Image via https://www.imdb.com/title/tt11563598/
Music Elitism and Purism
As a 90s-born younger millennial, I grew up under the wing of gen X rock elitists, not just in my own family but also growing up in the cultural landscape of the 2000s and 2010s. A major advantage to this upbringing was that, from an early age, I was surrounded by a plethora of fantastic, classic artists; however, it also limited my listening palate for a time until my own sense of curiosity took over and I sought new horizons to enjoy alongside my classic rock roots.
Sometimes the way we absorb what music is “acceptable” is subtle. It can be as covert as being praised when you show interest in your parents’ music, indicating this is a socially accepted choice, or when your local hipster at the university open mic seems surprised you don’t know their favourite indie artist, leading you to feel you must be missing out on the new voice of our generation. It can also be as overt as when you hear your older family members at the holiday gathering say that the newfangled music is trash, and then proceed to play their playlist which includes nu-metal — a genre which was treated like the end of music at the height of its popularity, yet nowadays has become a publicly acceptable genre to enjoy. I have nothing against nu-metal or any other genre of course, but what I am saying is opinions are like assholes: some people put more effort and care into theirs than others, and I’m at a point in my personal music exploration where I have no interest in listening to the opinions of someone who doesn’t clean theirs.
Every generation has their purists — listeners whose main purpose for choosing certain genres or artists is the perception that they are more authentic or pure-of-intent than others, whatever that may mean to them. As such, I was immediately familiar with one of the main themes this film explored throughout its lengthy but earned two hour and twenty minute runtime. Before the era of rock ‘n’ roll purists, there were folk music purists: fans of the tradition of, mostly, American folk music who believed rock music was popular, and popular music was made to be middle of the road and easy to consume, and therefore couldn’t possibly have anything deep to say. If pop music and rock ‘n’ roll were the ultra-processed, sweet and salty foods that cause the brain to light up, folk music must certainly be the fibrous, nutrient-rich whole, raw food that makes our digestive tract happy in the long run. Anti-pop sentiment is not new, but it has changed shape over the years depending on what counted as pop.
After a decade or two of rock music being considered popular around the mid-20th century, as rock music only got heavier and harder, the genre slowly became accepted by more mainstream audiences. No longer was the genre relegated to the realm of alternative freaks like hippies and rebels. This movement was headed largely by the popularity of artists like Elvis and the Beatles, who through variety shows such as the Ed Sullivan Show brought rock ‘n’ roll into the living rooms across the world. Also playing a role would be rock journalists, who had by this point done enough proselytising about rock’s significance through publications such as Rolling Stone and Creem magazine by that point. These factors would come together, wedging rock into its own separate category from pop music, earning it a place alongside folk music as a respected genre for the intellectually gifted to be allowed to enjoy. If it could be examined in an intellectual manner, then surely it couldn’t be too degenerate; thus, the masses were now allowed to admit that they enjoyed rock music. Once rock music became accepted in the mainstream, it came time to choose a trendy new genre to become the latest source of derogation, and a new genre was indeed chosen every few years: punk, disco, hip hop, heavy metal, alternative, nu-metal, industrial, EDM, hyperpop, and more. Every genre that even slightly goes against the popular sound gets a turn being scrutinized for a few years before mainstream journalism finally acknowledges that maybe, just maybe, it does have something important to say. And maybe, just maybe, does deserve a place in the intellectual pop culture environment.
Growing up, I definitely received praise for showing interest in older music, and because of this, it took until my early twenties to even begin allowing myself to enjoy modern music. I hadn’t really learned how to connect with pop music, even pop from the years of my own childhood. I had cousins and friends who loved Britney, Xtina, the Spice Girls, and Justin while I didn’t know much about them aside from the fact that they sang a few pop songs. The idea of an icon wasn’t something I understood at that age. I didn’t read teen magazines, or watch Disney Channel. I had little pop culture awareness, compared to some of my peers, until a bit later in life. The only modern artist I listened to at that time and felt like I understood beyond just the music was Avril Lavigne. Even then, once I discovered the Beatles I had somewhat lost interest in the alt pop singer who I felt then was moving away from her darker earlier albums into that 00s specific brand of pink-punk pop music. I felt so cool for liking music that adults thought was good. I felt a sense of wisdom and superiority over my peers. It’s very ironic, in hindsight, that the Beatles were the lowly pop music of their day, considered first too popular to be smart, and later too smart to be popular.
Bob Dylan
Throughout high school, I went through a few strong phases of hyperfixating deeply on one or two artists or bands, including the Beatles, the Who, Led Zeppelin, and, perhaps the two that have been the most influential on my own art, Patti Smith and Bob Dylan. While I genuinely loved their music and took an interest in their careers, I can’t lie, for an inquisitive teen who enjoyed intellectual challenges, such as myself, I also enjoyed feeling like I was taking part in the cerebral pursuit of understanding their music. It was poetry, it was complex, it was a puzzle. I wanted to be inspired by them, and I wanted to be them, especially Dylan.
I was astonished by his iconoclasm. To be as enigmatic, as abrasive, and as clever as Dylan, it was something that teenage-me couldn’t imagine. I was a painfully introverted and socially awkward teen. The thought of being so interesting and in control of the conversation that I could shut down dialogue that I felt was silly or useless with naught but the power of wit and contrarianism was an attractive image. He was a god to me, above even other rock stars, because I felt he conveyed that he truly, deeply did not care about what any other musician, journalist or even fans thought about him. Whether or not it was true, he carried himself as such and I wanted to learn how to wield this power and use it to my advantage. I think, as teenagers, we’re all figuring out what kind of person we want to become and choose our idols accordingly, but most of the time life has different plans. I never became an abrasive contrarian, nor do I think myself particularly enigmatic, but it’s hard to not still remain a Dylan fan once you are one. With an icon like Bob Dylan, there is far too much material musically, aesthetically and narratively to sift through for those interested in doing so, and, as I age, I find I discover new things within the lyrics as I gain new experiences and make new connections.
Teenage me was transfixed both by Dylan’s music, but also by his image and attitude. He was a fashion icon for teenage me, who was pre-discovering my gender identity and pre-feeling comfortable within my body. With one of the most recognizable profiles in music history, thanks to a fluffy head of curls, and a small frame which made suits hang off him like a wire hanger, there is no denying that Dylan’s mid-1960s style was iconic. There was an androgyny to mid-60s Dylan that I was drawn to: angular, gaunt facial features, long finger-picking nails, and clothes that hung off his shoulders with just enough structure to indicate masculinity and just enough shapelessness to make you unsure.
A Complete Unknown
Selecting Timothee Chalamet to play Bob Dylan was a fantastic choice, in my opinion. He balances all these different elements to Dylan’s identity and appearance. Chalamet naturally has the sharp jawline and the frame to match. Add a fluffy wig and the nasally cadence in his speech, and Chalamet made a damn convincing Bob Dylan. After COVID gave him a few extra years to prepare, I suppose it’s no surprise that an actor with a repertoire as diverse as Chalamet’s knocked it out of the park. My only critique would be that, in some scenes mostly near the opening of the film, the voice and accent were laid on so thick that I missed a few lines due to not being able to interpret what Chalamet was mumbling. I suppose I’ll have to rewatch the film with the subtitles sometime in the future. Going that far with the voice is a choice that is not hard to understand, as it’s truly not deviating far from Dylan’s true speaking voice, but I suppose I’d like to see some balance struck between the original voice, and knowing that, for the purpose of filming a movie, the lines need to be comprehensible.
Overall, as a fan, but maybe at this age no longer a super fan, I was quite pleased with the direction of the film. It gave enough of the biopic formula to avoid being confused with the more experimental I’m Not There, but not so much biopic formula as to feel boring. The last thing the biopic genre needs is five more Bohemian Rhapsodies. Besides, the formula was already such well-trodden ground that, in 2007, the film Walk Hard: The Dewey Cox Story already had the biopic formula down to its bare bones. Music and film fans are hungry for concepts that break the mould, which is why variations work so well. Whether it’s Rocket Man’s fantastical musical extravaganza, or Weird: The Al Yankovic Story’s lack of interest with reality at all, modern biopic making has one very simple rule: don’t be boring. I believe this is a large factor in why a film like Back to Black was largely looked down on with skepticism and disinterest. It’s easy to take any troubled celebrity and tell the story of their downfall — to point to them and say “look at how troubled they were, here are their lowest moments.” It’s much harder to make us cheer for their triumphs as we already know they have money, fame and success. It’s not news to the public that a famous singer played a good show, that is their job description. We expect it of them. Audiences want to be told a story that they don’t expect, and that they don’t even know they want. Tell us of a time a musician failed, maybe even on purpose. Tell us of a time a musician did not do what they were told.
If you haven’t seen the film yet, there are many unexpected moments that I was glad to see brought to the screen. Dylan is portrayed as cool. He is portrayed as an artist. He is portrayed as interesting. But he is also portrayed as selfish and very much not a hero. The film does not shy away from his less shining moments or traits: Dylan cheats on his girlfriend with Joan Baez, he slinks his way into the lives of people around him for his own gain, and in many scenes he is just plain mean, almost as if he enjoys ruining the good things in his own life. Perhaps the ultimate message of this film is Dylan as a disruptor, specifically to the folk music scene burgeoning in New York City’s Greenwich Village. First drawn to the area for his interest in folk music at the start of the film, Dylan is just as happy to burn it all down during the film’s climax when it no longer serves him by bringing his electric sound to the hipsters who prefer the purity of acoustic folk music.
Throughout the film, Bob Dylan’s lifestyle is juxtaposed directly against that of fellow folk singer Pete Seeger’s, portrayed on-screen by Edward Norton. We see Seeger portrayed as a kind, selfless man and who loves in the worldly sense. At one point in the movie, after meeting Dylan for the first time when he finds Seeger keeping the dying Woody Guthrie company in the hospital, he invites Dylan to stay in his home with his wife Toshi and their four children. The household is portrayed as a warm, progressive interracial family where love permeates the space. This warmth is contrasted to Dylan’s eternal coldness and inability to fit into that idea of ever being a good patriarch to a nuclear family. Seeger is a family man, while Dylan is a lone wolf who seems to prefer the freedom to follow his own whims moment to moment. Seeger feels a great duty to the folk community, while Dylan feels no duty to give the folk community what they want from him.
Roots
This dynamic presents an interesting question: to what do we owe our roots? To what do we owe those who helped lift us up to our status? It’s easy to say our roots are integral, they shaped us, they made us who we are. But does that mean they should grab a hold of us and dig deep below the soil, burying us in place with them? Allowed to grow, but only in one place? Some might say you have no choice but for your roots to hold you down, we’re all shaped in immeasurable, subconscious ways by our past and we can never fully escape it, even if we decide to grow twisting to the left. A Complete Unknown, and Dylan himself, instead asks can we not just be a dandelion instead and float wherever we want to roam?
Should Bob Dylan feel like he owes it to the folk community, which helped give his music the recognition it earned, to grow in the way they find acceptable? It’s hard to say that a musician doesn’t owe something to the fans who elevate them to the status they sit in in society and, while a fan calling him Judas may seem a touch dramatic to the modern eye, it’s also not hard to see why they would feel this way. From their perspective, this man entered the folk community, made a name for himself on the authenticity they value, the social causes they promote, and then proceeded to throw it all away for a shiny new Stratocaster, the tool of the mainstream musician.
Does it mean Dylan should feel tied permanently to that community anyway? Of course not. Any artist should feel free to choose the direction that speaks to them. Still, it’s hard to make an argument that you truly owe nothing to the community that was your training ground. The argument can be made that veering into a more rock sound is inauthentic, but for Dylan, not moving into that territory would have been inauthentic for him. He was a fan of rock musicians of the time and, as the film shows, it had always been an interest of his, not in conflict with his love of folk music, but working in conjunction with it.
Bringing It All Back Home
So what does all of this have to do with musical elitism? Being true to one’s roots has a lot to do with what is considered authentic when it comes to music. In the digital age, authenticity is valued more than ever, because on the internet it’s easier to hide parts of yourself than ever if you’re anything less than a minor celebrity. One of the main ways to signal this authenticity is to find ways to hint at your roots in a way only someone from that background could. A singer from the UK writing songs about life in California might not ring true if they haven’t lived in California for any period of time, just as someone who’s lived in a big city their whole life might not believably be able to write songs about living out in the countryside and driving a tractor. But if you can convince the world that your background doesn’t matter, that you can live many lives that you’ve never experienced, these are the artists who become creative chameleons.
Not every artist reaches this chameleon status, but we tend to hold such artists in a higher place compared to other artists. Chameleon artists tend to have distinct musical and aesthetic eras, or a degree of mystery surrounding who they are and where they came from, but unlike artists who use these false stories to try and gain some false authenticity, chameleon artists are trying to tell a story and they play the role so well that we enjoy believing them, even if we don’t think it’s true. Most famously, artists such as David Bowie, St. Vincent, and Lady Gaga come to mind, but Bob Dylan fits into this category too. He shrouded his life in so much mystery that it allowed his past to be whatever he wanted. If it didn’t happen in the public eye, it didn’t exist; he would lie about the life he lived before relocating to New York City with ease. If it did happen in the public eye, such as him coming up in the Greenwich Village folk scene, it didn’t matter because he would rewrite history with a full electric band. At the end of the day, the truth almost doesn’t matter because we enjoy the lie so much.
Isn’t that a part of the secret to being palatable to music elitists? Being so authentic no one can fight it, or being so obscured in darkness that the deliberate nature of the shadow becomes eventually undeniable? Many artists want so badly to move into that second category, as proving your authenticity over and over again can be as tiring as being that rooted tree I described earlier. Once you have a public persona based around your authentic self, any deviation from that can be deemed inauthentic and then leaves you open for unnecessary criticism, and everybody is a critic nowadays. Due to a multitude of reasons, proving that you can be a chameleon artist is harder than ever. There is an intense spotlight on everyone who wants to market themselves as an artist online, making it harder than ever to tell a story where the singer themself are not necessarily the main character, with all their roots and baggage.
Unfortunately, although I’m sure many pop culture enthusiasts have tried to suss it out, there is no formula for guaranteeing chameleon status. I certainly don’t think artists should spend time trying to figure it out and base their careers on that anyhow. Perhaps the best way through this problem is to pick stories that feel authentic to the artist, even if they fabricate or flourish somewhat. Maybe Bob Dylan was right about that part; when it comes to art, the truth doesn’t matter as much as how people feel about the creation.
Conclusion
I would love to see elitism and purism around artists and genres be a thing we leave behind as we move into 2025, but there are too many folks who use their music tastes to gain self-esteem via approval of an in-group. It is not a battle that can be won. Elitism exists in all realms. Even discussing films like this, folks are all over the internet at this very moment, arguing about the inaccuracies of the film in order to sound smarter than the average movie-watcher. Educating on what actually happened is fine, but the argument that a biopic is a “bad film” because of these inaccuracies is not a sound argument. A biopic is not a documentary, it is a film, and a biopic film’s only job is to tell a good story while giving audiences a snapshot of the person as they existed in the era depicted.
So, who cares if it’s accurate? If that makes some feel that the movie is shrouding the story too much, maybe one needs to reexamine the artist at the center of it. Personally, I think I’ll continue to enjoy the shroud of darkness even while I do examine the role the roots play. It’s possible to examine the sunlight, and then also throw away all that shines and hide under the covers and just enjoy the shadow for a couple hours. A full life can include both the truth and the lie, so long as there is enough light to know where the boundary lies.
When we want to learn about art, we examine it, but what purpose is it to judge which art pieces are purer? One day I might expand on this topic more and how I feel it pertains to other modern phenomena like cringe culture and the concept of industry plants, but for now I’ll leave it there.
Thanks for reading my first blog post. I hope 2025 treats you well. Listen to lots of music, go see something new out in the world, and enjoy!
