The Who?Siers: what it means to follow a band beyond success.

In the halcyon days of 2014 I went to a small gig by a band used to even smaller gigs. On the recording of that gig you can hear the incredulity in their voices multiple times over the course of the evening as the crowd go wild, singing and dancing with abandon. This is a band that, if you live in the UK, you have certainly heard music by: they have headlined festivals, topped both album and singles charts, their music is on adverts and soundtracks even in 2020… but unless you’re not one of the people who (like me) has been following their career avidly, you probably haven’t thought about them in ten years or more. The Hoosiers are well aware of their place in the pop pantheon, going as far as releasing a ‘Greatest Hit(s)’ album and writing an Edinburgh Fringe show about an ex-pop-star talking to a psychiatrist. They tour to small crowds of millennials for whom their music was the soundtrack to a youthful summer, and, presumably, make a comfortable living off people who buy their new music. People like me. And they’re not the only ones.

Much of my favourite music has been made by people on a downward trajectory from the peak of their fame, and, as such, it’s become something between a hobby and an obsession for me to keep consuming music by people who mainstream success has left behind.

I like it when musicians do weird shit. I miss b-sides, love long solos, hate Greatest Hits albums. I love concept albums, when musicians have ‘eras’, and religiously buy whatever my favourite bands come out with – especially when it’s something they’re passionate about and was put together without a thought for a casual listener. It’s not controversial to assert that creatives often do their best on a long leash, and it’s a shame those works on a walk do less well – often for a lot of very legitimate reasons, like being less fun or less radio-friendly, but also often because they’re not supported by major labels and all the funding and promotion that comes with that. It’s not a coincidence these works branching out into new areas have common themes like ‘fuck the music industry’ or introspections on ageing. What might make a less palatable pop song, though, can hit the listener who does identify with it deeper, more viscerally, and in a place where only less conventional art can go.

Sometimes it fails. A couple of friends of mine will remember a strange concert I took us to by the guy who used to be in The Futureheads. He was on later than I would have liked, at a club night for ageing indie kids, missed the raucous energy of yesteryear, and wasn’t good enough to pull it off alone (sorry Barry). There weren’t any new songs that hit me in a new place, and rather than pursuing some new artistic vision he was, instead, chasing his own tail and trying to recapture the magic he’d channelled when he was young. It wasn’t the best night ever. Nor was The Hoosiers’ comedy show, which I saw upstairs in a pub in Islington, but it also – and this is the truly wonderful thing about later career fandom – cost me about twelve quid, including a beer and a bus ticket home. I didn’t need to take a friend, I enjoyed it just fine by myself, but my friends at Barry from The Futureheads and I had a good time bopping along to old indie hits at the club and knew plenty of words to sing along to. It’s never a waste of time to investigate whether you enjoy something, and when it’s something you were a fan of before the risk is lower and the reward potential is higher. A gig is a mercurial thing, and you won’t know if you might enjoy it until it’s been and gone – but if it’s cheap, and it includes some of your old favourite hits, you’ll probably have at least a decent time.

I will keep buying albums by my old faves, following their exploits and going to their gigs. If I lived nearer to my old hangouts, I’d try and see what the promoters whose shows I went to were doing, but instead I do my best to follow old support acts and bands that inspired those I love. I will surprise and astound people who say ‘you still listen to them?’, because for every Scouting For Girls – that isn’t as good as you remember and isn’t fun when you’re not young – there’s an album by one of their contemporaries, who’s aged and grown and matured, and I want to be aware of that when it comes. Not everyone can enter into the annals of music history, which is fine; but art is about connection and meaning and saying the unspeakable, and I find that by following my favourites as they are unshackled from success.

A Short Playlist:

I didn’t feel that I could write a post like this without giving some of my favourite music from has-beens, mostly from the indie era because that’s how old I am. Enjoy, and let me know your own favourite forgotten singers.

• The Hoosiers: 2007’s breakout stars, consigned to history except in my music library
• Lloyd Cole: 1980s brooding songwriter who ‘tried to rock’ a solo career
• Nerina Pallot: Terry Wogan tried his best to make her a ‘thing’ but it didn’t happen
• David Bowie and Paul Simon: even global superstars have hidden gems in their catalogue, and it’s often more recent work
• Black Kids: Look, please release physical media, guys. I get that you’re doing it alone but for the love of god release physical media so that I can buy it
• We Are Scientists: still great live, y’all are missing out
• Patrick Stump: solo cuts and side projects are also less successful than they ought to be
• My Chemical Romance: I hate digital-and-vinyl only media, and apparently so does everyone because it’s often people’s least successful output
• Janis Ian: literally wrote an amazing, beautiful song about not being as famous as she used to be
• Cher Lloyd: don’t forget about people just because they’re not on telly anymore
• Maria McKee: that one period of hits in the 80s < everything else she’s ever done
• Tom Robinson: plays his famous songs first when you see him live to get it out of the way
• Ben Watt: yes, Tracy Thorn is busy but other, less famous members of your old favourite bands still do things.
• Charlotte Church: my first week in London I went to a gig by her just because I’d heard of her and wanted to do everything, and can conclusively say she is massively underrated as a songwriter and a performer

To-Do:

• Buy a GODDAMN bike. It is not my fault the bike shop was closed when I went but jesus wept girl do the thing you said you would.
• Finish reading the Francois Hartog for uni.
• Find and buy astaxanthin. They did not have it at my local drogerie, but it must be for sale somewhere…

Today’s Culture:

• Buying white shirts and vests so that I can wear whichever of my clothes I want.
• Listening to whole albums. Living alone is kind of empty and silent but music is a wonderful companion (side note – maybe buy speakers so you don’t kill your ears / make your neighbours homicidal with your terrible singing voice)
• Drawtectives. I would do anything for Julia LePetit.