Slaves to the rhythm?: A critique of mass culture theories

Critics, of course, rightly highlight the power of corporate industries. And in pursuit of optimal profit, many ‘cultural industries’ have adopted the economic efficiencies afforded by systems of standardised production. The history of popular music, for instance, is full of examples of success based on churning out standardised, mass-marketed products. Most famously, the assembly-line production techniques of American car companies were the inspiration for the Motown Record Corporation, established by Berry Gordy in 1960. Having spent time working in Detroit’s Lincoln-Mercury car plant, Gordy was fascinated by its efficiency and subsequently applied its assembly-line procedures to the ‘manufacture’ of music (Smith, 1999: 71). Gordy’s ‘Hitsville’ recording studios were kept active 22 hours a day, producing songs in a factory-like manner. And the characteristic ‘Motown sound’ - an accentuated back beat, melodic chord structures, and a call-and-response singing style — became a standard blueprint, while Motown’s acts were methodically groomed, dressed, and choreographed by the company.

In Japan Johnny Kitagawa was equally business-like. Founding his talent agency — Johnny & Associates Inc. - in 1962, Kitagawa shaped Japan’s boy band landscape for more than half a century. Propelling one act after another to the heights of Japanese pop, his stable included groups like SMAP, Arashi, KAT-TUN, and Hey! Say! JUMP, along with solo artists such as Hiromi Go. And their road to success was distinguished by Kitagawa’s unashamedly formulaic approach. His protégés were all recruited, coached, and marketed in a regime of strict standardisation and uniformity — to the extent that the tenu Johnnies’ became generically applied to any of Kitagawa’s performers (Campion, 2005)."

Also systematic were the record producing trio Mike Stock, Matt Aitken, and Pete Waterman (abbreviated as SAW), who dominated British pop during the 1980s and early 1990s. Dubbed the ‘Hit Factor)'’, they developed a formulaic sound that combined Hi-NRG disco beats and Italian melodies, and (like Motown and Kitagawa) SAW adopted assembly-line techniques as they chalked-up more than 100 UK Top Forty hits and sold over 40 million records. Comparable strategies were also adopted by British TV producer Simon Cowell. Cowell’s ‘reality’ talent shows Pop Idol (2001—2003) and The X Factor (2004—present) were distinguished by their unifonn approach to recruiting, coaching, and promoting a succession of ‘standardised’ pop stars.

Moreover, Cowell’s talent shows can, themselves, be seen as relatively uniform products that rolled off his TV assembly-line. Formats were regular and consistent, while the same basic formulae were modified and ‘retooled’ for repeated sale across a multitude of international markets. By 2014, for example, Pop Idol had sired 49 local adaptations, while The X Factor had spawned 45 versions worldwide (Esser et al., 2016: 297).

Clearly, then, theorists such as Adorno are right to highlight the dimensions of standardisation that characterise a large part of the media industries’ output. But ‘mass culture’ critics’ view of vulnerable consumers being gripped by an irresistible (and aesthetically debased) commercial machine is open to important criticisms. Media industries, for example, are not the ruthlessly efficient capitalist operations that mass culture theorists imply. Even a mammoth investment in advertising and promotion is no guarantee of successful sales, illustrated by the glorious commercial flops that litter the history of popular entertainment. The products of the ‘culture industry’, moreover, have not always worked to reproduce the ideas of the powerful.

From rock ‘n’ roll to gangsta rap, popular music has often been a centre for cultural conflict. Moreover, rather than simply being a ‘soundtrack’ playing in the background of historical events, popular music has sometimes been integral to forces bringing about social and political change.³ Peter Wicke, for example, argues that rock music in East Germany played an important role in the collapse of the communist regime, and that ‘... rock musicians were instrumental in setting in motion the actual course of events which led to the destruction of the Berlin Wall and the disappearance of the GDR’ (Wicke, 1992: 81). Similarly, Seth Hague and his colleagues argue that the Rock Against Racism movement that emerged in Britain during the late 1970s did not simply proclaim anti-racist politics, but also embodied it aesthetically by bringing punk and reggae musicians together on stage. In this instance, Hague et al. argue, ‘the music became the object of the politics, not just a means to it’ (Hague et al. 2008: 21).

And, even though Motown hits were standardised products that rolled off Berry Gordy’s assembly-line, cultural theorist Paul Gilroy notes how Motown (along with other soul music of the day) was a crucial component of the civil rights movement. ‘These singers’, Gilroy argues, ‘did not simply provide a soundtrack for the political actions of their soul sisters and brothers. They were mandated to speak on behalf of the community in elaborate, celebratory, ritual performances’ (Gilroy, 1994: 88). And, while 1970s disco has been maligned by its critics for being frivolous and shallow, authors such as Alice Echols (2010) show how disco played an important part in the sexual and racial politics of the time, and was a central force in the emergence of gay cultural identities.

Perhaps the biggest criticism to be made of mass culture approaches, however, relates to their elitist attitude towards popular culture. Adorno, for example, was happy to assign prestige and ‘meaning’ to classical and avant-garde music and its listeners, but derided popular musical forms as standardised and banal. Such a comparison, however, is problematic since it judges popular genres against classical and avant-garde ideals of ‘originality’ and ‘authenticity’.

As Bernard Gendron observed in his thoroughgoing appraisal of Adorno’s thesis, ‘standardisation’ is an obvious feature of many pop music genres and artists’ repertoires, but recognition of similarities among popular texts is often what provides their audiences with enjoyment. So, Gendron argues, ‘we might consider standardization not only as an expression of rigidity, but also as a source of pleasure’ (Gendron, 1986: 29). But mass culture theorists have little time for popular pleasure. Instead, the enlightened few are congratulated for their intellectual ability to resist the power of the culture industry and recognise the value of ‘real’ creativity, while popular audiences are dismissed as the passive and ‘forcibly retarded’ victims of the commercial machine. In contrast, however, theorists such as David Hesmondhalgh argue for the importance of emotion, experience, and pleasure. And, for Hesmondhalgh, music has particular significance in this respect. Our tastes in music, he argues, are not only intensely linked to our sense of identity and self but also provide a basis for our intimate relations with others. As Hesmondhalgh explains:

Music ... represents a remarkable meeting point of intimate and social realms. It provides a basis of self-identity (this is who I am, this is not) and collective identity (this is who we are, this is who we’re not), often in the same moment. All cultural products have this potential — films, television programmes, even shoes and cars. Yet music’s seemingly special link to emotions and feeling makes it an especially powerful site for the bringing together of private and public experience.

(Hesmondhalgh, 2013: 2)

Hesmondhalgh’s approach is rooted in the theoretical traditions of cultural studies, an academic discipline that first took shape in Britain during the 1960s. Central to the development of this field were the ideas of the seminal theorist Raymond Williams. Whereas traditional approaches to cultural life had established a hierarchal distinction between ‘high’ culture (deemed worthy, creative, and meaningful) and ‘low’ or ‘mass’ culture (dismissed as worthless, commercial and banal), Williams argued that culture should instead be seen as ‘a whole way of life ... which expresses certain meanings and values not only in art and learning but also in institutions and ordinary behaviour’ (1961: 57). Informed by Williams’ approach, researchers increasingly eschewed the elitism of ‘mass culture’ approaches and understood popular culture as a more complex field -one in which commercial interests certainly wielded considerable power, but where audiences and consumers were also able to carve out meaningful identities and relationships. It was an approach that became especially evident in the study of young people and their engagement with the media.