Domestic violence is probably as old as music itself, so it’s no surprise there’s a litany of songs written about it, because of it, in protest of it – you get the idea. Beyond that, many musicians themselves are guilty of the heinous act. The way we treat those people within the industry is loaded, the way we consume (or don’t consume) their music as fans inherently fraught. What happens when your fave turns out to be problematic?
In recent days, one such incident resurfaced. Sydney band The Rumjacks announced a mammoth 35-date tour and frontman Frankie McLaughlin‘s 2012 conviction (and subsequent sentence) came back into public attention. Those who remembered the press coverage of McLaughlin’s conviction (it was very public) voiced their completely valid concerns about what kind of message this tour was sending re: the music industry as a safe and welcoming space. Suddenly, many of the venues didn’t want The Rumjacks playing on their stages anymore.
The public reaction to this has been, er, mixed at best. Responses ranging from relieved to annoyed pepper the web, with the predictable “he’s done his time, when do we stop maligning him for this?” line popping up particularly often. If, like me, your initial reaction to this kind of opinion is to roll your eyes, it can be difficult to see why that’s worth unpacking – but it is. McLaughlin served a “sixteen month custodial sentence” for three incidents of assault against his partner of the time. For the sake of anyone reading who might find it harrowing or upsetting, I’ll spare the details, but the court transcript can be found here. The Rumjacks, at the time, condemned McLaughlin’s actions in a Facebook post, and went on hiatus.
When the band fully reformed after his release, nothing more was said about the conviction beyond an interview with White Ribbon at BIGSOUND 2015 as part of their now seemingly defunct #notON campaign. The Rumjacks’ participation in the conference in the first place was a point of contention. QMusic eventually approved after lengthy discussions to this end. Now, in light of the media coverage, The Rumjacks have released another statement via their Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/TheRumjacks/posts/10154348011235450
It’s difficult to find evidence of the band or McLaughlin’s alleged extensive commitment to “the principles of #notON” beyond last year’s interview and this statement. That’s important. Sure, there’s been no lying or even necessarily hiding from his conviction, but it sure as hell hasn’t been a self-started point of discussion across the band’s career since it happened. As a public figure in the aftermath of a domestic violence conviction (“the aftermath” means forever, by the way – victims don’t get to just wake up one day and forget about these incidents), McLaughlin has been in a unique position to give voices to the voiceless. To promote open and honest discussions about domestic violence, rehabilitation, the justice system, all of it. To fundraise, even. It’s nice he met with a charity once. His statement above is a good one. But for some it may appear to be too little, too late.
It’s relatively impossible to talk about this issue without touching on Chris Brown, so let’s keep it brief. Brown’s assault of Rihanna resulted in him being barred from entering Australia. The enormity of his public status kept his actions in the news for years. It’s still being talked about – it will likely follow him for the rest of his career. A key reason for this? His reaction, and the nature of his music. His lyrics are often misogynistic at best, downright violent at worst. His response to the far-reaching consequences of his actions were tone deaf at best, and showed no contrition at worst.
Pictured: A dickhead
Obviously The Rumjacks’ reaction hasn’t been anywhere near as inappropriate as Brown’s (because there hasn’t really been one until now). So let’s take a look at their music. The Rumjacks are a Celt-punk band, so obviously there’s a particular language/ethos that usually goes hand in hand with that. The upshot is not pretty.
To where & whom i asked to know
She smiled, a cruelly mocking blow
She’ll never smile that way again
I ruined her for other men
And sent her to her wintry end with a..– Murder Shanty, The Rumjacks
To be fair, on The Rumjacks’ website, there’s a statement above the lyrics to that particular song that reads “Relax, geez.. its only a tale of the passing of the seasons & the cycle of life, if Nick Cave had written it youd be jerking off by now. [sic]” But it’s not really a lone example. Many songs refer to women as being whores, easy, dirty, or otherwise objectionable. Violence and alcohol abuse (which McLaughlin purports to have previously struggled with) are also recurring themes. I’m not a psychologist or a doctor, but I wonder how healthy or otherwise it might be for someone who’s had those issues to be making a living off the glamourising of them? To see crowds of people screaming these sentiments back at him?
In comparison to Chris Brown, The Rumjacks’ level of stature is low. They definitely have a solid fanbase, but they’re not in the public eye as much as him – not even close. Perhaps this is how the conviction, so publicly reported on at the time, managed to be mostly buried if not forgotten altogether.
So what does this mean for companies, entities, and fans that choose to stick by The Rumjacks, or indeed any artist with a history like this? Are they tacitly supporting violence? Funding it, even? Are fans of their music giving the old “separate the artist from the art” ideology a burl? As mentioned at the start of this article, The Rumjacks are not the only band in this position. By and large, the entire world seems mostly willing to overlook the absolutely disgusting actions of Jim Morrison, John Lennon, Led Zeppelin, Dr. Dre and so many others. Sure, social media didn’t exist back then, but it does now. Most people are aware of what happened, but, presumably due to their musical legacies and perhaps because their atrocities were committed all those years ago, they’re willing to turn a blind eye. Does that make them terrible people?
In today’s modern world, there are ways to appreciate art without lining the pockets of the artist… but does that truly make a difference? Is it actually possible to separate the two out at all? Art is, after all, an extension of the artist. A reflection of who they are and how they see the world. And if that’s the case, how ethical is supporting it in any way?
If you need to talk to someone after reading this article, or you or someone you know is experiencing domestic violence, please call 1800 RESPECT or contact Reach Out Australia.
Image: The Rumjacks Facebook
As the 21st anniversary of the death of Kurt Cobain approaches, we here at Howl & Echoes are taking a look back at the lasting legacy of those rockers cut down in their prime, that who’s who of rock and roll’s so-called ’27 Club’.
Association between musicians and premature death, specifically at the age of 27, began with the spate of high profile deaths between 1969 and 1971. Brian Jones, founder of the Rolling Stones, was discovered at the bottom of his swimming pool in July of 1969. He had been contributing only erratically to the band and amidst drug abuse issues had departed the band only a month earlier. The coroner’s report attributed heavy drug and alcohol abuse as factors in his untimely death.
Jimi Hendrix followed in September 1970, in the devastating (yet pretty undignified) manner of being asphyxiated by his own vomit. It occurred after a day mostly spent with his girlfriend, Monika Dannemann, reportedly consisting of heated arguments, a cocktail of drugs and alcohol, and a couple tuna sandwiches. Hendrix had allegedly been dealing with two pending lawsuits, issues with his management, not to mention physical exhaustion in the lead up to his death.
Here’s Jimi doing what he does best:
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9irsg1vBmq0]
Just 16 days later, in early October, Janis Joplin died of a heroin overdose. Another artist notoriously embroiled in a love affair with heroin and alcohol, she had been disappointed that neither her fiancé, Seth Morgan, or one of her closest friends, Peggy Caserta, had come to keep her company throughout that weekend. The rest is history.
Notice Janis Joplin’s raw energy on the Dick Cavett show, in one of her final public appearances here:
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xGYcWmwvZxQ]
The Doors frontman Jim Morrison was found dead in a bathtub in July of 1971. In accordance with French law, no autopsy was done on Morrison, whose official cause of death of ‘heart failure’ left a void for speculation and conspiracy theorists to fill. His high profile trial for indecent exposure in a 1969 Miami auditorium would surely have left him feeling heavily targeted and despondent. Here’s an excerpt from his 1970 volume of poetry, The Lords and The New Creatures:
‘There are no longer “dancers,” the possessed. The cleavage of men into actor and spectators is the central fact of our time. We are obsessed with heroes who live for us and whom we punish. If all the radios and televisions were deprived of their sources of power, all books and paintings burned tomorrow, all shows and cinemas closed, all the arts of vicarious existence…
We are content with the “given” in sensation’s quest. We have been metamorphosised from a mad body dancing on hillsides to a pair of eyes staring in the dark.’
The death of four iconic musicians of the era, all within two years and at the same age, undoubtedly raised questions as well as eyebrows. Music lovers would have been drained by the loss of some of the most uniquely talented artists to grace the planet. Yet the comparison bears similarities in ways that are more telling than the age of the club members. For all their grand abilities, each of these masters of their craft had scaled the lofty heights and found the rarefied air lonely. Masked by an extraordinary talent was the insecurity of a regular attention seeker failing to cope with the difficulties associated with the limelight.
The same can be said of the more recent members of the 27 Club that, upon their passing, returned the club to the collective consciousness. Kurt Cobain committed suicide around April 5, 1994 (he was found on April 8 so the coroner’s report only provides an estimated date) leaving behind a daughter, Frances, with wife Courtney Love, and a suicide note addressed to his imaginary childhood friend, ‘Boddah’. His heroin addiction had continued despite an intervention arranged by Love only a fortnight earlier. Cobain’s mother added fuel to the flame, indeed she may very well have been responsible for reigniting interest in the tendency of rockers to die age 27 by claiming in a statement, ‘Now he’s gone and joined that stupid club. I told him not to join that stupid club.’ But that’s only speculation.
One of the latest major new 27 Club entrants was Amy Winehouse. With a history of mental illness, substance abuse, eating disorders and overall erratic behaviour in her final years, the music world was crushed to hear of her death by accidental alcohol poisoning on 23 July 2011. Her death once again brought the 27 Club into the spotlight, accompanied by her own admission of fear about dying at the age. Have a listen to Amy Winehouse as she was meant to be heard; stripped back, soulful and accompanied by acoustic arpeggios:
[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z3JVWD5ipek]
So why does the 27 Club fascinate us so? While it’s never about idealising drug-fuelled injuries, and hedonistic excess, there is a certain romanticism to the self-destructive tendencies of an artist expressing their soul’s inner-workings in a tune we can relate to. Indeed, the relatability of these music giants may just be the key to our captivation. They hold the same vulnerabilities as us lesser mortals, can be corrupted in the same way we can and feel isolated in a distinctly human way.
That there is mystery surrounding many of the deaths only adds intrigue, particularly to the conspiracy theorists of the world. The Seattle Police Department, for instance, receives weekly requests to reopen the case on Kurt Cobain’s death. The internet is eternally rife with varied theories on the ‘real’ causes of death of Hendrix and Jim Morrison.
Morrison’s own cynical words in the above excerpt seem to hold an element of truth, that we raise our idols onto pedestals, only to morbidly relish their fall from grace. They turn into precautionary tales of excess and confirmation of our own satisfied existence. They are to fall like Icarus, by flying to close to the sun, whilst we maintain our sedate pace. Yet theirs is ours to envy, they have risen to heights rarely seen and fallen dramatically, rather than carry on until their relevance faltered. If there were a motto for the club, it would be the words famously penned by Cobain in his suicide note; ‘it’s better to burn out than to fade away.’
So the next time you consider the 27 Club, spare a thought for Iggy Pop, eking out a living selling car insurance, for Axl Rose, maintaining a questionable feud with half of his former band, and for Sid Vicious, whose star burnt so brightly he only lived until 21.
To celebrate his life, a documentary entitled, ‘COBAIN – Montage of Heck’ will be coming out in May this year.