Reverb-erations

“This is a journey into sound” reads the sub-title of ACMI’s Melbourne edition of “Reverb”, the London exhibition organised by Vinyl Factory and hosted by 180 Studios in 2024-25.

Spoiler alert: the ACMI show is a heavily edited/remixed/redacted version of the original, and because it was grafted on to the concurrent Rising festival, it feels like the original’s agenda has been co-opted due to curatorial choices.

Overall, I found ACMI’s Reverb a quite underwhelming experience – with the disappointment being compounded by high expectations. For a start, Vinyl Factory described their show as a celebration of “art and sound with [an] immersive exhibition”. 180 Studios called it an exploration of “the lasting impact and influence of electronic music on contemporary art and culture”. Both of which are big calls, and quite different in terms of scope and intent, despite describing the same exhibition.

ACMI’s re-adapted synopsis boasts that the exhibition “explores music’s influence on art, film and social movements, traversing hip hop and rap, house, techno, dancehall and Jamaican sound system culture”. Quite a different purpose to the original event.

For logistical reasons, I understand that ACMI could not simply replicate the London show, and many items were omitted. But given ACMI’s success in bringing “David Bowie is” to Melbourne, their world premiere of Julian Rosefeldt’s “Manifesto”, and the “Light” show comprising works from the UK’s Tate Gallery, it’s a shame that “Reverb” didn’t deliver to the same level.

First, there was only one interactive work, by Carsten Nicolai (aka Alva Noto) – so hardly an “immersive” experience, unless you include the ACMI Listening Room, which served more as a passive audio space and vinyl lounge (albeit a very nice one!).

Second, the only two works that really engaged with and explored the interaction between electronic music and popular culture were: a semi-educational documentary by Jeremy Deller on the second summer of love and the UK rave culture; and an informative and creative account of the Detroit techno scene by Jenn Nkiru.

Third, as much as I enjoy the work of William Kentridge, his video installation of animated drawings seemed out of place and out of context – although it appears this same work was included in the original London show.

Not having had the opportunity to see the original version, direct comparisons are difficult. But it felt like there were huge gaps. For example, nothing about the role of music videos on MTV (much of it electronic music) in shaping the visual packaging of pop artists and how these videos themselves brought a cross-fertilisation of different sub-cultures, fashion styles and musical genres into mainstream publishing, advertising and the broader entertainment industry. Nothing about the technology that helped electronic music to propagate and which led to scratching, remixing and sampling, and also shaped how, where and when we listen to music. I could go on but hopefully the point is made.

Maybe the point is that the original exhibition was simply the source material for galleries and museums to each put their own spin on the impact of music on art and culture, like a series of reverberating events around the world.

But at the very least, surely there should have been a video of Coldcut’s classic remix of “Paid In Full” by Eric B and Rakim? Now that’s what I call a “journey into sound!”

Next week: End of the road for Lime?

 

Accidental Album

A lot of music released these days is just “product”, calculated to maximise streaming algorithms backed by social media engineering and a 24/7 PR machine. Which is why so many new albums feel contrived, manufactured and just part of a conveyor belt production. A bit like processed food on supermarket shelves.

So it was really refreshing to hear David Chesworth introduce his first solo album, “50 Synthesiser Greats” as part of the “Reverb” listening room sessions at Melbourne’s ACMI. (More on Reverb itself next week.)

Originally released in 1979, the music was mostly self-recorded at home, using just a Mini Korg 700S synthesizer, and an Akai 4000 DS reel-to-reel tape deck. By the artist’s own frank admission, there had never been any intention to release the tracks as a record. It was only when he played the recordings to a friend that Chesworth was encouraged to put out an album.

Self-releasing a record in those pre-digital, pre-internet days was not unheard of, although still relatively rare. But thanks to the proliferation of independent labels alongside punk music in the mid- to late-70s, there were enough examples for aspiring musicians to follow. Chesworth’s account of how he made an appointment with a Melbourne pressing plant (“men in white lab coats”), and then came up with the cover design, was endearing and self-effacing. Each step in the production process was just another part of the overall experiment he had begun with those somewhat naive recordings. Yet there was also a benign knowingness behind the artistic experimentation: the deliberately cheesy sleeve artwork, the slightly cryptic album title, etc.

The resulting album is as much a work of conceptual art as it is product of recorded music. A similar thought came to mind when listening to the recently re-released inaugural album by The Durutti Column, an album I have loved since its first release in 1980. Again, something of an accidental album, the music on “The Return of….” had never been intended for release – and was issued without the artist’s formal consent or knowledge. As critic Alexis Petridis wrote in his re-appraisal in late 2025:

“And perhaps the peculiar circumstances of its creation – people experimenting for their own benefit, rather than actively making an album for public consumption – helped forge its distinctly beguiling atmosphere.”

Somehow, you can’t imagine many of today’s pop singers experimenting in similar vein, such is their focus on output.

Next week: Reverb-erations

 

 

Charting Australian Music

Following on from last week’s blog, and a related post, I was intrigued by a recent headline in The Guardian, which implied “Australian music” (whatever that means…) is facing extinction. Perhaps The Guardian is looking in the wrong place, or is too fixated on the ARIA chart data to get the full picture.

First, I think the local music scene is doing OK, as evidenced by the latest Independent Music Exchange in Melbourne. Sure, this may not be the music getting into the charts, or even getting radio airplay, but it’s obviously music that people want to hear, judging by the number of participating labels and punters turning up. Alongside this independent industry is a solid live circuit, and better distribution thanks to companies like Sound Merch, and the network of independent records stores.

Second, let’s assume that “Australian music” means music written, recorded and released by Australian artists and artists based in Australia. I could suggest that one reason “Australian” music does not feature in the charts is because Australian artists aren’t releasing music the general public wants to hear. Or as I have mentioned before, maybe the charts are the wrong measure of success. But another reason might be a case of cultural cringe.

For example, back in the 1980s, when I was living in London, there was a constant stream of Australian bands who always seemed to be touring the UK. I’m referring to artists like Nick Cave, The Go-Betweens, The Triffids, The Moodists, The Apartments, Ed Kuepper and The Underground Lovers. These bands seemed to have more of a following overseas than back home. It’s the challenge of Australia having a small domestic market, so that bands had to explore overseas opportunities. But I also suspect that their particular music was not widely appreciated at home – where pub rock was more in favour. (I recall going to house parties in Kangaroo Valley aka Earl’s Court, in London’s inner west, where the only music blasting out on the stereo was AC/DC, Cold Chisel and The Angels – requesting Nick Cave or The Triffids would probably cause offence!)

Finally, to show that I’m not living in an ’80s time-warp, here are just a few of the current and active Australian bands I have enjoyed seeing in Melbourne over recent months: Mildlife, Black Cab, Essendon Airport, All India Radio, Oren Ambarchi, Mick Harvey, Karate Boogaloo, The Laughing Clowns, The Underground Lovers, User, Scattered Order and Tongue Dissolver. And they continue to release new music – just don’t expect to hear it on local radio or see it in the local charts!

Next week: Accidental Album

 

Measuring musical success

How do we measure musical success? In an age of streaming algorithms, with songs created by AI, and “liked” by social media bots, what are the key measures by which songs or pop stars could be deemed a commercial, critical or artistic success?

The music charts are only an indication of popularity, based on a weighted combination of physical sales, downloads, streaming and radio airplay. Sales of CDs, vinyl and downloads are relatively easy to track. But streaming numbers, which account for the majority of industry revenues, have to be adjusted to discount things like free user accounts and older hits, in order to keep the charts “fresh” and “authentic”.

The problem with streaming is that it can give a distorted measure of success. Back when recorded music was only available in physical formats, buying a copy of a record meant that you didn’t own the music, but you owned an artefact that was yours to keep and play forever. That purchase counted as just one unit for the purposes of chart calculations – but you could play it hundreds and thousands of times in the privacy of your own home, yet it wouldn’t make the record any more “popular”. Contrast that with streaming platforms, where you don’t “buy” a specific song, you pay a monthly subscription; and in theory you can simply play the same song on repeat – and that form of consumption now dominates the charts. The potential to manipulate streaming algorithms in favour of particular tracks is no different to the chart rigging practices of the era of pluggers and payola.

Of course, most musicians don’t make money from record sales (or even from streaming royalties). Live gigs and merchandising account for a larger share of their overall revenue. Which is why some pop stars can generate significant GDP when they go on tour. But rather like the charts, ticket sales are only a measure of financial success, not of artistic quality or critical acclaim. Frankly, I have no interest in whether or not a pop star has achieved the highest grossing tour of all time – does the music sound any good?

The pop industry is a bit like the fast fashion industry. It requires a high turnover of new stars and new content. Given that maybe fewer than 10% of artists or records make a profit, the major record labels have to keep updating their front list catalogue with new releases. Most pop stars have a relatively short recording career – so unless they can move into song writing, music production, artist management etc. they have an ever-decreasing shelf life.

On the other hand, longevity is now something of a benchmark for musical success. With a certain bunch of octogenarians about to release their 25th studio album, no doubt some lifetime achievement awards are in the offing. But you can be pretty certain that the new record won’t carry any major surprises – it’s not like they’re about to release an album of nose flute music or three hour drone works.

Speaking of awards, the bloated industry event that is the Grammys now has 96 different categories. Some of the “genre-specific” awards feel like they have been conjured up to make sure everyone gets a turn on the podium. (Although there’s still no prize for “Best Nose Flute Recording of The Year”)

Do critics’ reviews matter or make a difference? Musical appreciation is highly subjective, and even the best-known and well-regarded critics can disagree about the merits of the same album. As a teenager, having to rely on the UK’s weekly music papers for information, it was common to gravitate towards certain reviewers – so if they gave a new album 5/5, it was probably worth checking out. Whereas, if a critic whose tastes were not to mine gave it a 5/5 review, it was probably one to avoid. In a way reflecting the Grammys, music publications increasingly cater for a particular genre or style of music, so the reviewers are preaching to the converted. In a highly fragmented music market, with silos full of homogenous content, the role of critic and reviewer is increasingly one of curation. “If you only buy one melodic rap album this year, then make it’s this one”.

A swathe of TV talent shows have been responsible for creating a bunch of (mostly) short-lived pop stars. In an effort to “give the public what the public wants”, the tactic of casting your vote for/against individual singers is supposed to ensure that “success” reflects popular taste. But, with a very narrow range of musical genres represented, and an even smaller number of songs included in their Karaoke-style repertoire, these shows are not well-suited to identify sustainable creative talent.

From a financial perspective, most major labels rely on their evergreen back catalogue. Partly to ensure certain recordings remain in copyright, but mainly to recover their past investment, reissues, supported by critical re-appraisals and careful curation, can yield strong returns on the balance sheet. An artist’s 100th birthday, the anniversary of a seminal album, or an old song’s inclusion in a box office hit or a popular TV series, are all valuable triggers for retrospective release campaigns.

Success is relative and it depends on your personal perspective. A friend of mine has been in the music industry since he was a teenager. He started out playing in local bands, then moved into music production, set up his own studio, and served as a “gun for hire” to various bands for live work and studio sessions. All along, he has been releasing records as a member of different groups, or as a solo artist (under his own name and various noms de musique). None of these records has been commercially successful, and all of them have been released on small independent labels. But for the past few years, he has single-handedly (and single-mindedly) forged a “new” name for himself, recording and releasing his own music which is meeting with critical acclaim and steady sales. He’s not exactly filling stadiums, nor is he about to top the singles charts but he has achieved a level of personal and artistic success, that reflects the pursuit of a 45 year career path on his own terms. Now that’s what I call success!

Next week: Charting Australian Music