Post by Dave on Jul 2, 2006 13:41:01 GMT
There is an interesting article today in the Philadelphia Inquirer online www.philly.com/mld/inquirer/entertainment/weekend/14938801.htm which doesn't mention Hayley by name, so I've put the thread initially in "Other Music" (I may move it later on) and I will start by posting the complete article without further comment.
Dave
Fame just isn't what it used to be
By David Patrick Stearns, Inquirer Music Critic
While the showbiz world wonders silently and aloud what possessed Barbra Streisand to make another farewell tour, the more revealing question is at the opposite end of the telescope: Why have so many people so readily paid as much as $750 for the tour's Oct. 4 opening date in Philadelphia?
Usual rules of marketability seem irrelevant. Streisand is far from being "the latest thing." Her last film was 2004's Meet The Fockers. Her last new CD, Guilty Pleasures, is selling for as little as $3.12 on Amazon.com. The world isn't star-starved. Linda Eder sings "Don't Rain on My Parade" as well as Streisand ever did. And yet, Streisand is irreplaceable. "Why?" is the most telling question.
The circuitous explanation for Streisand's continued bankability begins with the not-so-fine print of the tour-announcing ads, which reveal something that ought to be bigger news than it is: The opening act is Il Divo.
This quasi-operatic, all-male quartet has sold more recordings than Streisand has lately. As recently as February, the U.S. public was snapping up the group's Ancora disc at a rate of 156,000 a week. And that's a drop in the bucket compared with the group's 2004 self-titled album, which went double-platinum in the States, Australia, New Zealand and Portugal.
Yet one Streisand fan after another hardly noticed Il Divo on the ads. Anecdotally speaking, none knew who and what the group is.
This isn't to suggest that Streisand fans are particularly out of the loop (whatever that is). Last year, on the loop-laden Web site www.drownedinsound.com, one blogger's reaction to news of Il Divo's success was: "Who the hell is Il Divo? Am I living under a rock?" The group, it seems, is known only to the millions who buy its recordings.
But fame is not created equal: Streisand and Il Divo embody hugely different brands of it. Il Divo's is a strange and increasingly common form of hidden fame - in contrast with the 1950s and '60s that spawned what is now the Streisand legend, when the world seemed to come to a stop to watch The Milton Berle Show or I Love Lucy on TV.
Shows and recordings now rack up far more viewers, listeners and buyers than Berle or Lucy could have dreamed of. But they don't constitute experiences that seize the public like a coup d'etat.
In the world of stadium rock concerts, you hear similar complaints. In a world that's about rebelling against your parents, no star draws like those rock-and-roll granddaddies. New ones seem not to be on the horizon.
Young talent is out there, but the old vehicles to fame have left the station. Beyond absorbing the latest news from Iraq, the collective consciousness spawned by a once-mass media has dwindled. The great show-biz clearinghouses like The Ed Sullivan Show are ancient history; a mere echo of them arises once a year on the Academy Awards telecast. Late-night talk shows that made the careers of Streisand and Bette Midler have less power to do so. For years, radio formats have been so specialized that few places exist where fans of the rock group Devo can stumble onto Il Divo.
You could say that the Internet is the cause, but the seeds sprouted long before, with the whittling away of network TV by more-specialized concerns. And in a world that had already developed refined methods of niche marketing, the Internet codified a hunter-gatherer mentality (as opposed to non-result-oriented shopping) in which you look for what you already want, as opposed to stumbling onto things you don't yet know you want.
There's also the streaming mentality. DVD sales are such a big part of the film industry that the public life of a movie is mostly its promotional buildup, which means it's on billboards longer than at the multiplex. With home-video technology, there's no reason why you have to watch a TV show when everybody else does.
Buzz still exists, but it's not as loud, instead finding its target audience without being overheard elsewhere. Conversations are either silent (e-mail) or incomprehensible because you're hearing only half of a cell-phone conversation in some public place.
Places where the public meets (as opposed to sharing space) are dwindling. There's still church. But you aren't going to go from God to family to Il Divo in quickie, two-minute conversations as you navigate the sanctuary. There's secondhand hearing in gyms and cabs, but thanks to iPods, people stay tuned into their own worlds rather than overhearing others.
What all that means is that Il Divo has a following that's as strictly circumscribed as a cult, even if it's huge. Some people like that - the Sarah Brightman crowd, for example. They think of themselves as a secret society built around their diva.
That doesn't answer why Il Divo, for all its record sales, needs Streisand more than she needs it. Granted, Streisand dominated pop music for years, but so did Dionne Warwick. You could argue that Streisand distinguished herself on more fronts, like movies and TV specials, in addition to recordings.
But the main point is that Streisand crossed more generations at a time when each demographic could be penetrated more deeply. She morphed from a Broadway belter adored by a sophisticated adult audience to the more rough-and-tumble "Stony End" vocalist who effectively appealed to her audience's children. She was always younger than she seemed under her Cleopatra makeup, and had a seething undertone of indignation that sent subversive messages into old standards like "Happy Days Are Here Again."
All she needed was a repertoire change, and a semi-counterculture audience was hers. That's why, in repertory movie houses in the '70s, you could meet people going to see the Streisand star vehicle Hello, Dolly! while tripping on acid.
Since then, she has absorbed any number of singing styles - from Bette Midler's inspirational-ballad mode to Whitney Houston's R&B-inflected shouting - but within the purview of the strongly delineated personality that originally brought her international recognition. She crossed genres by absorbing them.
It's true that Streisand lacks the edge she once had. On past tours, she has sometimes seemed like a singing CEO. But that doesn't matter so much. Beyond crossing over into genre after genre, Streisand is a holdover from a way of life - when most people knew a lot about a given media figure whether or not they "bought the T-shirt." Her recognition rivals that of heads of state. The Streisand visage might as well be gazing from Mount Rushmore.
She might even be exempt from disappointment. People at these mega-events are, from what I've observed, so often preoccupied with taking photos and buying merchandise that they're effectively turning a firsthand experience into a secondhand one, making the event a memory almost before it happens.
Documenting your presence somehow constitutes an insurance that you got your money's worth. People are there to say they were there - as opposed to really being there. But that's a compliment, in a way. How long will it be before Il Divo fans will think to document their concert moment so exhaustively?
By David Patrick Stearns, Inquirer Music Critic
While the showbiz world wonders silently and aloud what possessed Barbra Streisand to make another farewell tour, the more revealing question is at the opposite end of the telescope: Why have so many people so readily paid as much as $750 for the tour's Oct. 4 opening date in Philadelphia?
Usual rules of marketability seem irrelevant. Streisand is far from being "the latest thing." Her last film was 2004's Meet The Fockers. Her last new CD, Guilty Pleasures, is selling for as little as $3.12 on Amazon.com. The world isn't star-starved. Linda Eder sings "Don't Rain on My Parade" as well as Streisand ever did. And yet, Streisand is irreplaceable. "Why?" is the most telling question.
The circuitous explanation for Streisand's continued bankability begins with the not-so-fine print of the tour-announcing ads, which reveal something that ought to be bigger news than it is: The opening act is Il Divo.
This quasi-operatic, all-male quartet has sold more recordings than Streisand has lately. As recently as February, the U.S. public was snapping up the group's Ancora disc at a rate of 156,000 a week. And that's a drop in the bucket compared with the group's 2004 self-titled album, which went double-platinum in the States, Australia, New Zealand and Portugal.
Yet one Streisand fan after another hardly noticed Il Divo on the ads. Anecdotally speaking, none knew who and what the group is.
This isn't to suggest that Streisand fans are particularly out of the loop (whatever that is). Last year, on the loop-laden Web site www.drownedinsound.com, one blogger's reaction to news of Il Divo's success was: "Who the hell is Il Divo? Am I living under a rock?" The group, it seems, is known only to the millions who buy its recordings.
But fame is not created equal: Streisand and Il Divo embody hugely different brands of it. Il Divo's is a strange and increasingly common form of hidden fame - in contrast with the 1950s and '60s that spawned what is now the Streisand legend, when the world seemed to come to a stop to watch The Milton Berle Show or I Love Lucy on TV.
Shows and recordings now rack up far more viewers, listeners and buyers than Berle or Lucy could have dreamed of. But they don't constitute experiences that seize the public like a coup d'etat.
In the world of stadium rock concerts, you hear similar complaints. In a world that's about rebelling against your parents, no star draws like those rock-and-roll granddaddies. New ones seem not to be on the horizon.
Young talent is out there, but the old vehicles to fame have left the station. Beyond absorbing the latest news from Iraq, the collective consciousness spawned by a once-mass media has dwindled. The great show-biz clearinghouses like The Ed Sullivan Show are ancient history; a mere echo of them arises once a year on the Academy Awards telecast. Late-night talk shows that made the careers of Streisand and Bette Midler have less power to do so. For years, radio formats have been so specialized that few places exist where fans of the rock group Devo can stumble onto Il Divo.
You could say that the Internet is the cause, but the seeds sprouted long before, with the whittling away of network TV by more-specialized concerns. And in a world that had already developed refined methods of niche marketing, the Internet codified a hunter-gatherer mentality (as opposed to non-result-oriented shopping) in which you look for what you already want, as opposed to stumbling onto things you don't yet know you want.
There's also the streaming mentality. DVD sales are such a big part of the film industry that the public life of a movie is mostly its promotional buildup, which means it's on billboards longer than at the multiplex. With home-video technology, there's no reason why you have to watch a TV show when everybody else does.
Buzz still exists, but it's not as loud, instead finding its target audience without being overheard elsewhere. Conversations are either silent (e-mail) or incomprehensible because you're hearing only half of a cell-phone conversation in some public place.
Places where the public meets (as opposed to sharing space) are dwindling. There's still church. But you aren't going to go from God to family to Il Divo in quickie, two-minute conversations as you navigate the sanctuary. There's secondhand hearing in gyms and cabs, but thanks to iPods, people stay tuned into their own worlds rather than overhearing others.
What all that means is that Il Divo has a following that's as strictly circumscribed as a cult, even if it's huge. Some people like that - the Sarah Brightman crowd, for example. They think of themselves as a secret society built around their diva.
That doesn't answer why Il Divo, for all its record sales, needs Streisand more than she needs it. Granted, Streisand dominated pop music for years, but so did Dionne Warwick. You could argue that Streisand distinguished herself on more fronts, like movies and TV specials, in addition to recordings.
But the main point is that Streisand crossed more generations at a time when each demographic could be penetrated more deeply. She morphed from a Broadway belter adored by a sophisticated adult audience to the more rough-and-tumble "Stony End" vocalist who effectively appealed to her audience's children. She was always younger than she seemed under her Cleopatra makeup, and had a seething undertone of indignation that sent subversive messages into old standards like "Happy Days Are Here Again."
All she needed was a repertoire change, and a semi-counterculture audience was hers. That's why, in repertory movie houses in the '70s, you could meet people going to see the Streisand star vehicle Hello, Dolly! while tripping on acid.
Since then, she has absorbed any number of singing styles - from Bette Midler's inspirational-ballad mode to Whitney Houston's R&B-inflected shouting - but within the purview of the strongly delineated personality that originally brought her international recognition. She crossed genres by absorbing them.
It's true that Streisand lacks the edge she once had. On past tours, she has sometimes seemed like a singing CEO. But that doesn't matter so much. Beyond crossing over into genre after genre, Streisand is a holdover from a way of life - when most people knew a lot about a given media figure whether or not they "bought the T-shirt." Her recognition rivals that of heads of state. The Streisand visage might as well be gazing from Mount Rushmore.
She might even be exempt from disappointment. People at these mega-events are, from what I've observed, so often preoccupied with taking photos and buying merchandise that they're effectively turning a firsthand experience into a secondhand one, making the event a memory almost before it happens.
Documenting your presence somehow constitutes an insurance that you got your money's worth. People are there to say they were there - as opposed to really being there. But that's a compliment, in a way. How long will it be before Il Divo fans will think to document their concert moment so exhaustively?
Dave
and if we are, is it a good or bad thing for Hayley, the others like her... and the fans themselves?
But at the moment, I'm not. Probably. Unless, of course, I say who Richard could meet stage left!