Is great music index-linked? If hard times led to the creation of our best-loved albums, then roll on the next recession, argues John Hearne.
What makes a successful album? Song-writing ability? Talented musicians? The right economic climate? Probably a little of everything. The music people make and buy when times are tough is very different to the music made and bought when the good times are rolling. Here's a look at how the economy affected the making and success of 10 of the best albums of all time.
1. Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band - The Beatles
2. Thriller - Michael Jackson
3. Revolver - The Beatles
4. Aloha from Hawaii via Satellite - Elvis Presley
5. Nevermind - Nirvana
6. The Stone Roses - The Stone Roses
7. (What's the Story) Morning Glory - Oasis
8. Dark Side of the Moon - Pink Floyd
9. I've Been Expecting You - Robbie Williams
10. The Bends - Radiohead
(Music of the Millennium poll, conducted through 1999 in the UK by Channel 4, HMV and Classic FM Radio. 600,000 votes were cast.)
Some music you can locate only in an economic downturn. Punk is recessionary music. The Smiths made recessionary music. They lasted almost exactly as long as unemployment remained above 10 per cent in the UK but began to unravel as soon as it started to decline in 1986. A case of "I was looking for a job and then I found a job and heaven knows it's thanks to the recent deregulation of the labour market". By the time UK GDP peaked at 6 per cent in 1988, the band's pimply introversion and understatement had been stomped from the Manchester scene by the 24-hour party people. The north was grim no more (for the moment at least) and a new soundtrack was needed to accompany the drug-fuelled hedonism of the Hacienda days.
The fact that all new music emerges from wilful poverty gives some currency to the notion of the penniless artist wasting away in a consumptive garret, which is not to say that good art is only possible in penury. Only one of the albums in the Music of the Millennium poll (above) was a début, and most of the others were recorded when the artists were close to the height of their popularity.
Nor does a band's socio-economic status determine whether they're playing boom or bust music. Dire Straits may have chosen their name in mockery of their financial situation but the band is firmly located in expansionary times. The faded blue cover of Brothers in Arms is as familiar a relic of London's yuppie days as the Filofax or Babycham. And even if the artist can remain untouched by the health or otherwise of the economy, the record buying public cannot; the music that rises to the surface in good times is different to the music that rises to the surface in bad times. When The Specials' Ghost Town got to number one in 1981, the song so powerfully encapsulated the dead-end horror of Thatcher's Britain that it made the evening news.
The Beatles's two offerings in the poll, Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band and Revolver were recorded within a year of each other at London's Abbey Road studio, in the middle years of Harold Wilson's Labour administration. When people talk about the bad old days of tax and spend, they're talking about Harold Wilson. Exchequer outgoings shot up through 1967 and 1968, funded by the introduction of corporation tax and income tax hikes. The opening track on Revolver, George Harrison's Taxman is a lash at economic policies that would eventually fail when sterling was forced to devalue in 1967. By then of course, George was no longer interested in matters fiscal, but had drifted into the rarefied world of Hindu spiritualism. Wilson, many argue, was a liberal before he was a lefty. Reflecting the dramatic social flux of the 1960s, he decriminalised abortion and homosexuality and liberalised divorce legislation. The social exuberance that is synonymous with this time was facilitated by a relatively stable economy, despite its problems. Unemployment never got above 2 per cent, growth remained healthy and inflation under control.
Is Michael Jackson really aware of the rest of the world? Apart, in general terms, from the fact that there's this strange and awful place beyond the walls which he can visit sometimes, in the manner of a fairy godmother. When Thriller was released in 1982, the US had yet to see where Ronald Reagan was going with all his defence spending, deregulation and tax cuts. Inflation had begun recede from the punishing levels seen under Jimmy Carter, but the Federal deficit was getting out of control. Although unemployment had climbed to 10.6 per cent by the end of the year, music fans still made Thriller the most popular album of all time. So far, it has sold over 45 million copies.
A week before Richard Nixon was inaugurated for his second term as US president, Elvis Presley gave one of the greatest live performances ever. It was broadcast live via satellite from Honolulu International Centre Arena on January 14th, 1973 to more than 40 countries. In the US alone, more people watched the garlanded Elvis sashay across the Hawaiian stage than watched the moon landings four years earlier. Aloha from Hawaii via Satellite was released into a US that was on the up and up. Despite continued involvement in the Vietnam war, the conflict was no longer the divisive issue that dominated public and private discourse during the 1960s. The economy had grown by nearly 6 per cent in 1972, inflationary problems appeared to have been resolved and unemployment was declining. This short-lived economic buoyancy coincided with some classic albums that never made the cut for this particular poll: Exile on Main Street by the Rolling Stones, Harvest by Neil Young and Blue by Joni Mitchell. Bowie released both Hunky Dory and The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars in 1972.
By the end of the same year, back in Abbey Road, Pink Floyd were putting the finishing touches to Dark Side of the Moon. Despite growing inflationary concerns, there was an exuberance about the UK economy that hadn't been seen in years. Economic growth had clocked in above 10 per cent at the beginning of 1973 and unemployment had come back below 2 per cent. Then, in late October, the first oil crisis hit, sending the economies of the West pitching backwards into the recessionary hole from which punk would eventually crawl, dirty, disenfranchised and deeply, deeply displeased. As inflation hit 25 per cent in 1976, the Sex Pistols instigated anarchy and within the first months of 1977, The Clash in Britain and Talking Heads, Television and The Voidoids in New York had all released albums which captured the essence of this nihilistic angst.
Voidoids leader Richard Hell's "blank generation" was recast in almost identical terms as "Generation X" when Seattle's great grunge adventure began towards the end of the 1980s. In economic terms too, there are parallels. As Ronald Reagan handed over the reins of power to George Bush senior in 1989, the Reaganomics experiment gave every appearance of success. Growth was healthy, unemployment was falling and inflation had stabilised. But massive defence spending alongside extensive tax cuts just didn't add up. By the time Nevermind was launched in August 1991, unemployment was creeping steadily north, the economy had begun to contract and inflation had risen again to 6 per cent. A year later, the US Census Bureau would report that 14.2 per cent of all Americans lived in poverty.
Conversely, when grunge died with Kurt Cobain in April 1994 (or perhaps with the sale of 49 per cent of talismanic indie label Sup Pop to Warner in December of that year) the economy had recovered substantially again. Both unemployment and inflation were down and growth was back to pre-slump levels. Cut to the UK just before the economic implosion of the late 1980s. Right at the peak of the boom, The Stone Roses were recording their eponymous début. Then, as recession took hold, they found themselves incapable of a follow-up. The Second Coming only happened after the economy had beento hell and back, its release coinciding with the growth peak of the 1990s in 1994. Expect a reunion the next time UK growth gets above 5 per cent.
The poll singles out 1995 as another red- letter year for British music with the release of Radiohead's The Bends and Oasis's (What's the Story) Morning Glory. Here, however, is where the economics start to get boring. Growth slows slightly to 2.5 per cent from the previous year, the housing market continues to recover, unemployment maintains its downward trajectory, inflation is low and interest rates stable . . . No wildcat strikes, no IMF intervention, no trade wars, no massive tax or interest rate hikes. Pundits start wondering if inflation is actually dead, if the boom and bust cycle is finally over and the words "new paradigm" are bandied about with increasing regularity. It continues today.
The entire Oasis canon has come during an eight-year period in which UK growth has varied by little more than three percentage points. In contrast, in the two and a half years between Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon and its follow-up Wish You Were Here, GDP was flung from over 10 per cent to minus 3 per cent. By the time Robbie Williams's I've Been Expecting You resurrected his career in the beginning of 1999, the economic rollercoaster of the 1970s and 1980s had been transformed into a kiddies' miniature train ride.
It's interesting to note that here at home, the boom years were not exactly a purple period for popular art. We may have had The Cranberries, Ash and a few good U2 albums, but we also had Boyzone, Westlife, Enya, Samantha Mumba, The Corrs and B*witched. Dismal the 1970s may have been, but the live music was good: The Radiators, The Blades, A House, Something Happens, The Stunning. Only when the air began to hiss from the inflatable tiger did anybody notice how exciting the Dublin scene had become again: Deputy Fuzz, Settler, Joan of Arse, Paul O'Reilly, David Kitt, The Redneck Manifesto . . . and watch out for Mumblin' Def Ro.
Now, as the economic climate steadily worsens, could it be that we are on the cusp of something really big? It makes sense when you think about it. Can't get a job? Might as well form a band. Come Armageddon, as Morrisey might say.
