of the paratext builds on the wide audience
demographic for the broadcast television show, as the board game requires no
technological knowledge or equipment. As such, the Spicks and Specks music
television crossover, a crossover which engages audiences across generations, is
further consolidated in this paratext through this older (and less technologically
restrictive) board game. This is an appeal that extends beyond the music television
crossover as Spicks and Specks has become a brand (and object of influence)
seemingly without one exclusive media or music context. This is a type of
hybridity and innovation that Australian Rolling Stone journalist might have been
331
Details of this are available directly via the Australian iTunes store at
http://itunes.apple.com/au/app/RocKwiz-the-bumper-music-quiz/id398093173?mt=8,
5/5/11.
accessed
191
hinting at when he described the program as something other than a music
television quiz, but rather as a ―Music Quiz Cabaret‖ (Matheison, 2008: 43).
3.2 DVDs and live tours
Music/television crossovers are a form of television that arguably shouldn‘t be
able to be successfully repeated beyond its initial broadcast. It is a type of
television that can be considered as part of a category Bonner called ―ordinary
television‖ (2003), or television that serves to provide the television landscape
with a ―flow of undemanding pleasantness‖ (2003: 38) that is rarely replayed or
repeated (2003: 40).332 As forms of ordinary television Spicks and Specks and
RocKwiz should not normally lend themselves to being captured and repeated via
DVD, however each program has successfully developed DVD releases, issuing
not whole seasons, but specials episodes that can easily be revisited. In particular,
RocKwiz‘s CD and DVD releases have achieved significant sales in the local
market, with the RocKwiz special release RocKwiz Salutes the Bowl nominated for
an ARIA award for Best Music DVD in 2009. Bonner‘s insistence that for
ordinary television ―two layers of generic description are necessary … not just a
series but a hospital series, not just a game show but a dating game show‖
(Bonner, 2003: 9), can also be applied to music/television to help articulate its
crossover function (drawing music and television audiences and artists together in
the one program).
There have been several RocKwiz DVD and CD releases, most often presented as
productions of the duets commissioned for and featured on the show.333 These
duets are offered in series compilations to be played as a single concert by the
viewer, or selected individually. This selecting of material rather than reproducing
all of an originally broadcast program is common practice both for material that
may go out of date quickly, but also for material that might not be able to be
cleared for copyright across platforms. However, by choosing to focus on the duet
332
Bonner does argue that cooking shows are an exception to this, although does not elaborate as
to why.
333
I say most often because the notable exception to this is RocKwiz Salutes the Bowl, which
included the full quiz episode complete with contestants answering questions and full
performances, as well the option to select just the songs for playback.
192
performances for the RocKwiz DVD and CDs, the television music quiz overtly
foregrounds the crossover between television and music, implying that the most
important part of RocKwiz is the specially commissioned television music
performance. As RocKwiz producer Bain-Hogg explained, the commissioning of
this performance has been a key way that the show has maintained its appeal on
and beyond television, as the producers arrange these, as far as possible, directly
with musicians using a model not normally employed in music television,
The way that we operate is, when we contract a performer to come on RocKwiz, what we
are buying is that performance ... But unlike a show like Rove where [musicians] are told
‗oh, you want to be on our show? Well make your way to the studio, you put yourself up
and get it there and we might put you on‘, we ring up and say ‗we‘ll fly you in, we‘ll
accommodate you, we‘ll pay you a fee, we‘ll get you to the airport and back‘. ... We pay
the same fee to everyone, doesn‘t matter who it is, and we‘ve found out that that‘s quite
unusual. And the reason for that is that we‘re not falling into that record company line of
‗you will have our artist and you will have them for nothing but they‘ll sing the song that
we tell them to sing‘ (Bain Hogg interview with author, 2009).
This account of the difference between RocKwiz and commercial television‘s
interaction with the music industry demonstrates a new type of crossover that
RocKwiz has pioneered. Specifically, using this program Bain-Hogg and his
colleagues are seeking to create opportunities for musicians that were not possible
elsewhere (by allowing them exposure on television performing material beyond
what a record company may expect), but in doing so the audience for the
television quiz is also given a chance to hear and see artists, and material, they
may not have otherwise encountered. In ‗buying that performance‘ RocKwiz is
also able to repackage it for the post-television environment, and further promote
music via television, but also use music to draw audiences to the television (and
post television) product.334
The DVD compilations also include exclusive commentaries by hosts Julia
Zemiro, Brian Nankervis and members of The RocKwiz Orkestra (Peter
Luscombe, Mark Ferrie and James Black). The group introduce each duet and
334
Bain-Hogg noted a couple of examples where new music industry collaborations were formed
following appearances on RocKwiz or where young artists were given some of their first exposure.
Specifically, he explained, ―Ella Hooper first met Deborah Conway on RocKwiz and Deborah then
invited her to go on her national Broad tour [a tour featuring female musicians in collaboration],
then people like Jen Cloher, the first time she‘d ever been on TV for RocKwiz‖ (Bain-Hogg,
interview with author, 2009).
193
give details of why the songs and artists were chosen, and perhaps also with some
other details about the production more generally, including their own credentials
and stories of fandom. Information about the specific conditions of each duet are
provided, giving the audience details of the success of duets and guests‘
enthusiastic participation, (such as the description of the ―great chemistry‖ and
―private jokes‖ shared by Tim Rogers and Rebecca Barnard as they prepared and
performed ―Stop Dragging My Heart Around‖),335 but also discussions of duets
that almost didn‘t happen, such as Luscombe and Nankervis‘ description of
needing to convince American musician Chris Ballew that he could perform the
song ―Candy‖ after a misunderstanding with his management about the
performance.336 Lucsombe explained using a music industry reference, ―I took on
the Herb Cohen, you can negotiate anything strategy‖. 337 He went on to explain
his discussion with Ballew, then concluded that Ballew‘s hesitation would at least
make ―good TV‖, both an acknowledging the television program‘s need for
interesting visuals, but also implying that the performance might not sound good
enough. Interestingly, what is generally absent from these DVDs are the actual
quizzes themselves, with no record of who won each quiz kept on the DVD
releases.
In this post-broadcast, DVD version of RocKwiz, the crossover
music/television performances remain central.
In contrast, the Spicks and Specks DVD releases include full programs as well as
―extended versions‖ of the programs. For example, the Spicks and Specks: The
Remixes (2010) release included material that needed to be edited out to fit the
program‘s half hour broadcast restriction, because, as the promotion for the DVD
proclaimed, ―sometimes a half-hour is not enough!‖ (ibid). Although there the
DVD is not labelled to indicate which scenes were originally cut, the four
episodes of the quiz on this release include long discussions between the quiz
questions and performances from the guests about their careers, the type of
contextualising of music that has been a key feature of Spicks and Specks as
televised. For example, the first episode on the compilation features an extended
335
This appeared in the special features just prior to the performance on RocKwiz The Duets: Two
For The Show (2006).
336
This explanation is given on the special features of RocKwiz Vol II Duets (2007) just prior to
the performance of Candy by Ballew and Chelsea Wheatley.
337
Cohen was a famous record label owner and manager to Frank Zappa and Tom Waits.
194
discussion of some of the first things guest musicians Seasick Steve and Guy
Garvey bought when they earned significant amounts of money from their music.
The answers - a tracker and pair of image stabilising binoculars - allowed the
panel of musicians and non musicians to play with the idea of fame and
celebrating when recognised for your craft (also contributing to the discussion
was comedian panelist Nina Conti, who discussed briefly how she celebrated after
winning the Barry Award at the Melbourne comedy festival). At the conclusion of
this, Hills admitted that the quiz had been momentarily abandoned because the
person offstage keeping score had been too distracted to keep up.338 While music
was used to launch the discussion, here the program moves beyond the need to
swap established musical knowledge in the form of the quiz and instead allowed
the contemporary musician guests to discuss interests that audiences might not
have expected of them, with the revelation particularly amusing in the case of
Garvey, whose interest in bird watching and the binoculars is at significant odds
with his public persona as part of the alternative rock band Elbow. When fellow
musician Seasick Steve asks, ―Do you write down the birds you see?‖, Garvey
laughs back, saying ―No, that would be too geeky.‖
Also added to the DVD versions of the Spicks and Specks that wasn‘t initially
broadcast was a part of the Britannia themed show339, where pop/jazz Jamie
Cullum described wanting to stop while on tour to have a BBQ, only to release
that the place the bus had stopped was a notorious gay beat. This anecdote, which
is in many ways in direct contrast with Cullum‘s artistic persona developed
through his relatively unprovocative music, provided the audience with access to
an unexpected side of Cullum‘s character, which he played up to by
disingenuously asking Hills what ‗dogging‘ was, to which Hills replied ‗that‘s
when you take your Labrador down the park‘, and was interrupted by Brough who
finished the answer, saying ‗and you fuck it‘. The content and language used were
not appropriate for broadcast (as confirmed when this small segment was also
posted on YouTube by the ―NewOnTheAbc‖ official channel and labelled ―the
338
This continues throughout this episode, as Hills concludes the next round by saying ―at the end
of that round the scores are probably redundant‖, and doesn‘t even bother to try and obtain them
before continuing.
339
Originally aired on 2010, and featured on the Spicks and Specks: World Tour DVD (2010).
First broadcast details available via http://www.abc.net.au/tv/spicksandspecks/txt/s2897418.htm,
accessed 1/4/11.
195
unseen bit too naughty for TV‖),340 and indeed, the visuals made this even more
ridiculous as Cullum, Hills and Brough are dressed in costume to suit the
Britannia theme, with Cullum as a 1960s Beatle, Hills as a Mohawk-clad punk
and Brough in drag as Amy Winehouse. By posting this part of the
music/television program online, the ABC is able to reward audiences who may
have already engaged with the program on television by offering them
supplementary content, or they may also be able to attract audiences not familiar
with the television show, but rather using YouTube to access something else (such
as Cullum himself).341 The music/television crossover therefore has also become a
way to engage other crossovers, in this case a music/television/online crossover.
Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz have also both delivered live versions of their
programs, touring concert versions of their music quizzes in live music venues.
Again, however, how these were constructed was based on the strengths of each
program as music television quizzes, with RocKwiz focusing on the
straightforward performance of music, appearing as a stand-alone act at the Byron
Bay Bluesfest in 2010 alongside Crowded House, John Butler and The Fray, 342 as
well as featuring in live festivals including the Melbourne and Sydney Comedy
Festivals in 2010 and 2011 respectively.343 While the audience and organisers‘
expectations may have been slightly different for the comedy festivals, RocKwiz
organisers maintained an emphasis on musical performance during these
appearances. As Nankervis maintained,
We thought about that [a comedian or some novelty music] but I think that‘s really the
domain of Spicks and Specks, I think there‘s always been a clear delineation between the
two shows ... when we did the Comedy Festival show in Melbourne we invited a couple
of comedians who were interested in music to be part of the contestants pre-selection, so
we might do that in Sydney too. But they have to earn their way through. It‘s definitely
340
Accessed via http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=No46EBV6RzQ, 5/5/11
The ABC has tagged the YouTube clip using the following descriptors; ―spicks and specks;
jamie cullum; adam hills; alan brough; britannia special; abc1; abc2; comedy tv; humor comedy‖,
which would allow a YouTube user searching for any of these to be lead to the unseen clip just
discussed.
342
A full list of the festival performers is available at www.bluesfest.com.au, accessed 26 April
2010.
343
Just prior to the submission of this thesis a live version of RocKwiz had also just been
announced as a feature for the 2011 Homebake music festival in Sydney in December, 2011,
however there have been few other details released about what the performance context will be on
the day.
341
196
Rock-wiz, so our artists need to have a pretty solid background in rock and roll.
(Nankervis in Giuffre, 2011: 32).
Nankervis‘ emphasis here is on the continuation of the RocKwiz ideology beyond
the controlled music/television format. In particular, he maintains an emphasis on
music by presenting skilled performances, hence his reluctance to invite
comedians to perform at the RocKwiz comedy festival show if they are not
capable musicians. This emphasis on maintaining a link to skilled music
performance can also be seen with the release of the live DVD to support the
RocKwiz tour, the RocKwiz National Tour 2010 Official DVD (2010). This DVD
contains a rare full-quiz version of RocKwiz, but also attempts to capture the live
atmosphere of the show as it was staged in a theatre rather than for television at
The Esplanade.
The Spicks and Specks live show, The Spicks and Speck-tacular, was clearly
linked to the television program. The tour was promoted via its website as ―If you
only see one stage show loosely based on a comedic music quiz show then this is
it!‖ (http://www.spicksandspeckstour.com/theshow.html, accessed 5/5/11), and
with the same promotional site listing from the left to right details of the television
program (linking back to the ABC site for the program), then tour dates, then
general details of the live show (ibid). The Spicks and Speck-tacular was
promoted by Token Events,344 a specialist management company for Australian
comedians.345 In the lead up to the live tour, Warhurst explained the stage version
of the show to the press by saying, "It's going to be a theatrical experience ... A lot
more stories from me, Adam and Alan. There'll be a few of the games from the
show played with members of the audience." (Warhurst in Munro, 2007:
http://www.smh.com.au/news/music/rock-triviapursuit/2007/08/29/1188067192452.html, accessed 1/7/11). While some of the
mythologies of a live performance were evoked in the interview (Warhurst is
asked what drinks she might request for the backstage rider, and plays along by
citing some popular music legend, "Allegedly Carl Cox says 'No Moet, no showy';
and Ella Fitzgerald or Nina Simone - someone like that - used to say 'No
344
As indicated by the Token logo at the bottom of the Spicks and Speck-tacular site and the
media contact provided for Token publicist, http://www.spicksandspeckstour.com/media.html,
accessed 5/5/11.
345
For more on Token see www.token.com.au, accessed 5/5/11.
197
Chandon, no band on' ... So I'm thinking I might pull a few of those‖ ibid), it is
made clear that the entertainment will come from stories about music and live
performance rather than the delivery of masterful new performances. This
happens not only with Warhurst‘s recounting of popular music legend, but also
the final joke she makes in the interview about her (lack of) musical ability, ―I
could be up there playing Rainbow Connection - or Against All Odds, singing in
emotional 13-year-old style under a spotlight like it really matters. People'd come
to that, right?" (ibid). Like the television/live tour cross of RocKwiz then, here
Spicks and Specks via Warhurst demonstrates a wish to maintain the essential
features of the music/ television crossover even when the show is moved to a new
performative context. Here, this is done specifically by playing with popular
music convention and an irreverent, but passionate display of music fandom. At
the time of submission, a new Spicks and Specks live tour was planned to
celebrate the show‘s final season on television, but details beyond this were
unavailable.
4. CONCLUSION: TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY MUSIC TELEVISION
Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz can be understood as successful examples of
Australian music/television crossover that have emerged from the most recent
period of crisis. This is a crossover for a post-broadcast and post record-industry
music and media landscape. The unique conditions of the Australian music and
media markets have facilitated this type of crossover, and in particular have
allowed music/television to develop in Australia while other markets have yet to
re-establish themselves.346 My study of music quiz programs on Australian
television has explored the contemporary Australian television program, but
exploring the program‘s impact at a time when there has been a languishing if not
death of older forms of television, and a birth of new methods of engagement.
Focusing on the music quiz, I have explored the transformation of this form from
radio to television, showing how music quiz programs have provided Australian
television with exposure to music and musicians in a way that is not happening
elsewhere. Contemporary music programs in Australia have also developed new
346
I‘m thinking particularly here of the decline of staples of international music television such as
Top of The Pops in the UK which ended in 2006 after 42 years on air.
198
forms of music/television crossover, including music/television which rewards
knowledge of existing music television history, and music/television which
actively engages comedy to draw and maintain its audience.
Importantly, these Australian PSB music quizzes allow music/television
crossovers that might not be considered viable for commercial television, or, as
RocKwiz‘s Brian Nankervis described ―we have artists that would never get a
guernsey on Rove‖ (Nankervis, interview with author, 2009).347 Further, RocKwiz
producer Peter Bain-Hogg, explained ―we‘ve had the opportunity to take RocKwiz
to a commercial network and we‘ve kind of passed on it because we don‘t want to
change it” (interview with author, 2009), thus implying how RocKwiz‘s
music/television differs from what might be created in the commercial television
environment. 348 Spicks and Specks host/writer Adam Hills also explained how his
PSB music/television crossover was different from what a commercial
broadcaster could provide. He offered two key reasons for this,
First of all the ad breaks [on commercial television] would break up the flow of [Spicks
and Specks], and it would mean a 27 and a half minute show becomes and 22 and a half
minute show, and secondly when you‘re on a commercial network, we wouldn‘t have the
flexibility to have a didgeridoo virtuoso sitting opposite an opera singer, or you know,
Kim Salmon from The Scientists sitting opposite Brian McFadden. We wouldn‘t be able
to have the mix of a person that we‘ve got and that‘s what has made Spicks and Specks
work in the first place. (ibid)
The comments from Nankervis, Bain-Hogg and Hills demonstrate the central
place that music plays in their respective television shows. Hills‘ concern about
being able to run a longer program on a PSB is an unambiguous example of this,
as is Nankervis‘ emphasis on providing opportunities for musicians that might
otherwise not be considered commercially viable. The ―freedom‖ Nankervis
347
A reference to the tonight program on Channel 10 from 1999-2009.
Bain-Hogg also noted the difference between RocKwiz and Rove Live in terms of the relative
degrees of pressure from recording companies. Specifically, Bain-Hogg explained, ―We keep
across who‘s touring and who‘s releasing material and who we like, who we‘d like to get on the
show. We try to work outside the traditional [television and music format], the way that for
instance, Rove works, where, you know, with a show like Rove they are inundated by publicists
and record companies saying ‗please can we have our artists on your show?‘. We tend to work the
other way, we tend to ring the record companies and ring the managers and tour promoters
ourselves and ask if we can have them on the show, and it‘s really because we like them rather
than if they have a new record out or if they happen to be touring‖ (Bain-Hogg, interview with
author, 2009). I will return to this comparison between RocKwiz and programs like Rove again
below.
348
199
described with RocKwiz, and the quality that makes Spicks and Specks
successfully ‗work‘ that Hills‘ described, refer specifically to the way these
programs are able to incorporate music, and what types of music and musicians
they can engage, as part of their television programs. In short, they highlight how
Spicks and Specks and RocKwiz crossover between music and television, and
particularly how this music/television crossover functions on Australian PSBs.
200
CONCLUSION: SURVIVING THE NEXT ROUND OF BIRTHS, DEATHS
AND CROSSOVERS
In the foregoing chapters I have documented the emergence of crossovers
between music and media during periods of significant change. I have also shown
how these transitional periods are often received. Those who stand on either side
of the borders traversed by the new crossovers create narratives to arouse
emotional responses that serve their political agendas. I have argued the
importance of the way local conditions have informed music and media
production and consumption in Australia, particularly during such times of
change. All international markets have experienced periods of crisis, and these
have been reflected in generalised narratives of change that follow an identifiable
pattern of diagnosis, reflection, and prediction. But these crises and their
narratives, which have often been generalised internationally, do not always apply
regionally, as is exemplified in my account of the Australian experience. Over
time Australia has experienced its own periods of crisis, produced its own
narratives of birth and death to describe them, and developed its own crossovers
as a result. This thesis has tracked the distinctive features of the Australian market
as a way of counterbalancing dominant international narratives, but also as a way
of demonstrating how music and media continue to be implicated in evolution of a
distinct Australian identity.
I have demonstrated that during periods of change, art forms and industries like
popular music and media form new relationships in order to their maintain
audience interest. These relationships also provide opportunities for new artistic
forms to be created, with these hybrid forms brought about by a process of
crossover which ultimately generates products that can be called crossover
artifacts in themselves. The period of change frames itself through narratives of
birth and death. Those who benefit from that process and its products think in
terms of birth, while those whose industrial and cultural power is challenged by
change focus on degeneration, often through a trope of death. This thesis has
demonstrated that these negotiations and interactions between popular music and
media are carefully constructed rather than being spontaneously swept up in larger
unification processes like convergence. Against a background of the history of
201
birth/death narratives as markers of change, and of the associated crossovers, I
have worked towards gaining a better understanding of the current and continuing
period of flux for music and media.
The historical review has enabled us to position two contemporary Australian case
studies in particular. I showed how the music/television crossover of music video
programming in the relatively small Australian market (and its reliance on public
service broadcasting to support local broadcast and music content) contributed to
a culture of low-fi music video production and consumption during the 1980s and
90s, as Rage, as a form of music/television crossover, first functioned as an
audio/visual test pattern to help expand local content delivery, but also allowed
for the development of an aesthetic and approach that is now harnessed
internationally as an online/music crossover, as something of a ‗YouTube
aesthetic‘. With music video programming via the hostless Rage format I have
also shown that audiences and artists are able to engage with music/television in
ways outside the conventional, internationally dominant host-bound format.
Furthermore, while the hostless format tends to result in programs like Rage being
neglected in written histories of music and television, this program‘s quiet but
unquestionable influence remains extremely significant. I also explored the
resurgence of music quiz programs on Australian television from 2005 to 2011,
when audiences for music and television were clearly ready for if not consciously
seeking an interaction between the two forms of art through a form of engagement
that was unavailable elsewhere. These programs offer a music and television
crossover aimed at wide demographics and audiences with varying levels of
existing knowledge about music, and they also offer comedy and music/television
nostalgia as access points.
Music quiz programs on television in Australia have provided ways for music and
television audiences to be drawn together, and they encourage appreciation of
both music and television through the crossover program. In addition, RocKwiz
and Spicks and Specks have catered to audiences and artists in a post-broadcast
and post-record company based music and media industry, with paratexts also
successfully launched and maintained. These programs have been particularly
important in presenting and celebrating local Australian identity and artistry both
202
for contemporary music and television, but also music and television from
Australia‘s past. This has also helped to develop crossover audiences for music
and media that are from different demographics including cross-generational. The
support of public service broadcasters has been invaluable here.
I have focused on music/television crossovers because of their dynamic nature in
Australia in contemporary times, but space limitations have prevented me from
conducting an exploration of the less prominent, but potentially just as fruitful and
instructive crossover relationship between music/radio crossovers. In particular,
further research could profitably be conducted into crossover products and
processes such as those that have been engaged with ABC youth radio network
Triple J, particularly initiatives like the commissioning of live local performances
and amateur competitions like the Unearthed initiative.349 A further instructive
investigation for future work would be into commercial radio/music crossovers
like the Take 40 Australia countdown, which has now also developed into a
successful music/radio/online/mobile crossover with music videos available to
download and purchase with the Take 40 app and online at www.take40.com.350
Since I first began a focused exploration of this topic in late 2007 there have been
many developments in the Australian media and arts sectors, including changes to
formal and informal policies, as well as developments in programming, artistic
practices and audience patterns of engagement. I have noted these changes as they
have occurred until the time of writing, August 2011, but rapid change continues,
as on 11 August 2011 the Australian Commonwealth Minister for the Arts Simon
Creen launched ―Next step to first National Cultural Policy in almost 20 years‖
(http://www.minister.regional.gov.au/sc/releases/2011/august/sc099_2011.aspx,
accessed 11/8/11). Significantly, Creen positioned the 2011 update in relation to
the Paul Keating government 1990‘s publication Creative Nation, an arts project
that was also launched at the onset of (and anticipating) a period of rapid
349
Unearthed is a Triple J initiative dedicated to helping promote unsigned Australian bands. On
October 5th, 2011, Triple J plans to launch a digital-only station dedicated solely to Unearthed
artists. For more details see http://www.abc.net.au/triplej/unearthed/, accessed 2/9/11.
350
For further details of the history and broadcast range of Take 40 Australia see
http://www.take40.com/about/take-40, accessed 14/8/11.
203
change.351 Creen argued that his investigation would help provide an
understanding of how Australian arts are continuing to contribute to national
discourses in 2011 and beyond, but also, notably, how the Australian market is
still defined and influenced by distance. In particular, Creen proposed future
government policy ensure that distance was not an obstacle for Australian artists
and audiences, by declaring, ―We want to keep up with change and ensure all
Australians - no matter who they are or where they live - can access arts and
culture
in
all
its
many
forms,
particularly
in
regional
areas‖
(http://www.minister.regional.gov.au/sc/releases/2011/august/sc099_2011.aspx,
accessed 11/8/11). Creen also argued for the articulation of the Australian arts
model so that it could be compared to, and promoted to, the international arena;
―A renewed National Cultural Policy will ensure Australia doesn't miss important
opportunities to tell our stories, educate and skill our workforce and enable our
culture to connect with the rest of the world‖ (ibid).
Also since I began this work, two significant contemporary Australian
music/media crossovers, music video program Video Hits and music television
quiz Spicks and Specks, have ended regular transmission. During the final months
of my project Video Hits and Spicks and Specks broadcasters‘ each announced
that different music/television programs will be included in their schedules in
2012, with Video Hits‘ former champion Channel 10 reviving music television
variety program Young Talent Time (originally broadcast 1971-1988),352 and the
ABC developing a new arts entertainment program for Spicks and Specks with cohost Myf Warhust, as well as commissioning a second series of Adam Hills‘
351 I discussed Creative Nation towards the end of Chapter Two. Creen used the Keating
government‘s terminology as well as referring directly to its policy in his arts launch, ―Labor
firmly believes that a creative nation is a productive nation, which is why we invest over $740
million each year directly in the arts and other cultural activities. But 17 years after the Keating
Government released its comprehensive cultural policy statement - Creative Nation - it's timely
that we reassess and more effectively connect the arts and creative industries into the mainstream
of
modern
Australia‖,
http://www.minister.regional.gov.au/sc/releases/2011/august/sc099_2011.aspx, accessed 11/08/11.
352
Young Talent Time was recently announced as part of the 2012 line up for Channel 10, with
suggestions that the revamped version will nonetheless closely follow the established
music/television crossover form that was developed in the 1970s. See further
http://www.smh.com.au/opinion/blogs/media-matters/ten-revives-young-talent-time-and-entersbreakfast-tv-20110818-1iyum.html, accessed 18/8/11. During this concluding discussion I
reference several several similar (often author unattributed) online news reports of recent
developments in the music and television industries in August 2011. I have given full access
details as far as I can, but I have not added these to the bibliography unless I quote them directly.
204
variety/music program, In Gordon St Tonight.353 These replacements are distinct
categories of music/television, notably variety and host based programming,
suggesting that a new type of crossover (or a return to a category of crossover in a
renovated form) is being offered to respond to a still changing local music/media
environment. Media Reporter for The Australian Amanda Meade, for example,
quoted a statement from Channel 10 Chief Programmer David Mott clearly
articulating the reason for Video Hits‘ termination its then form,
Music and how people listen to it, watch it and enjoy it has changed dramatically in the
last few years and now is the perfect time for the institution that is Video Hits to sign off.
The show will always hold a special place in TEN‘s history (Mott in Meade, 2011,
capitals
as
in
original,
posted
6/07/11
at
http://blogs.theaustralian.news.com.au/tvinsider/index.php/theaustralian/comments/ten_br
354
eaks_silence_on_cuts/, accessed 14/8/11).
Similar narratives of change were also set out in music press coverage of Video
Hits‘ demise. Music industry newsletter TheMusic.Com.Au, quoted Music
Victoria spokesman Patrick Donovan as saying ―With Specks & Specks biting the
dust too, Rage and Rockwiz are the last chances for Australian acts to get exposed
to massive TV audiences,‖ (Donovan in Your Daily SPA, posted 5/7/11,
http://themusic.com.au/newsletter/video-hits-axed-abc-owe-us-music,
accessed
14/8/11). Further, Donovan suggested that older forms of music/television
crossover be reborn in order to restore what was being lost with the passing of
Video Hits: ―If the commercial channels can‘t make money out of music TV
shows, then the ABC has a responsibility to provide those outlets for bands and
music fans. ... Surely it‘s time for a new Recovery” (ibid).355
A few weeks after the conclusion of Video Hits on August 6 2011, Channel 10
issued a press release detailing its future plans for music/television crossover,
proclaiming that ―Young Talent Time 2012 will be a contemporary take on the
353
For details see http://www.theage.com.au/entertainment/tv-and-radio/spicks-tunes-up-forspecktacular-hurrah-20110728-1i24g.html, accessed 15/8/11. I note also that In Gordon St Tonight
began on air in 2011 prior to the seventh and final season of Spicks and Speaks, but it will return
for a second (and possibly longer season) in 2012.
354
This quote appears to have been circulated widely to the press, and was reproduced elsewhere
including ABC online, http://www.abc.net.au/news/2011-07-06/ten-axes-video-hits/2784252
(accessed 14/8/11), and Crikey.com, http://www.crikey.com.au/2011/07/06/vale-video-hits-theworlds-2nd-longest-running-music-vid-show/ (accessed 14/8/11).
355
Recovery was an ABC TV music/television crossover screened in the 1990s that featured live
performances and interviews. One of its hosts was Dylan Lewis, who later went on to host Video
Hits until it was cancelled.
205
original format – just right for the Glee generation‖.356 With this the broadcaster
indicated its commitment to music/television crossover, as well as the influence of
international music/television forms, with Glee, the American musical program
that is also screened locally (also on Channel 10).
I have focused on
contemporary Australian crossovers in this study, but this last point invites some
reference to noteworthy international crossovers that have also been developed
during the time of writing. Most notably, the American television/music program
Glee (2009-ongoing) has been purposefully created as a collaboration between
television and music companies and artists. As the senior VP of marketing for Fox
television, Laurel Bernard, told Billboard magazine, "the show pushes the music,
and the music equally pushes the show" (Bernard in Herrera, 2009: 25). The
program‘s launch was promoted on the official News Corporation website as
a significant multiplatform deal [whereby] Columbia Records will be the official music
partner of Twentieth Century Fox Television‘s eagerly anticipated new comedy musical
series ―Glee.‖ As part of the deal, Columbia will release music from the show – as both
single tracks and soundtracks – on iTunes and other digital platforms as well as in retail
outlets. (http://www.newscorp.com/news/bunews_12.html, posted 18/5/09, accessed
11/8/11).
This clearly demonstrates how the program was designed to serve both the
interests of the music and television from a production standpoint, but this desire
to engage audiences with interests in both music and television was also expressed
by the show‘s creative team. The television show‘s use of music has been
compared to other types of audience draw cards (―in [suspense based drama] 24
you would have a special effects budget- on Glee we have a music budget. Music
is our special effects‖ Geoff Bywater, head of the music department at 20th
Century Fox Television, quoted by Herrera, 2009: 25).
Glee‘s success as a crossover can also be considered from a music/media
perspective that moves beyond broadcasting; Bywater continued, ―What makes
the show work so well is the storylines, the comedy and the music choices, which
are perfect for the [video game] 'Rock Band' generation‖ (Bywater in Herrera,
356 This press release was variously requoted in Australian music and general press, including
industry newsletter The Music Network, accessed via http://themusic.com.au/newsletter/newyoung-talent-time-aimed-at-glee-fans, 19/8/11; and The Daily Telegraph online, accessed via
http://www.dailytelegraph.com.au/everything-old-is-new-again-on-tv/story-fn6b3v4f1226116977999, 19/8/11.
206
2009: 25).357 In a study focused on America (but aimed internationally), Billboard
declares ―2009 was a year when the film/TV music industry took some chances and saw some big payoffs in terms of creative accolades and sales‖ (Donahue,
2009: 22), a comment based particularly on the success of Glee, as well as the
continued popularity of programs like American Idol. While the term ‗crossover‘
was not used in this article, the examples that were given in the rest of it, in music
supervisors‘ accounts of how they got their music on television programs, outlines
the processes and effects that I‘ve called crossover throughout this thesis. Glee‟s
success in music and television has been confirmed with sales and audience and
industry acknowledgments. In October 2010 Billboard reported that ―the case of
Fox‘s ‗Glee‘ breaks the [sic] Beatles‘ record for most appearances among nonsolo acts in the chart‘s 52-year history‖ (Trust, 2010: 42), while the program also
achieved television industry appraisal as it was received 12 Emmy nominations in
2011
(http://www.billboard.com/news/glee-american-idol-score-major-emmy-
nominations-1005277422.story#/news/glee-american-idol-score-major-emmynominations-1005277422.story, accessed 17/8/11).
The success of programs like Glee, and the return to youth music/television
crossover programming internationally and in Australia, also begs the question of
the relationship between genre and crossover, one which has arguably always
been important but often overlooked. While I have begun to explore links between
music and comedy for television in the Australian market, internationally there
remains scope to explore crossovers between music/television for other program
types and demographics, as for example children‘s programming. One of
Australia‘s most successful artists ever, children‘s entertainers The Wiggles, owe
much of their influence to the fact that they are crossover music/television artists,
whose first album and DVD celebrated its twentieth anniversary in 2001.358 These
357
Rock Band, and associated music video games are also an emerging and very important
crossover to watch. Although there hasn‘t been too much written about it to date, see Kushner
(2009) and his discussion of Beatles‘ RockBand.
358
I acknowledge here that The Wiggles have released a range of multimedia merchandise
including toys, books, games and online products, as well as performing highly successful live
shows, however here I am focusing on their original form, which was The Wiggles self-titled TV
program as originally developed as extended music videos to be broadcast on ABC TV, Australia,
in 1991 and subsequently released on DVD the same year. For more details of the comprehensive
Wiggles catalogue (as well as details of Australian and international releases associated with the
band), see www.thewiggles.com.au.
207
artists can be equally categorised as successful television hosts and musicians (as
well as live performers and songwriters), and have regularly appeared on the
Business Review Weekly (BRW)‘s list of highest paid entertainers in Australia.359
They have also become unlikely embodiments of international Australian success,
as international artists such as Robert De Niro and Jerry Seinfeld have been
reported as fans.360 Indeed, in my own work as a music journalist I have also been
able to engage international musicians with Australian culture using The Wiggles
as initial icebreaker, notably with relatively new parents Dave Stewart from The
Eurythmics and solo singer/songwriter Martha Wainwright.361 While it is has been
beyond the scope of this project to explore music/media crossovers as they were
targeted at particular audience demographics, children‘s entertainment is an area
where crossovers have been particularly successful.
In addition to case studies in Australia such as The Wiggles‘ various programs,
Play School (1966-ongoing), and international programs like America‘s Sesame
Street (1969-ongoing) also regularly draw audiences and artists by engaging both
music and television forms. While children (particularly those pre-school age) are
not a demographic that is often considered in examinations of popular music or
media (beyond studies of educational impact or narratives of children‘s relative
vulnerability to exposure to certain ideas or concepts), perhaps a framework like
that of the crossover would provide a way to begin examinations of this
overlooked, but highly successful market. The longevity of these programs alone
warrants further investigation, and given that they draw heavily on a crossover
359
In 2008 the group were named the highest paid Australian entertainers by BRW for that year
(http://www.theaustralian.com.au/news/nation/wiggles-again-top-paid-entertainers/story-e6frg6nf1111117445600, accessed 11/8/11), however since then they have dropped to second position after
AC/DC in 2009 (http://www.theage.com.au/executive-style/culture/hells-bells-acdc-tops-2009-rich-list-20091104-hx46.html,
accessed
11/8/11),
and
third
in
2010
(http://www.smh.com.au/photogallery/executive-style/culture/brw-top-entertainers-list--201020101201-18g23.html, accessed 11/8/11). Despite this drop, their achievements remain
remarkable.
360
This has been cited in various places including on The Wiggles official website, however first,
as far as I can tell, via http://www.smh.com.au/articles/2003/05/11/1052591672149.html (accessed
11/8/11).
361
Stewart‘s discussion of The Wiggles actually made it into the final interview feature that I was
writing at the time as the opening line, with Stewart saying, playfully, ―They're the biggest earning
entertainment act in Australia, aren't they? It's a bit worrying‖ (Stewart in Giuffre, 2006: 6).
Wainwright‘s comment was also made as part of an interview in January 2011, but didn‘t make it
to publication. She referenced The Wiggles when discussing what she might do with her young
son when on tour in Australia.
208
between music and media (using television and musical presentation forms to
engage their young audiences), this lens may well provide be a useful tool to
analyse these overlooked cultural icons. The pattern of crisis and associated
crossover developments would also be a useful way to explore the context of
these children‘s music/television crossovers.
The importance of localisation with children‘s entertainment could also be
explored through a study of crossover, since music and other cultural formations
like language and accent are significant for this category. In particular, here I am
thinking of the importance of The Wiggles performing with recognisably
Australian accents and naming local animals and places in their songs and stories,
thus helping to maintain knowledge of the local idiom for the next generation of
Australian audiences.362 Indeed, localisation of children‘s crossover content is so
fundamental that The Wiggles has been developed internationally as a franchise
which uses local performers and while the different Wiggles‘ franchises have
been variously reported, a good overview of the group‘s global reach can be found
at their official website which opens at a world map and asks its audience to first
nominate their ―Wiggly location‖, (www.thewiggles.com.au, accessed 18/08/11).
As such, The Wiggles crossover has engaged music and media equally, but does
so in a way that can be adapted to different locations internationally. Such
enquiries are for another time and place.
In this dissertation I have shown that the relationship between music and media
industries and cultural forms, relationships that can be called crossovers, occur
notably during times of crisis. Further, I have shown that such crises are marked
(or bookended) by narratives of birth and death, narratives which are constructed
to reflect the politics which change will produce. Narratives of birth and death are
often constructed retrospectively to help acknowledge the significance of past
362
For example, see Wiggles‘ song and sketch called ―Fruit Salad‖ (1998), which also featured
Australian musician Paul Hester. The band and Hester sing about, show and describe all the fruit
they will use in the salad including a ‗banana‘, which they pronounce with a broad Australian
accent as ―ba-nar-nah‖, as opposed to an American ―ba-naah-na‖, which would be common on
other children‘s television shown here such as Sesame Street. With this simple crossover, then,
The Wiggles are able to engage Australian children with Australian accents via a music/television
crossover.
A
clip
of
the
sketch
can
be
found
via
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gB4MNu6W9sg, accessed 14/08/11, however the original was
released on the Hot Potato DVD (1998, ABC DVD).
209
changes, and to provide a model to understand and anticipate new changes. As I
have explored a current period of change in Australia, and key crossovers between
music and television here, other crossovers are being engaged internationally,
each narrated by commentators with their own agendas (and with birth and death
narratives present). For example, in a preliminary investigation of musicians‘ use
of the iPod/iPhone app as a new medium of musical expression and a way to
deliver existing and new art to their audiences, a 2009 article in Wired Magazine
proclaimed ―The Album Is Dead, Long Live the App‖ (Van Buskirk, 2009,
http://www.wired.com/epicenter/2009/08/the-album-is-dead-long-live-the-app/,
accessed 14/8/11). In contrast to this explicit evocation of a death, audio-visual
designer Scott Snibbe saw a birth when speaking to Billboard magazine about his
work with musician Bjork on an exclusive music app and album, Biophilia:
This is like the birth of cinema. It's an extremely exciting moment for musicians, for
artists, and I think this project is a nice step towards fully leveraging the medium with one
of the world's great artists to see what you can pull off when you get one of the world's
greatest musicians and some of the world's top developers in interactivity to work
together. And I think you'll see a lot more of it. I know the artists want to embrace it, and
if the record companies and labels can find a way to make this work financially and
contractually for the artists, I think everyone will really thrive (Snibbe quoted in Lipshutz,
363
2011: 23).
And so as I write the conclusion to this study, a new crossover between music and
media is emerging, with the app offered as a medium for delivery and engagement
of musicians and audiences. More locally, as recently as July 2011, The Sydney
Morning Herald made the connection between birth/death narratives and a
music/media crossover, as Australian band Regurgitator prepared to develop a
―coin-sized wearable badge that doubles as their latest [album] release‖
(Buchanan and Ellis, 2011: 24). The report was framed by a cyclic narrative of
birth and death regarding the rise and fall of vinyl and CDs, also including a
comment from the band‘s manager Paul Curtis: ―There‘s been a lot of doom and
gloom from people about the music industry lately, but there‘s also new
363
This birth narrative was so crucial to the story that it was repeated as an edited pull quote in the
original magazine layout, slightly edited but still beginning with the phrase ―it was like the birth of
cinema‖ and concluding ―if the record companies and labels can find a way to make this work
financially and contractually for the artists, I think everyone will really thrive‖ (Snibbe quoted in
Lipshutz, 2011: 23)
210
opportunities and we‘ve just said ‗Ok, let‘s go for it‘‖ (Curtis in Buchanan and
Ellis, 2011: 24).
Media and music technologies are undergoing perhaps the most rapid flux since
they emerged around the beginning of the twentieth century. But the rhetoric of
their narratives has remained unchanged. As new opportunities appear, so do new
narratives of optimism and pessimism, and importantly, potential for the
expansion of media/music crossovers. This continued expansion, which has
driven innovation to date, appears to be the key to great music/media crossovers,
and local artistic expression and audience engagement, for the future as well.
211
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DISCOGRAPHY
50 Years of TV: Channel 9 DVD (SonyBMG, 2006)
Johnny O‟Keefe: The Wild One (Warner, 2008)
Long Way To The Top: Stories of Australian and New Zealand Rock & Roll (ABC
DVD, 2001)
Offspring: Series 1 (Madman DVD, 2010)
RocKwiz Duets Vol 1: Two For the Show (Renegade DVD, 2006)
RocKwiz Duets Vol 2 (Renegade DVD, 2007)
RocKwiz Duets Vol 3: The Beat Goes On (Renegade DVD, 2009)
RocKwiz Salutes the Bowl (Renegade DVD, 2009)
RocKwiz National Tour 2010 (Renegade DVD, 2010)
Spicks and Specks: A Very Specky Christmas (ABC DVD, 2008)
Spicks and Specks: Up To Our Eras (ABC DVD, 2009)
Spicks and Specks: The Remixes (ABC DVD, 2010)
Spicks and Specks: World Tour (ABC DVD, 2010)
Tim Minchin: So Live (Madman DVD, 2007)