I don’t think I have anything new to offer on the subject of how artists’ lives can be ruined by an insatiable public thirst for their trauma, but right now, I’m fizzing with thoughts and feelings about it. Lately, op eds and news stories about the ‘Free Britney’ movement have been all over the media. There are so many angles that could be taken on the story, from a bit of salacious gossip, to voyeuristic coverage of a widespread conspiracy theory to an opportunity to examine and hold to account both the performance industries and media coverage of the not-so private lives of those in the public eye.
For the uninitiated who may have intentionally or otherwise missed this media ‘Circus’ (reference intended!), a new documentary covers Britney Spears’ father’s Conservatorship, which allows him control over her life and finances, as well as outlining the misogynistic and invasive harassment from all corners of the media at the height of her fame. This will likely come as no surprise to any of us – whether we actively follow pop culture, read tabloids or watch talk shows, I’m in no doubt that we’ve all seen how performers, and especially women and other ‘minorities’, are publicly treated. This is old news. Watching the documentary fired me up and reminded me of how devastated I was when I watched the posthumous Amy Winehouse documentary. And all of this reminds me of why I’ve made some of the decisions that I have.
Performers are often a little emotionally vulnerable. There’s a fragility about putting ourselves out there to the world, asking for attention, for people to relate to us, for judgement. Research* somewhat unsurprisingly shows that performers tend to have a strong drive to please others, and that eating disorders and alcohol/substance use issues are common. People who feel things unusually deeply and intensely often make the best singers, songwriters, actors and dancers because they become adept at channelling their joy, fear and pain into their artform and communicating it to an audience. Mix that with behemoth industries such as huge record labels and the tabloid press, and we have a perfect storm. Performers help us all to process our own feelings when we can’t, and to shake loose our own self-expression by sharing theirs. That in itself strikes me as something pure and just so essentially human. But the grubbier parts of our humanity that are never satisfied complicate things. These industries arguably exist to ‘give the people what they want’, and we apparently want more gossip, more albums released, just more of everything.
I’m not sure when I first consciously became aware of this. I’ve been performing all my life – since I was a tiny only-child in a sea of adults happy to indulge my nonsense, I would march into rooms, announcing that it was time for me to put on a show. Like a lot of kids, at a very young age I had vague ambitions of fame – I wanted to be like Cher and I made sure my entire street knew it when I sang into my hairbrush for them all to hear for the millionth time. My family and I fought tooth and nail for financial support to get me into a specialist music school. It took at least three years for the money to appear, only for me to walk out in a silent ‘diva strop’ around eighteen months later because I’d disagreed with the Director’s suggestions about my career plans. I knew, aged sixteen, that finishing formal musical education at that time wasn’t for me. I knew that even on the relatively small platforms of concert halls and opera houses that it was brutal out there. I still have huge respect for the friends who pursued this path and found it was the right one for them. But I knew it would be tough because I’d suffered horribly from performance anxiety (it didn’t have a name back then - I was just not good enough at controlling my nerves). And because I’d done competitions where equal weighting was given to my performance and how my outfit ‘flattered my (sixteen-year-old) figure’. And because I’d seen barely adolescent musician friends reduced to tears after being publicly humiliated by Directors with an ‘artistic temperament’. The often too-personal criticism and competition for work can encourage some pretty difficult relationships among peers – and for young people just finding their feet in the world, extra judgement and jostling for position doesn't seem healthy. I hope things have improved since I was that age - it seems some things have, while other issues stubbornly persist. I mention all of this because I changed my career plans from aspiring classically trained singer towards offering young people the support I’d needed – eventually, I learned how to support developing performers to feel safe, to self-advocate and to express themselves wholeheartedly. When I hear about what’s happened to artists like Amy Winehouse or Britney Spears, part of me hopes that I’ll be able to support a young person in a way that equips them with the tools to fight back, should they happen to land in the spotlight (or in fact, their local drama group with its charismatic, yet vaguely inappropriate Director).
It’s often struck me that the world of performance can lag behind other parts of society in terms of acceptable ways to interact with people and uphold their rights. Part of this seems to be about the idea that artistic success, fame or regular work as a performer are so desirable and scarce that every hopeful is ‘expendable’. The ‘Me Too’ movement shone a huge light on the abuse that takes place when this concept is allowed to take root in an already misogynistic world. The tired, abusive old adage is essentially, ‘if you won’t put up with this, there are a million younger, prettier girls who will and you’ll never work again’. (And of course, it’s not only women who are affected by this, but misogyny is a huge part of the picture). Greater numbers of people are starting to say no, to go public about this, to fight back. I’m encouraged to see young women artists taking back control of the music they release after horrific experiences with producers and record labels. Of course, the burden should not be on the survivor/victim of abuse to make these changes – we must all hold those in power to account. As ‘the public’, we are the ones being sold the idea that performers belong to us. It’s at least in part down to us to push back on this notion by voting with our feet or our wallets.
Some will say that this is the life performers have chosen and that they should be grateful for their success and graceful towards their detractors. Whether or not you’re particularly sympathetic towards pop singers, actors and the like, this stuff matters. It matters because it’s a barometer of how human lives are measured and valued. There's a disturbing paradox in how disposable and forgettable well-known performers can be seen to be by those with career making and breaking power, and yet how the paparazzi and the court of public opinion may decree that they also have no right to be forgotten or afforded any privacy. If we can objectify the people we demand to be entertained by, who help us to feel our own feelings, isn’t it possible that society is capable of doing this to all of us? And I have to mention the hit that’s been taken by the arts as a result of the pandemic plus (in the U.K at least) brutal funding cuts. Rest assured, it’s not going to be the big shot producers, company directors or media bosses bearing the brunt. So this is my plea for us all to support our local – and global – artists, remember that performers are people and speak up against abuse.
*E.g. Borland, 2011, ‘The Singer’s Psyche’.