For those who never came across it, Nina is a free and independent music platform launched in 2021 as an alternative to the increasingly standardised world of music streaming. While most platforms compete on scale, convenience and algorithmic efficiency, Nina focused on something else entirely: direct support for artists, niche music communities, and genuine and human discovery.

As someone who has been slowly drifting away from Spotify over the past one or two years, Nina became one of my favourite ways to find new music. Not just through the platform itself, but through its editorial work and the scenes it highlighted.

What made Nina special wasn’t simply its business model. Fans could buy music directly from artists and labels, while creators kept all the revenue generated through sales. More importantly, it gave space to underground scenes and smaller communities that rarely fit into the logic of mainstream streaming. Opposing to the other streaming services, it felt like it was built around participation.

Unfortunately, passion alone isn’t always enough to survive. In a music economy that rewards scale above almost everything else, Nina struggled to attract the kind of rapid growth required to sustain itself.

Its closure made me think more directly about my own relationship with Spotify: the only thing keeping me subscribed to Spotify at this point is sentimental attachment. I’ve been using Spotify since I was sixteen, thousand of saved songs, playlist attached to specific years of my life, old discoveries, forgotten obsessions… It has effectively become an archive of my musical history.

Recently I realised that I barely use it the way I once did, so I considered downgrading my relationship with it: keeping the account as a reference library while stopping the monthly payments.

Spotify arrived at exactly the right historical moment. In the late 2000s it presented itself as the solution to music piracy: a legal, frictionless way to access an almost unlimited catalogue of music. For listeners, it felt revolutionary: instead of downloading and organising music yourself, an entire library was made available instantly for a modest subscription fee.

The problem is that the incentives built into the platform have always favoured scale. Spotify distributes royalties through a pro-rata model, where artists are paid according to the share of total streams they generate across the platform. In practice, this means that the bigger artists receive the largest portion of the money. More streams attract more visibility, more visibility generates more streams.

Recent policy changes have only reinforced that dynamic. Tracks that fail to reach minimum streaming thresholds effectively stop generating royalty payments, making it even harder for smaller artists to earn meaningful income for the platform.

But my growing distance from Spotify isn’t only about economics.

It’s also about predictability.

Sometimes it’s great having something chosen for you. If you’re out for a run, at the gym, cooking dinner or tidying your room, you don’t necessarily want to spend 20 minutes digging through Bandcamp pages or music blogs. Sometimes you just want music to be there, and recommendation algorithms are pretty good at that.

The problem is when convenience becomes your main way of listening.

I’m someone who tends to hyperfixate on tracks and artists for weeks, sometimes months. There’s comfort in that, repetition is part of listening behaviour. But once the fixation ends, I often realise I’ve been moving within the same small circle of sounds, so what’s the price of that comfort?

Comfort can become a trap: the more efficiently a platform learns your preferences, the less likely it is to challenge them, so discovery becomes optimisation and your taste is not expanded.

What is important to notice here, is also that Spotify and Nina emerged from fundamentally different impulses. Spotify’s founders approached music as a problem to solve through technology: unlimited access, frictionless consumption and scalable distribution. Nina came from people embedded within experimental and DIY music communities: they weren’t trying to optimise listening, they were trying to create different conditions for it, and that difference matters.

Over time, Spotify increasingly focused on what it calls “lean-back listening”: music that accompanies activities, playlists organised around moods – productivity and ambience became central to the platform’s identity. The consequence extend beyond listening habits. Artists adapt to the system that rewards them. If playlists favour unobtrusive music that blends seamlessly into cafes, offices, and study sessions, then there is a financial incentive to make music that does exactly that.

This raises a crucial question: is passive consumption becoming the ideal listener experience?

Streaming now dominates the music industry. In the UK, it accounts for the overwhelming majority of recorded music revenue, with Spotify remaining the market leader. Convenience has won. Most listeners understandably choose the platform that gives them immediate access to everything.

But convenience isn’t the same thing as discovery.

If anything, the decline of platforms like Nina makes discovery feel more important. We spend a lot of time worrying about AI replacing human labour, but we don’t spend enough time talking about what recommendation systems do to human taste.

Algorithms are useful. They have introduced me to artists I might never have encountered otherwise, rejecting them entirely would be pointless.

The issue is what happens when recommendation becomes the primary way we encounter culture.

When every suggestion is based on previous behaviour, the unfamiliar disappears and taste becomes increasingly self-reinforcing. You stop encountering things that seem strange or outside your interests, which are the ones that often reshape your perspective.

At some point is worth asking uncomfortable questions. Do I genuinely love this or have I simply been exposed to it often enough that it now feels pleasing?

Perhaps this is one reason why people increasingly seem exhausted by algorithmic feeds. Across digital culture there are signs of fatigue with systems that continuously predict what we want before we’ve had the chance to decide ourselves.

Nina’s closure doesn’t make me optimistic. If anything, it demonstrates how difficult is for alternatives to survive. Still, I don’t think the answer is nostalgia.

The answer is actively protecting spaces where discovery can happen. Go to small gigs, follow independent labels, read music magazines and blogs, seek out scenes that exist outside the centre of attention. Let recommendations come from friends, conversations and chance encounters instead of using exclusively platforms.

Most importantly, leave room for uncertainty. Good taste isn’t something an algorithm can perfectly optimise, it’s something that develops through curiosity, experimentation, and surprises.

That’s what made Nina valuable, and that’s what I hope it doesn’t disappear with it.

While it has allowed bands to reach fans more directly and more easily distribute their music, it’s also created a lot of hurdle. The market has become incredibly saturated, making it difficult for artists to stand out from the pack. On top of that, streaming has made consuming music easier than ever, but it’s also had a serious impact on the ability of artists to make money.

For all its problems, most bands (at least those on a major label) could count on album sales to sustain themselves as a viable source of income. In today’s age of streaming, the music almost serves more as a marketing tool to get fans to attend the more lucrative concerts. Streaming services like Spotify are a great way to be heard, but these companies also pay only a few cents for each time a song is played. It’s made it so that there’s less overall revenue from music sales. This forces artists to make tough decisions between finding time to practice, record, and tour while also ensuring that they’re going to have a roof over their heads.

This dilemma is particularly true when it comes to indie bands. Like we said before, in some ways the internet has made things easier by streamlining the ability to get the music out to people. On the other hand, it’s made its harder than ever to actually make money off of this music. It’s not uncommon for most bands to have some kind of side-hustle going on. Indie folk artist Wooden Wand described how he’s taken on a number of questionable jobs in order to make ends meet while pursuing his music career. This path is all too common for indie artists who are required to find whatever menial jobs are available when they’re not on tour promoting their new record.

This has led some bands to try and find new ways to use technology to their advantage. Licensing has quickly become an attractive proposition for many artists that have reconsidered any past qualms they might have with the commercialization of their music. Getting a placement in a big commercial can result in tons of exposure for a band, which can in turn lead to a huge boost in streaming numbers, not to mention what’s usually a pretty decent licensing fee up front. More established acts are taking this a step further by loaning out their entire likenesses and catalogs to online gaming companies. Motörhead is one legendary band that partnered with a developer to create their own slot reel that contains audio content produced by the heavy metallers that does justice to the iconic group. The game has proven to be a hit, and it also helps to provided an important revenue stream for the remaining band members after their beloved frontman, Lemmy Kilmister, passed away.

The digital age has definitely made things interesting for bands trying to make a living, but it has also presented plenty of new opportunities for those willing to take advantage of them. Hopefully, streaming will be figured out to the point where it can be more fair to the artists themselves. In the meantime musicians will just have to get creative in order to make the most of the situation.

It’s an internet-bred subgenre where beautiful pieces of emotional house are released by artists with names like DJ Seinfeld and Ross From Friends. Impossibly, it seems to be both very ironic and very heartfelt. It sounds like a stripped-back version of deep house coated with the nostalgia-soaked retro-futurism of vaporwave. It almost seems like the first music that Skynet might make when it first attains consciousness and is failing to understand and replicate the internet’s various cultures.

Lo-fi house is hardly new, though. It is essentially a rebranding of the music that some were calling “outsider house” a few years ago. Musicians like Delroy Edwards, Huerco S. and Anthony Naples stripped back dance music to the gritty necessity of kick drum and moody futuristic atmosphere. Many of these musicians had backgrounds in scenes like noise, ambient or punk, bringing a focus on stripped-back rawness from those genres. Appropriately, their music was rough, distorted, experimental, and about as serious as noise and punk scenes tend to be.

[su_youtube url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FFR1CboigGg”]

Vaporwave, by contrast, is known for trading in irony and postmodernism. Age-old feelings of disconnection, loneliness and existential nausea are appealed to in a semi-ironic manner. The music, meanwhile, features slowed down and cut up samples from kitschy 80’s pop or muzak. Unlike outsider house, vaporwave is a music that is dense with a symbolism as important as the music itself. The culture is essentially halfway between a music scene and an internet meme — reading the comments on vaporwave YouTube uploads can often be half the fun. Its visual aesthetic blends VHS visuals, advertising, early internet design, a fascination with Japan and sculptures of the classical world into its own distinct vision. This visual-heavily culture is essentially the dominant language of many of the more hipster parts of the internet.

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Combining these two cultures leaves lo-fi house resembling melancholic 90s deep house recorded to cassette and packaged with a veneer of internet-age irony. It’s sad, but knowingly so. Nostalgia and memory are linked to old technology, effortlessly connecting the degradation and warm distortion of analogue sounds with memory’s own rose-tinted failings. Vaporwave-ish touches include pitched-down, reverb-heavy sampling and cheesy sounds like the Yamaha DX-7 keyboard. The hazy, minor key ambience of the music soundtracks loneliness just as well as the collective euphoria of a dancefloor.

This is a scene that started in no one place at any one time but through the internet’s ‘global village’. Producers from Australia (Mall Grab), Spain (DJ Seinfeld), the UK (DJ Boring, Ross From Friends) simultaneously came up with similar ideas (and names). Each of the producers was responding to similar societal, technological and musical stimuli. It was curated by record collecting channels like hurfyd, Slav, and OOUKFunkyOO, and driven by the neural networking of YouTube’s recommended videos feature. These YouTube recommendations have been key. As Jeff Ihaza wrote in his article on the scene:

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YouTube’s recommendations are so smart — and account for subtleties in ways that other platforms still don’t — that it effectively became a radio station for underground labels to scoop up fans.

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YouTube has further importance here with many of these channels adding vaporwave-ish, dated video footage to the tracks as music videos. This provided the usually visual-averse underground dance scene with something a bit different, making the music just as likely to appeal to stoners as ravers.

Lo-fi house itself is fuelled by a backlash to the professionalism, popularity and polish of EDM. The back-to-basics approach of the genre is itself hardly musically innovative.

The possibility of this kind of simultaneous global scene didn’t start with the internet, though. Australian band The Saints independently arrived at a ‘punk’ sound in 1976, despite their geographic distance from London or New York, through their love of quintessential ‘proto-punk’ bands like The Stooges and The MC5. Musicians worldwide can similarly respond to a love of the same precursors and a hatred of the same popular artists. Music is almost Newtonian in this way: sounds and genres often have an equal and opposite reaction. Lo-fi house itself is fuelled by a backlash to the professionalism, popularity and polish of EDM. The back-to-basics approach of the genre is itself hardly musically innovative. It draws heavily on house and techno’s origins in Chicago and Detroit minimalism, music that was often fairly lo-fi and DIY in the first place. The instruments used are often analogue sounds (or reproductions) such as the semi-mythical Roland 808, 909 and 303 instruments. These sounds are considered to be more ‘authentic’ than the complex CPU-intensive sounds that can be made on modern production software (think of the sounds in your average Skrillex track). The added layer of postmodern irony appeals to the art-school weirdos whose use of words like ‘postmodern’ excludes them from the assembled beautiful people at the EDM festivals.

A certain kind of person seeks this musical authenticity in the ‘purer’ music of the past. The ideas that drive this movement originated in the Romantic obsession with the ‘folk arts’, and folk music particularly. This belief system involves the cherishing of an old way of life, focusing on community and ‘authenticity’. It often involves middle-class, left-leaning, college-educated types (hipsters basically) romanticising music that belongs to an ‘outsider’ community (black, poor, gay, etc.). They believe these cultures are pure and untainted, standing outside the ‘sickness’ of mainstream society. This type of thinking tends to attract those of us that didn’t really feel they fit into mainstream society anyway. Often the roots of a currently popular music are sought out and declared to be the ‘authentic’ source of the current ‘bastardised’ trend. The Delta blues revival, for example, valued the lo-fi analogue hiss in records by acoustic blues singers like Robert Johnson (who was never popular in his own time) to the cleaner, and then popular, sounds of electric blues and rock ‘n’ roll. This romantic idea has driven many backlash/revival movements from punk to trad jazz, throwback 90’s rap to northern soul. Of course, each movement is different but certain similarities appear in the use of old technology, the stressing of ‘otherness’ and a firm belief in new music as being too ‘commercial’ or made by sell-outs.

By using lo-fi production and old analogue synthesisers, producers symbolically attempt to detach themselves from modern technology and ‘commercialism’.

Lo-fi house, then, claims the authenticity of old Roland synthesisers, it also leans heavily on the ‘blackness’ of early Chicago house, which often used lush chords like minor 7ths to link itself to jazz. By using lo-fi production and old analogue synthesisers, producers symbolically attempt to detach themselves from modern technology and ‘commercialism’. All of this can be summed up by a belief in these sounds having more ‘soul’ or ‘humanity’ than those found in EDM. If science fiction has taught us anything, though, it is that the difference between human and machine, real and artificial is almost arbitrary. A complex enough computer can imitate any signifier of ‘soul’ you throw at it. That doesn’t mean that these musicians aren’t sincere about believing they hear ‘soul’ in old house music, just that logically this is pseudo-mystical nonsense. Seeing as we’re all at least a little bit infected with romanticism, though, emotion will often win over logic. Maybe when it’s this much fun we should sometimes let it.

Now, on to the tracks themselves:

First off, the essential tracks from this genre/sound are ‘Talk To Me You’ll Understand’ by Ross From Friends, DJ Seinfeld’s ‘U’, DJ Boring’s ‘Winona’ and Baltra’s ‘Fade Away (Vocal)’.

‘Talk To Me You’ll Understand’ is the archetypal track of this scene, it is possibly also the best. It is a track that has distorted muted beats under a gently repeating series of minor 7th chords. On top of this it has the best hook in the whole genre with the sung vocal of the song’s title. At one point the track breaks down for a guitar solo that could come straight from the 80s.

[su_youtube url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8tKKNV5sXUs”]

‘U’ is also a surprisingly beautiful piece of music from an artist with such a dumb name. The song itself lacks a trace of irony in its moving piano house ode to a dead relationship.

[su_youtube url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g6eu1Wb8CVE”]

‘Winona’ is an impressionistic track that features a repeated sample of Winona Ryder talking over distorted drums and dreamy chords. The bass sounds like your phone vibrating on a table. Probably the least interesting of the genre’s ‘big tracks’.

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‘Fade Away (Vocal)’ is a mournful track propelled by crisp analogue drums contrasted with slow Blade Runner-ish synth pads.

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Other bangers include:

Mall Grab ‘Can’t (Get U Outta My Mind)’ – Turns a sample of Alicia Keys’ ‘Feelin U, Feelin Me’ into vaporhouse heaven.

[su_youtube url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wyEEvnZw3Z8″]

Raär ‘Sometimes I Hear Sirens’ – Astral travel by way of acid techno.

[su_youtube url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VshXhJJJvxc”]

DJ Boring ‘Sunday Avenue’ – The beauty of distortion meets the beauty of melancholy.

[su_youtube url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cjTdgb0zPuc”]

Ross From Friends ‘Gettin’ It Done’ – House so deep it sounds submerged.

[su_youtube url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EBq7Lvzg3Zo”]

Demuja ‘I Want You’ – Smothers a 90’s house sample in filters and reverb.

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DJ Seinfeld ‘Time Spent Away From U’ – So distorted and vague it almost coins housegaze as a genre.

Jacques Greene ‘Fall (Baltra Remix)’ – The soundtrack to 21st-century urban melancholy.

[su_youtube url=”https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GNie6eAFqE”]

In many ways this is a nostalgia thing. People who grew up with the music and are now adults are looking back on their teenage years. As nostalgia tends to make that which happened roughly 15 years ago cool again, we can maybe finally move on from our worship of the ’90s. Emo can finally come out of its dingy bedroom where it’s been living. Its transgressions forgiven. Its sentimentality no longer making us cringe.

The most interesting part of this shift in perception is not the revival of old styles (it never is), but the creation of new ones. This all started when I fell into a strange, sad internet hole and discovered the YouTube channel/pseudo-label “デーモンAstari“. Much of the music on the channel combines the music of your awkward phase with heavily autotuned sing-rap. Wedded to this musical blend is a decidedly internetty visual aesthetic that relies heavily on sad anime clips with a bit of vaporwave-ish Windows 95 worship thrown in for good measure. The musical style is as removed from My Chemical Romance as they were from Sunny Day Real Estate and they themselves from Rites Of Spring.

“Emo is the soundtrack to youth, and as times change, so does the music that resonates with young people. The history of emo is one of reinvention … of shifting musical styles.” – Andy Greenwald

There is something very now about this music. It’s more than just a breath of fresh air into an old style. This is a postmodern blend of internet mixtapes from Future to Odd Future, for kids who grew up on Adult Swim playing rap tracks before airing anime shows, whose first musical memory was hearing Jimmy Eat World on the radio. As Andy Greenwald wrote in his book “Nothing Feels Good”: “Emo is the soundtrack to youth, and as times change, so does the music that resonates with young people. The history of emo is one of reinvention … of shifting musical styles.”

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This music has been a long time coming. “808s and Heartbreak” pretty much set the template (as well as giving a great name to the aesthetic) of autotune assisted sing-rapping over hip-hop beats. That album blends Kanye‘s emotional autotuned singing with the eponymous drum machine of the title while ‘Ye indulges in pettiness after the dissolution of a serious relationship. Since then, rappers like Drake, Future, Young Thug, Lil Yachty, Travi$ Scott and Lil Uzi Vert have followed in this vein while making weird, emotional and melodic music that breaks with many of hip-hop’s established “rules”. Many of these rappers have even been described as “emo” for their soul-baring lyrics.

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While these rappers have bent the rules, they still have been successful in the mainstream hip-hop world: their singles topped Billboard’s Hot R&B/Hip-Hop chart, they were interviewed in XXL and a few of them have collaborated with Kanye. There have also been outsiders who have made similar moves and received a different kind of success. Swedish rapper Yung Lean and his Sad Boys crew are hugely influential here with their white-boy autotune imitations of the above rappers. Part of Lean‘s appeal is the production provided by Yung Gud and Yung Sherman who combine the cloud rap of Clams Casino with electronic music touches.

The Canadian DJ/producer DJ Ryan Hemsworth has also been influential with his blend of electronic music, hip-hop and emotional indie rock. Hemsworth has even stated that two of his favourite albums are Waka Flocka Flame‘s “Flockavelli” and Weezer‘s “Pinkerton”, which sounds like the musical path for a good amount of this music. Both Lean and Hemsworth also have a very similar visual aesthetic consisting of Japanophile tendencies paired with a heavily emotional internet-worshipping aesthetic. This aesthetic might be best explained as the move from 90s emo’s obsession with bleeding one’s emotions and questionably poetry into a diary or a zine (“Diary” even being a seminal album in the genre) to publicly blogging these same issues on websites like Tumblr. Sad, suburban teenagers can now live on the internet in which they have created their own distinctive visual grammar.

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This new emo-goth-rap hybrid then combines elements of all of these musics. Some songs might sound like full-on emo tracks with hip-hop drums underneath, while some might be a more depressing and distorted version of current mainstream hip-hop. Like any genre or movement there are people who epitomise the movement and people who are hard to categorise, only seeming vaguely related. At the very least, even the artists who maybe don’t quite fit the mould are being included into this sphere by its fans and channels like デーモンAstari. Despite this, they generally share some family resemblances, these are: nostalgic cloud-rap influenced beats, clean guitars (sometimes sampled), short songs, autotune, emo-style singing, rapping and emotional lyrics (often about depression/suicide). These musicians are interested in rap music for its textures and its melodies not for technical rhyme schemes. It is not uncommon, then, to find some weak and fairly unexceptional rapping in lots of this music, but that’s not really the point. The production, however, is often wonderful. It captures the vague sense of emo sadness and nostalgia (the kind you might find in an American Football song) and blends it perfectly with the sad, hazy feeling of cloud rap beats. As with any of the music in a still developing scene, some of the music errs on the side of amateurish production values, but shows promise or is otherwise interesting for its pure novelty.

The music is also not without its issues. Combining the famously dodgy gender politics of emo and rap results in a perfect storm of douchebaggery. In both, women are frequently reduced to “bitches” or corpses. As Jessica Hopper wrote about in “Emo: Where The Girls Aren’t” , “We’re vessels redeemed in the light of boy-love. On a pedestal, on our backs. Muses at best. Cum rags or invisible at worst”. The rapper XXX-TENTACION has become a large figure in this scene despite (or, as Pitchfork suggests, because of) his imprisonment for domestic violence. With mental health issues the scene could be seen to be equally problematic. While in many ways having these artists discuss their sadness and depression can help others feel less alone and less stigmatised, it can also create an area where these issues are fetishised, where they can start to become cool. There are also the very current issue of sad, young men online with only an echo chamber of other equally frustrated young men to talk to. These situations have become the breeding grounds for extremist philosophies like the Alt-right. In terms of racial issues, it would be unwise to think that these largely white performers interest in Japan or African-American music signals any kind of allegiance with Black Lives Matter or other parts of the #woke internet.

The final thing is what to call this nebulous genre/scene that, for now, exists mostly around a few YouTube channels. Emo rap might work, but it’s not all clearly emo and that term has been half-used to refer to rappers like Kid Cudi for years now. Sad rap? IDK. I’m sure someone will soon find a way to categorise this and annoy all the artists who claim they’re totally original and can’t be pigeonholed. I look forward to the day. All I can say is it’s a shame that I won’t be coining said term and irritating everyone myself.

A brief introduction to the artists and songs worth knowing (most of these are best enjoyed with both the music and the video whilst alone at 1am):

– Lil Peep is probably the best and so-far the most well-known. His music is also the most successful synthesis of emo and rap. According to a recent Pitchfork profile his influences are Crystal Castles, Panic At The Disco and Gucci Mane (which says everything really).

“In “Girls”, Peep and collaborator Horsehead appear to be two scene-kids that have snuck into a Chief Keef video. It’s a surreal blend of sleek rap video direction and white kids with face tattoos. It’s also a clear attempt to enter the conventional rap world on its own terms. The beat epitomises the dreamy vibe of much of this scene while the lyrics seem to capture its dodgy gender politics.

“M.O.S” is a gorgeously gothic track that manages to be quiet and loud at the same time. Peep‘s vocals are slurred and low in the mix as if this were a My Bloody Valentine song. It really draws comparisons between shoegaze and this scene with a general emphasis on emotion and texture over clear lyrics.

– XXXTENTACION makes music that is occasionally gothic and distorted, occasionally emotional and sung. The デーモンAstari channel’s most popular upload is “I Don’t Wanna Do This Anymore”, one of his weepier songs, so I’ll include it in this list.

– Nothing, nowhere goes even further into emo than Peep. His music generally combines sad-sack lyrics with clean guitars and emo vocals but throws in some hip-hop production and some whiteboy rapping for good measure.

– Brennan Savage‘s “Look At Me Now” has a great gothic trap beat that Savage mostly sings over, with a tiny bit of rapping.

– Lil Bo Weep‘s “I Wrote This Song For You” was recently championed by Diplo on Twitter. Its genre might be best described as cloud rap ballad.

– yunggoth‘s “idk how to kill myself” is one of the vaguest trap songs ever written. Pretty much the only word you can make out in this ethereal banger is “bitches”.

– OmenXIII‘s “Drop Dead” is basically just a great gothic punk-rap song. He looks the part too, dressed all in black with some black nail polish for good measure.

After a decade of ups and downs, she can now say that in both her career and her personal life that she is finally “loving herself” (as she did to People Magazine). But how has our vision of mental health changed in the last 10 years? For many people, there is still a lot of stigma and ignorance around depression and anxiety. Do we show artists enough empathy? Considered by many to be privileged rich people who should have nothing to complain about, do we really take them seriously when they are addressing these issues?

In 2017, mental illness is still glorified or, at least, a subject to laugh about. From Beethoven to Elliot Smith, depression and anxiety have been seen as natural fuel for creativity. The legend of the “tortured genius” is deeply present in the minds of too many of us, as pain and creativity are considered related. The suicides of Kurt Cobain, singer of Nirvana or Ian Curtis, singer of Joy Division, are a source of fantasy for their fans, as depression is an inherent part of their legacy in music.

There is never one single reason that a person develops mental health issues, but more a mixture of conditions that can come from strenuous working conditions: precarity for most of them, intense touring, the pressure of coming up with new material, isolation, anti-social hours, problems connected to both your loved ones and new people, as well as the easy access to alcohol and drugs (legal or not). Many artists have refused the touring life entirely, as with Britney herself, who seems more than happy to focus on her “Piece Of Me” Residency in Las Vegas. Adele also declared, just after releasing her album “25”, that she will not be touring for “another ten years” to focus on her personal life. But the truth is that, for most musicians, not touring isn’t really an option, as selling records is no longer a viable way to sustain a career.

According to a study published by Help Musicians UK, based on a survey of over 2,000 musicians, live crew members, music management staff and music producers, amongst others, 71% of them have declared to have suffered from depression and panic attacks during their careers. By comparison, 19% of the general population declares the same thing. Not only did the study focus on mental issues, but also on the more physical issues involved in a musical career. The history of eating disorders among artists is long, ranging from female pop artists such as Lady Gaga, who opened up about her struggles with bulimia and anorexia since the age of 15, and the body shaming since she started her career, or Kesha, who recently revealed the harassment she suffered from Dr. Luke due to her weight, to male artists like Years & Years‘ singer Olly Alexander or former 1 Direction singer Zayn who recently addressed their long struggles.

“I know those who suffer from anxiety will understand and I hope those who don’t can empathize with my situation” – Zayn

Why have so many artists started to be vocal about their mental illnesses? Social media plays a real role on this, as it has become a part of the job of an artist to maintain a proximity with their audience. With a highly-connected new generation that enjoys sharing every aspect of their lives with the world, an artist has to satisfy their fans’ voyeurism to become more relatable. The use of instruments like Instagram, Twitter, Facebook, Tumblr or Snapchat as an extension of their art, facilitates the sharing of such intimate moments. As much as social media can be the place of empowerment and liberation for many artists, for others, it is also the source of many anxieties. Easy for us to say “Haters gonna hate” but for an artist, it can be pretty destructive to be confronted against cyber-bullying, specially if we think about the fact that there is not a training called “How to deal with being famous.” After allegedly attempting to kill herself back in March of last year, R&B singer Kehlani didn’t hesitate in erasing her presence over social media, following the many petty comments that invaded her fan pages. Addressing the issue at a concert, she made a powerful speech to support people suffering from mental issues: “(Depression is) something that so many young people are dealing with, and so many young people slip under the rug. Please don’t try it. Don’t do it.”

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Selena Gomez also opened up about her struggles with depression, panic attacks and her issues with social media. After going through some difficult moments in 2016, she entered a 90-day rehab session to overcome her battles. Regarding her struggles with social media, she stated:

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It’s hard right now. I can’t stand social media, I can’t stand what they’re looking at. I can’t stand what they think is reality, and [this] show is real as it could possibly get.

Unfortunately, kids don’t care. They don’t care, they have to see something that’s going to scare them. They need to see something that’s frightening…I want them to understand it. I would do anything to be able to have a good influence on this generation, but I definitely relate to everything that was going on. I was there for the last episode, and I was a mess just seeing it all come to life, because I’ve experienced that.

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Another way to connect more with their fans is by sharing what can be considered a common experience. After being very present on Tumblr, Halsey spoke about her own struggles as a teenager in an interview for Billboard, where she discussed being diagnosed with bipolar disorder and attempting suicide at the age of 15. Talking about these issues can help other artists to exorcize the issue and prevent some fans from going through the same dark phase. As suicide is the third leading cause of death among 10-14 and second among 15-34, according to a study, high-profile artists who discuss their mental illness help by raising awareness and educating through the veil of misinformation.

“(Depression) is something I faced in my life not only when (writing about the song), but even now.” – Kendrick Lamar

Young men are the group most likely to commit suicide, especially those under the age of 35. Many specialists describe it as the “silent epidemic” as suicide is the most common way for a man between the age of 15 and 34 to die. Minorities are also more likely to suffer from depression, often without easy access to treatment; one study found that “Depression diagnosis rates were 6.4% for non-Hispanic Whites, 4.2% for African Americans, 7.2% for Hispanics, and 3.8% for others”. In October of last year, Kid Cudi addressed his decision to check himself into rehab for “depression and suicidal urges,” on Facebook, leading to commotion amongst his fans. As it seems harder for men, especially black men, to discuss this issue, the statement went some way to opening the dialogue up on issues on the intersection of race, depression and masculinity.
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At the end of last year, we learnt that Kanye West had been hospitalized for stress and exhaustion. Many fans declared that they saw it coming due to the rapper’s notoriously unpredictable, confusing and, let’s say it, crazy personality. Kanye could easily fit the mould of a modern “tortured genius”. His status as a big star turned him into an easy target for mockery, however many of his friends reached out in support. During a BBC Live performance, Chance The Rapper said: “I want to extend a very special prayer to my big brother Kanye West… extend this love” showing how the world can have very different perceptions of mental illness.

Others have chosen to deal with depression throughout their art, creating an open artistic space for black men. Kendrick Lamar on his critically-acclaimed album, “To Pimp A Butterfly,” managed to raise awareness of the issue of mental illness in hip-hop, a genre where the issue is rarely spoken about. On his track “U,” he addresses the subject as a way to get him cleaned of all of the negative energy, his album being his escape to exorcize his problems. In an interview with 93.7 The Beat, the artist declared “The record feels great but it comes from a place of depression. It comes from a place of insecurity. (Depression) is something I faced in my life not only when (writing about the song), but even now.

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As many artists and fans seem both ready to discuss the issue, what are the concrete solutions offered? CALM (Campaign Against Living Miserably) is a charity that helps prevent male suicide. Last year, they launched TORCH SONGS, a campaign to raise awareness in the music industry by offering artists a platform to share their battles against depression and anxiety and how music has helped them overcome it. They also encourage fans to share their own experiences via the hashtag #whatsyourtorchsong, as many men have troubles putting words into their uneasiness. Described as “songs that guide us out of the dark,” the campaign counted Olly Alexander of Years & Years, Justin Young of The Vaccines, Ben Gregory of Blaenavon and Frank Turner as their ambassadors.

After all of the efforts made by artists to address their issues, the public eye towards mental illness has shifted, fans showing more compassion and sympathy. The growing discussion around music and mental health shouldn’t be exclusively around artists but also around the entire music scene, going from producers, sound engineers to tour managers, PRs, etc. as they face the same difficulties as those on stage, ranging from income instability to exhaustion. The music industry is starting to open the gate, but the concrete changes are yet to come.

When it comes to the fans, the awareness has shown the first symptoms of improvement as the public doesn’t hesitate to defend artists when mocked. Most recently, during the Grammy Awards’ red carpet, Ryan Seacrest asked artist Katy Perry about her time off. Her response was nothing more than a petty comment against Britney Spears infamous breakdown as she replied to how she was feeling: “Fantastic. And I haven’t shaved my head yet.” Via the hashtag #KatyPerryIsOverParty, fans are calling out the “Teenage Dream” artist about her lack of empathy towards mental health in the music industry. We, as a public, are ready to make no joke about stars struggling with depression and to defend them, when they are attacked. The best response remains the one given by Britney Spears who quoted a Bible verse on her Twitter account, showing not only that she is feeling better, but that she feels strong enough to defend herself.

You can listen a playlist below, where you will find 20 songs that deal with depression, anxiety and unrequited love.

When looking at the Japan’s representation in the music industry, the first thing that comes to mind for many in the Western world is J-Pop. Being a complete sucker for pop music myself, I’ve noticed the growth of their innovative take on the genre and their understanding on how to create catchy songs over the years. But, what about the less visible side of Japanese music? With just a little digging, you can find a flourishing scene of innovative hip-hop and electronic artists, many of whom display a perfect understanding of their craft, flavoured with the Japanese way of perceiving music.

As exciting as the electronic scene is worldwide, we can’t deny the fact that it is primarily male-dominated. When it comes to Japan’s biggest names in electronic music, we have the likes of Stereociti, Hiroaki Iizuka, the duo Steven Porter, and Ryo Murakami, among others. Sadly, not many female DJs come to mind, and most of those that do are actually models. So, with such a small female representation in Japan’s electronic scene, what does it take for a woman to be taken seriously?

Even though she’s now based in Berlin, Kyoka is still an indispensable part of Japanese electronic music. Part of the duo Groopies, she’s now experimenting with a more crafty sound, integrating all kinds of modular synths experiments. Mainly known for her works on Raster-Noton, her LP “Is (Is Superpowered)” has garnered attention from all over the world.

YonYon, a Beatmaker, DJ, and booking agent, is receiving global attention as well, thanks to her amazing blend of styles that ranges all the way from hip-hop, to indie pop and J-Pop. Born in Korea and raised in Tokyo, she started her career with her band Kotoba Select. More recently, she’s known as the director of Bae Tokyo, a creative agency providing help to female artists, founded by radio host personality, Jayda B. Jayda is now focussed on her radio program “Dentradio”, where she’s been showcasing new talents since moving from Atlanta to Tokyo in 2009.

Chocoholic, another part of the Bae Tokyo crew, is one of the most exciting artists of the past few years. Mixing an intense palette of hip-hop tunes with straight-forward electronic vibes, her sets feel like a vision of what globalization might look like. We were lucky enough to have a talk with the three girls of Bae Tokyo – about their perception of the electronic scene, the place of women in the Japan’s music industry, and what women’s role in electronic music is worldwide. Additionally, Jayda B and Chocoholic made us an exclusive B2B mix, that you can hear below.

Highclouds: Hi girls! Let’s start with you Chocoholic. We introduce you a few weeks ago to our readers when we premiered your track “First Class.” When did you start creating music and how?

Chocoholic: My first encounter with music was when I was 6. My mum got me an album by J-pop singer Hikaru Utada. I was so blown away by her music. I also started learning piano at the same time, and a few years later, I got a little bored of playing someone else’s music so I started making my own songs on piano.

You are inspired by many genres. Where do you get such different inspirations?

Chocoholic: Hmmm, I’m not sure. I like many different genres. I guess it’s also because I believe in the importance of being open to ideas and being more diverse. And whenever I start making a new song, I try to incorporate my style as well as a new trend.

How is your situation as a female artist in Japan?

Chocoholic: As a composer, there are moments I wish I was a guy, however, I don’t usually feel that. It’s more about my introvert personality and not much about the gender.

Has is changed lately? Did you notice any improvements in the last few years?

Chocoholic: I feel like it’s got easier to become a producer or a composer. Anyone can get a tool, sometimes for free, and start making music but I still feel like there are not many girl producers in the field.

What can we expect from you in the future?

Chocoholic: I will be collaborating with many artists, and will also be releasing my first EP some time this year. In terms of performance, I will focus more on interactive, live shows and construct songs in front of the audience. It’s gonna be a challenging year!

Let’s talk about the collective. What is the purpose of Bae Tokyo?

Jayda B: I don’t like to use the word collective because it sounds a bit exclusive – Bae Tokyo is a creative agency that focus’ on bringing light to women in music and really building bridges internationally as this what’s starting to become a huge support network. With our “official” launch this year (after our 1st Anniversary) we really wanted to express this in our mission. Bae Tokyo is for everyone. I think we all want to make sure that’s clear to people who want to be involved with us. However, the purpose is to highlight and create a platform for women in music and art.

Yonyon: Bae Tokyo is a creative agency that emboldens women by providing a platform for djs and artists regardless of race, ethnicity and sexual identity.

Women from very different backgrounds are part of the agency. How different are their situations as female artists?

Jayda B: Yes, there are girls involved with Bae Tokyo that are from many different places but I don’t think our situations are too different from each other or have been. As female artists our situations haven’t been that much different.

Yonyon: Anywhere in the world, there are female collectives that are specialized to demands based on their country’s situation. In the case of BaeTokyo, the foreigners in Japan, originally born in other countries have been managing the crew, to work with Japanese artist. That is the roots of our movement, working with Japanese artists. Because we are foreigners, we have been well touched with the things happening outside of Japan and at the same time we know the Japanese scene as well because we have been living in Tokyo. Luckily for us, there are places in Japan that we could work together regardless of nationality or gender, so no one would disturb us because of those factors.

Yonyon & Jayda B

Jayda B: With all of us being in Japan, we face a lot of the same issues together as just being women, or foreign women. We have issues that are native to Japan when it comes feminism or women’s rights. There are so many things happening around the world right now and feminists movements especially in the states have progressed over time. We still have a lot of work to do and a lot of light to shed in Japan as the concept of “Feminism” isn’t really understood here.

Yonyon: Japan has not been a place where the idea of Feminism is generally known in the public. In other words, we would say that they are indifferent to our movement and we do not perceive much attention according to the feminism contexts. I think our activities will be meaningless unless we work in a larger field. That is why it is important to make connections positively with other country’s scene and collaborate with overseas artists. Also as the other fact, Japanese audience tends to join something interesting from overseas, rather than their domestic events.

What kind of support can you provide if any other artist is interested in joining you?

Yonyon: a. Appear in regular events of BaeTokyo. Then, b. Provide a place where you can demonstrate your abilities regardless of race, ethnicity and sexual identity. And finally, c. Given the opportunity to collaborate with overseas artists.

Jayda B: We act as agents sometimes for our girls. For example, make sure everyone gets paid. There have been a few opportunities that have come my way and both YonYon’s way from other promoters asking if “there are other baes who are available” so to speak. In that case we’re responsible for their well being, making sure we can get them what we know is deserved and fair.

Can you give us the name of some female Japanese artists that we might not know of?

Yonyon: Wednesday Campanella, Young Juvenile Youth and DAOKO.

Jayda B: There’s one dj in Tokyo named LICAXXX. She hasn’t played a Bae Tokyo event yet but she’s a great dj and a mutual friend of a lot of us. Her mixes are great so i’d recommend her.

“There’s some sort of stigma I think, that as a female producer most people don’t take you seriously” – Jayda B

How is perceived the role of a female DJ in the Japanese electronic scene?

Chocoholic: I think there are quite a lot of girl DJs in Japan. Many of my friends who came from different countries have told me that they didn’t expect to see this many female DJs. However, I feel like there’s always room to improve. People might see you as an idol and it can be hard to show your artistic side sometimes.

Yonyon: Unfortunately, there is still few female DJs here based on Japanese underground music scene. Our society somehow has common realization that female DJs are “models,” not the “DJ,” so sometimes it is difficult to represent yourself only with your music selections. However these days, we have a kind of current that female fashion icon should start being a DJ in the club, which leads more female audience on the floor to check those models. I think this could be one way to create the opportunity as the first step. Of course while accepting these movement, I also want all of these female DJs to put more underground tunes into their sets, so the audience could be familiar with that atmosphere – and it would change the way those people enjoy music in other contexts.

Jayda B: There are a lot of djs in Tokyo who are models so a lot of times people think most girl djs are only models, they can’t spin and are only there to be seen. That was what I heard a lot when I first moved back to Tokyo two years ago. Lately I don’t really hear about that a lot and especially with Bae, I think it has helped the perception of girl djs in Japan. It’s important to me that everyone is well represented and their own unique style is understood.

The Bae Tokyo crew at their party

How do you think the internet has changed the way music is created, specially for women?

Jayda B: I also am a radio host/personality and when I started my first show back in 2009/2010, the purpose of that show was to exclusively highlight musicians who didn’t have a voice or outlet to be heard. Now with the internet, there is so much information freely available. For example, we have outlets now like Soundcloud that allow people to share their music on a social network specifically for music. Because of this, there are so many “bedroom producers” who can easily share their music and overtime you can keep up with their progression as sound cloud is also like a portfolio. I think it is a lot easier now with social media to get recognition and to collaborate with like minded people to share your ideas and crafts with the world. Still, the music industry and most industries are male dominated. There’s some sort of stigma I think, that as a female producer most people don’t take you seriously just because you are a girl. Not that I have a chip on my shoulder but we still have a lot of work to do when it comes to women being equal to men on any platform.

Yonyon: To be honest I am still not sure how the Internet as whole thing have made the advantage only for women through the scene. But one thing I could definitely say, is that social networking service has massive strength – to spread your own message to all over the world to let everybody know about your proposal. For example, we could point out Women March on 21st of January in Washington. Not only local women, but also every women in all over world was able to resonate and offer their message via Facebook live and Instagram live, while they live-streaming the march by themselves in their own country.

Chocoholic: Hmm that is a really big question. I don’t think there are many gender boundaries or discriminations in the internet world. At least, I haven’t noticed any significant differences. In terms of changes, I think people can now discover you and your music much easier. Internet is really good for advertising yourself and telling others what you want to do, and also finding someone you can work with in the future. Good for independent producers.

You can follow Jayda B over Facebook and Twitter. Chocoholic over Instagram, Twitter and Soundcloud. YonYon over Facebook, Instagram and Soundcloud. And finally, Bae Tokyo over Facebook and visit their website.

In late 70s Britain, the sociologists Simon Frith and Angela McRobbie wrote that “it is boys who become interested in rock as music, who become hi-fi experts, who hope to become musicians, technicians or music businessmen. It is boys who form the core of the rock audience, who are intellectually interested in rock, who become rock critics and collectors”. Something, clearly, about the idea of taking music seriously fit with the way we allowed men to be men and not with the way we allowed women to be women. In 2017, and in this current wave of feminism, things certainly seem better but how far has an idea of masculinity ingrained itself?

Despite the more promising progressive moves of our current musical world, masculinity is firmly entrenched in music and our ways of thinking about it. You don’t have to dig deep to find worrying stories that make it feel like we’re still back in the seventies. Stubbornly rooted deep in our thinking about music are links between our ideas of creativity and masculinity. Music is hardly the only sphere of culture to have been arbitrarily gendered: science, technology and engineering fields (STEM) are famously male-centric fields. They remain this way not only through sexist jokes or the lack of support for women in these spaces but also in the way we think about what it means to be male or female. With STEM fields, for example, from an early age boys see more scientists on TV or their toys are geared towards creativity or their parents discipline them less because “boys will be boys”. These ideas of “natural” masculinity and femininity are conventions that, to many, have become common sense. If women do become involved in these industries, as the saying goes, they will frequently be forced to work twice as hard for half the recognition. A huge amount of this comes from a discourse of “seriousness” that sees men as logical and objective, while women are reduced to being irrational and hysterical – hysteria itself having been thought originally to come from the uterus.

While women are clearly just as talented as men (why on earth would there be a biological difference in these matters?!), their contributions are clearly valued less. Men are allowed the encouragement, the space, the funds and the critical attention to allow their talents to thrive. Accordingly, men are generally seen as the default for musicians, with women frequently seen as a deviation from the norm (you wouldn’t refer to The Rolling Stones as an all-male band, right?).

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To understand this we have to examine the fundamentally different (and frequently subconscious) prisms we see male and female behaviour through. A recent psychological study from Duke University suggested that: “think[ing] creatively tends to be associated with independence and self-direction – qualities generally ascribed to men”. Their study argues that if the same work is individually attributed to a man then a women, the supposedly male work is seen to be more creative. If we look back at nineteenth century gender roles we can start to understand this. Men, at this time, performed public work as the breadwinner of the house, generally involving physical or intellectual activity, while women performed the private work of the house as homekeepers, carers and moulders of young minds. Men, then, as they performed deeds outside the house were allowed the quality of “agency, which … refers to self-directed behavior and is associated with traits such as adventurousness and self-reliance”. Women, conversely, were believed to have “communality, which … refers to concern for others and is associated with traits such as social sensitivity and cooperativeness”.

The most culturally valued movements have been those that challenge the way we view society

These roles then directly translate into artistic and musical philosophy. The traits that we admire in musicians are those of disruption, independence and originality. These could be considered the main focus of the rock ‘n’ roll philosophy. So not only are we more likely to encourage men to be creative and enter the world of music, but we will also be more likely to recognise creativity in men even if they’re doing the same work. The philosophies of art and masculinity are then inevitably linked. The traits we abhor in art then are those that maintain the fabric of society (in the way of a stereotypical mother). The moments we value in music and art are those initial moments of rupture when everything changes but before the larger public is aware: punk rock in 1976, acid house in 1988, modernism in 1922. When you think of important artists, musicians and creators, the ones we value most are those that broke down doors and played by their own rules “exerting independence and distinctiveness”. We don’t value the bands that “maintain[ed] social harmony and interconnectedness”. From punk rock to Kanye West, the most culturally valued movements have been those that challenge the way we view society, not those that uphold its values.

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The mythology of rock ‘n’ roll is for music that shakes the boundaries of culture. As musicologist Keir Keightley writes, “the idea of rock involves a rejection of those aspects of mass-distributed music which are believed to be soft, safe or trivial… the styles, genres and performers that are thought to merit the name ‘rock’ must be seen as serious, significant and legitimate in some way”. In this sense, rock doesn’t have to even mean distorted guitars but an idea of music being independent or distinctive. You can apply the ‘rock’ mode of thinking to everything from Nick Cave to Lil’ Yachty. Pop music, on the other hand, is seen to conform to what the system already wants. People taking music seriously will then value whoever is the most unique, not those who sound overly influenced by others. Pop culture is associated, then, with conformity and with femininity, a Stepford Wives suburban world of bland obedience. Rock culture becomes its opposite, eschewing conformity for a masculine sense of rebellion, leaving the home behind. As in Kerouac‘s On The Road, women are there to care for you, pay for you and ultimately to hold you back from the wild adventures you and your buddies can have.

“Fuck you I won’t do what you tell me” is its rallying cry and unofficial slogan

Women (in the rock ‘n’ roll philosophy) are a symbol of both safety and oppression, the ultimate figure to rebel against. In this case “the rules” are often supposedly enforced by the mother. As the early twentieth century American writer H.L. Mencken wrote: “women are the conservative and conservators, the enemies of hazard and innovation… mothering which is their supreme gift is the greatest of …foes to masculine enterprise”. More recently this connection between mass culture and femininity has been made by Tyler Durden in “Fight Club”. As the characters see it, they are “slave[s] to the IKEA nesting instinct“, to the false dreams of television, consumers that are “byproducts of a lifestyle obsession”. The unnamed narrator (Edward Norton in the film) imagines an alter ego (Brad Pitt) who is the paragon of conventional masculinity in contrast to his own life as a white-collar wage-slave. Breaking away from this “nesting instinct” (clearly a maternal reference) can only be achieved by forming an exclusively-male group who reassert their masculinity by beating each other up and rebelling against this feminised mass culture.

Any musician can be taken seriously if they adopt the rock philosophy, whether they show a certain rebellious attitude in the way they deal with their label, their decadent behaviour or in their claim to speak for the people. Rock is a philosophy of rugged individualism. Rock’s political stance is neither necessarily right or left but a kind of libertarian anti-authority stance. “Fuck you I won’t do what you tell me” is its rallying cry and unofficial slogan. By rebelling against the culture you were brought up in, you are rebelling against this imagined nagging mother figure. As long as you’re breaking the rules, you’re fine. So swearing on TV is rock,renegade police officers in cop movies are rock, smoking cigarettes is rock and shooting a man in Reno just to watch him die is definitely rock (unfortunately reading sociological essays about ‘what rock is’ is not rock – probably best to throw a TV out your nearest window). The “rock rebel” is the character that rockstars inhabit, built on Marlon Brando in The Wild One and James Dean in Rebel Without A Cause, this is the sense we have of the rockstar. A rugged individual who follows his(!) own path. The mythical rockstar figure is not concerned about his own health and is uninterested in following the rules of others. Even if they are just achieving the sort of “rebellion” that our culture values as rebellion (thus taking on its own sort of conformity).

In spite of all this, it is easy to think that as left-leaning feminists, we have left behind the culture of patriarchal masculinity from which we felt so estranged. This is not the case. The issue is that when we talk of masculinity, we are often talking about the masculinity of others as if there is one clear version of masculinity. We might think that AC/DC fans exude masculinity while us Radiohead-loving hipsters have risen above it. Those AC/DC fans love loud guitars and their lyrics are more clearly objectionable but this far from makes us immune.

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As the New Zealand-based musician and academic Matthew Bannister points out, indie is not necessarily any less masculine: “it was a different kind of masculinity: activities of record collecting, debates about the composition of the “canon”; music “connoisseurship”, exchange and hoarding of information – all provide spaces for masculine identity formation.” Bannister writes that “indie provided a space where some men could assert masculinity indirectly by participating in a kind of objective order or symbolic system of authority”. In other words, by being into weirdo obscure music, a certain kind of man could assert their masculinity in their deep knowledge.

“Rock’s great paradox is that it has successively revolted against established notions of manliness while remaining misogynistic”

It is easy to look down on more working class ideas of masculinity and to never examine the ways that this hipsterdom can itself exude a certain kind of middle class masculinity. Basically, masculinity in our culture tends to exist as a form of power. This power can either be in the fairly obvious form of a heavy metal band lording over the stage with their virtuosity and dominance over the audience but also in the detached elitism of indie/hipster subcultures. As Bannister writes: “taste is a form of cultural power”.

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Another way masculinity paradoxically lingers is through its own subversion. There are ways that “normal”, macho masculinity is broken away from in popular music that can seem fairly progressive in some senses and totally regressive in others. Musicians from Young Thug to The Rolling Stones have cross-dressed while still referring to women as “bitches” or writing songs like “Under My Thumb”. This makes you think that maybe cross-dressing wasn’t as progressive as it first seemed. As Simon Reynolds writes in his glam rock history “Shock And Awe”: “Male pop performers annexing for themselves the feminine province of fashion and beautification, then, was not necessarily an indicator of respect for women. It was an extension of vanity, a new terrain for the male ego”.

Similarly the open emotional lyrics of Drake to emo bands are generally propped up by other forms of macho posturing. As Tahirah Hairston writes in an essay on Drake: “Sure, he’s really, really good at expressing his feelings, broadening the scope of masculinity in rap” but “Drake’s lyrics are rooted in patriarchal and paternalistic themes, complete with a fascination with “good” girls and saving women.” Simon Reynolds and Joy Press explain this, in their “Sex Revolts”, with the idea that “rock’s great paradox is that it has successively revolted against established notions of manliness while remaining misogynistic”. This is precisely the complex issue here, rock can both challenge and confirm traditional masculine ideals. Through cross-dressing or being bluntly emotional, these artists are still conforming to a masculine sense of rebellion, of shaking the system, even if they are subverting traditionally male behaviour in a different way.

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In these ways, the whole “rock” philosophy has a certain degree of macho behaviour behind it. Acquiring knowledge becomes a new form of intellectual dominance. Consider the common complaint from women in any geekish world like this where they are challenged to prove their knowledge of pop culture as they have been assumed to be phonies or charlatans on the basis of their gender. Further still, the idea of “mansplaining” seems to speak to this same need for men to assert their dominance by use of brain rather than brawn.

It is certainly no bad thing that in 2017 music as a culture is comparatively less male-dominated than it was but it seems overtly utopian to suggest these ideas will be going away quickly, if at all. In our more progressive circles, we might be seeing slightly less male dominance but with all that’s happened recently these progressions seem precarious at best. We might be able to complain about gender roles and agree that they’re outdated but who, of any gender, can say they haven’t made ridiculous assumptions about a woman’s knowledge of music or just generally have treated women poorly through their own unchecked sexism? Our cultural values were developed with white, straight, middle-class, cis-gender people in mind. They won’t go away after a few listens of Lemonade.

Thanks to its success, the show rapidly became a display of many talents. (!! SPOILERS !!) One of their most famous contestants, Alaska Thunderfuck 5000 was just crowned opening the season of release of new material by many of the superstars drag race queens who take advantage of the high exposure giving by the show, going from the newly-crowned queen who shared the “The T” to quit way too soon Adore Delano who shared “I.C.U.“. There was also Detox and her song “Supersonic” and even season 2 breakout star Tatianna, who won all our hearts with her amazing (and a bit gross) spoken-word track “The Same Parts“.

Steadily growing more famous with every passing season, it’s easy to imagine some of these queens in the same position as any pop star. Living in a period where LGBTQI people are more and more accepted, with gender fluidity being a current discussion for the youth, the role of drag queens is celebrated from fashion to music to stand-up comedy to dance by creating a natural bridge between pop culture and underground activism. Is the world ready to accept a drag queen as a relevant actor in mainstream musical entertainment? How are the newer generations of drag queens changing the game when it comes to music quality? Is drag queen culture, by gaining more attention in the public eye, losing its political activism?

To understand better how far we’ve come, it’s helpful to first draw a picture of the artists who started bringing drag queen culture to the mainstream. Even if the art existed for decades, it remained for many years, an underground culture, only accepted by the gay community. A lot of artists, such as Boy George, David Bowie, Grace Jones or Lady Gaga, have used androgynous characters through their careers to create an illusion often made to shock the establishment. Nevertheless, the first drag queens to reach the mainstream came during the 70’s as the first born superstars that came out of the shadows to start taking a part in pop art. First, in 1972 with Divine starring in John Waters‘s “Pink Flamingos” and then in 1975 with Tim Curry who played a cross-dressing bisexual in “The Rocky Horror Picture Show.” Playing highly rebellious characters, both films will remain as the classics that help putting the highlight on an underground culture. Divine used her newfound fame to release “My First Album”, ten years after her breakthrough in Waters‘ movie, which peaked at number 21 on Dance Club Songs in 1982 with her song “Native Love (Step By Step)”.

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During the 90’s, two friends queens came and conquered the world: Rupaul and Lady Bunny. The former thanks to her glamour and sophistication, and the latter because of her humour and style. Both performers used their creativity and their sense of avant-garde as a channel to make it into the mainstream. With “Supermodel (You Better Work),” Rupaul hit number 2 on Dance Club Songs, and number 45 on the Hot 100, with the praises from Kurt Cobain who considered it as one of his favorite tracks in 1993. When it comes to Lady Bunny, we’ll have to wait until 2013 to see her shine with her track “Take Me Up High.” It would be a mistake to forget about club performer Kevin Aviance who ruled the discotheques all over the world in 1997 with many singles dotting the charts. The best one of her discography will remain “Din Da Da,” the hymn that all the gay clubs in the world were waiting for. Playing with all of the most relevant codes of the 90’s gay community, they marked the starting point of the revolution where the sub-culture became considered as a ground-breaking and inspiring part of the club landscape.

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After the success of her music in the 1990s, RuPaul created her “Drag Race” television show in 2009 to carry her legacy, and created many tracks over the following seasons, producing an unavoidable bridge between pop and her queens. Many of them will use music as their way to glory, shaping a whole new range of tracks that are fiercely brilliant and sometimes, let’s be honest, cringe-worthy. After 10 seasons, there is a mix of queens who made songs that are jokes (“Boys Is Bottom“, “American Apparel Ad Girls” being the most successful examples) to very serious pop divas who released full-length albums.

“Mr Doorman, what’s that?
You need my ID?
This face is my ID, motherfucker!”
– Alaska Thunderfuck 5000

If two queens deserve the right to be considered to carry RuPaul‘s musical legacy, it would be Alaska Thunderfuck 5000 and Adore Delano, who both have used drag humour elements to gain access to pop stardom. “Your Makeup Is Terrible” by Alaska features the winning expressive and twisted gimmicks already used by RuPaul in the past, and a beat that is clearly made for the dancefloor. While Alaska uses her glamour and recognizable humorous voice to become a superstar, Adore Delano‘s schtick is the creation of a relatable persona, making the listener feel like they’re actually her friend. Unpolished, using clothes you can buy on Ebay for 10$, her aesthetic and talent are able to shine through drag, specially when you think about the fact that she participated on “American Idol” before as her boy-self and didn’t make it very far. The art of drag has become a way for many artists to escape the stiffness of the musical landscape and use its freedom as an unlimited expression of themselves.

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Handling her freedom as a way to express her sexual desires, season 7 winner Violet Chachki delivered “Bettie,” a BDSM industrial track that uses all of the stereotypes of 1950s perfect spouse to create an underground sex temple for straight men. Using the same story-line as “If U Seek Amy” by Britney Spears and the aesthetic of “Human Nature” by Madonna, the younger generation becomes bolder than ever, straddling the boundaries of gender and disturbing the vision of the straight comfort zone. Queer activism is not about politics that please the straight audience by acting like them, but more about getting them out of their socialized heteronormativity.

By raising the questions of gender roles, Violet Chachki uses drag and music to make a political stand. Some other queens struggle with finding the appeal of drag culture as a way of expressing themselves and will use their boy-self to be taken seriously. Season 7 top three contestant Pearl shared self-produced debut single “Love Slave,” an electronic experimental track. Even though she is in full drag in her video, she uses her boy-self image as the face of the producer, in order to build a credibility. The track ends up seeming like she is trying too hard and it lacks what we love most about drag culture: humour. The same struggle occurred to season 3 contestant Phi Phi O’Hara who in her typical fashion, managed to push it to the extreme, by completely abandoning her drag persona and releasing her new single “Play” under her boy name Jaremi Carey. Drag culture is losing its appeal for some artists, when they want to become a part of the mainstream at all costs and have some recognition of the straight public. Sadly for them, it seems like the best way to access to stardom is to own your drag-self, as the gap between the musical careers of Alaska/Adore with their millions of followers, and Phi Phi/Pearl poor attempts to be taken seriously is quite abysmal.

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Considering the fact that RuPaul has created such an entertaining show with many highly polished queens, it is hard for other artists to get the recognition they deserve. The competition is so rude than many people have declared that Drag Race destroyed the world of drag by imposing the world to a unique form of the art. Some other queens, instead of putting the show down, decided to do their own thing, not caring whether they look cute, polished, or thin. American rapper Christeene used the art to make her viewers uncomfortable, and being truly punk about her image. Her character is clearly a political stand. In the video for “African Mayonnaise,” she manages to be chased in a mall by a cop, heckled by Christians and assaulted by a member of the Church Of Scientology. Her drag is not there to please us, but rather to disturb. Her music is aggressive using hard drum beats and electronic vibes reminding the style of other queer characters such as Peaches or Mykki Blanco, who also uses a female persona as a punk posture.

“I’m your new celebrity
I’m your new America
I’m the piece of filthy meat
That you take home
and treat to yourself”
– Christeene

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Outside the American musical landscape, there are some other queens who are killing it. In the UK, Irish-English singer/entertainer pioneer Danny La Rue kicked the charts in 1969 with her slow track “Oh, What a Lovely War!” quickly becoming a classic among the drag British world. Mixing 60s glamour with a touch of camp, the entertainer will remain one of the most iconic drag queens in the UK, until her death and beyond.

In France, the most famous kitsch 90s band was called Sister Queen who released the provocatively funny “Let Me Be A Drag Queen” in 1995. Thanks to their extravagant dresses and busted make-up, the quartet claim their right to express their other self throughout wild nights on the dance floor, all dressed up in their feather boas, fierce wigs and gigantic platform shoes.

Spain has always been considered as one of the epicentres of the drag world where the art was celebrated to contest Franco’s dictatorship. Nevertheless, one of the most iconic and interesting queens is Madrid-based contemporary artist La Prohibida who has already released 4 LPs during her career, the last one being “100k años de Luz” just last year. Mixing electro-pop with italo disco, her aesthetic is futuristic yet inspired by the 60s making her famous all over the Hispanic world, from Spain to Latin America where she is considered as an absolute idol.

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One of the most worldwide drag queens was catapulted by one of the biggest musical institutions, Eurovision. I am talking about Conchita Wurst, the Austrian singer, winner of the contest in 2014 with her song “Rise Like a Phoenix.” Her mix of drama-pop, James Bond’s glam, and Adele-ish vocals won the hearts of the entire continent. Wurst turned into an icon, a symbol of tolerance and acceptance, and a discussion topic for Europe, which is still today strongly divided in two parts about LGBTQI rights. Another drag pop figure of the Eurovision is Ukranian Verka Serduchka who participated in the contest in 2007 with her song “Dancing Lasha Tumbai.” Somewhere between dance and pop, Verka became rapidly famous in her country where homosexuality is barely tolerated.

In Brazil, hate against the LGBTQI is also very blatant. Yet, some young artists made it to the top, been renown everywhere in their town thanks a mix of electronic Western vibes, pop references and funk/baile dance, typical to the Brazilian musical background. Lia Clark exploded with her track “Trava Trava” where she uses funk vibes with a loop of a sample taken from Ariana Grande‘s “Problems”. In the other side, Pabllo Vittar uses the same technique in her track “Minaj” where she samples Beyoncé‘s “Partition” or simply creates a bossa-nova version of “Lean On” in “Open Bar.” Considering the population of the country, these artists have reached the same rank of superstardom as the American contestants of Drag Race having millions of views on their respective Youtube channels. Both artists are incredibly young, reminding us how the entire continent is changing their vision over the LGBTQI community.

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After considering the careers of all these fierce queens, we can’t help to wonder: where are the drag kings? What are they doing? Why are they so absent? The main explanation is that even if they are creating the illusion of a woman, under all the drag, they are all men. The music world is clearly dominated by them, and the part that women can take in the equation is minimal, and the LGBTQI community also faces its own male domination. Let’s hope that the future of drag will be of kings just as it seems that for the straight public eye, the future is gay.