The Effect of Affection

The best recent example of what we’re getting at is a group called Kings of Leon. Love them or hate them, they are the classic victim of the dreaded “U2 Effect” in that their immense spike in popularity might just be their undoing.

From 2003 to 2008, Kings of Leon cultivated a mass fan following while managing to stay largely off the radar. Sure, “California Waiting” played in a few bars and they opened for U2 (foreshadow?) in 2005, but there was never any question that the Followill’s were playing anything but the music they enjoyed. They strutted on stage with unkempt hair and cigarette jeans and played silly, Southern rock that sounded unlike anything out there. And everything from the albums to the concerts to their aloof, country-boy bravado was all ridiculously enjoyable.

Then they released Only By The Night, their fourth studio record that featured hit singles like – you guessed it – “Use Somebody”, “Sex on Fire” and “Notion”. Suddenly, everyone from teenyboppers to soccer moms were humming along to the incessant radio loop of KoL songs; and the early fans were upset. This new album didn’t sound like the others. It lacked the charm and humility. It lacked quirky, hillbilly guitar riffs and lyrics about impotence. This was an album for the masses and the masses were loving it. 2010’s Come Around Sundown was the same story.

Some people like to call this “selling out”. We think that’s an easy answer. Who doesn’t want fame and success and sold-out stadium crowds? The problem is that too often it comes at a price; the quality of the music fades, the devoted fans that have been there since the beginning feel betrayed, and the band finds itself at war with its own persona. It’s no secret why they call it the “U2 Effect”.

So where does this leave music? We have to admit that for a while there didn’t seem to be an answer. Until this year, that is.

The 2010 Grammys turned out to be a surprising night because for once, it seemed, the Grammys got it all right. “Best Rock Instrumental” went to Jeff Beck, as did “Best Pop Instrumental”. “Best Rock Performance by a Group” went to The Black Keys. “Best New Artist” went to Esperanza Spalding and, by some profound miracle; “Album of the Year” went to Arcade Fire’s The Suburbs.

A lot of people were understandably upset. They had never heard of Arcade Fire and couldn’t believe that this prestigious award was being handed to the suspiciously-rural group of shocked indie rockers taking the stage. The outrage expressed all over the internet seemed to suggest that some great injustice had just occurred. For us, this was a crowning moment in music history. Why? Because it proved us wrong.

It proved that you don’t have to sell out stadiums or write generic riffs. You don’t have to have chart-topping singles and the coolest video on MTV. You don’t need a celebrity persona or to be featured in all the magazines. And most importantly, it proved that you don’t have to choose between your music and money. In today’s music scene, like the group or not, that’s an accomplishment.

In 2007, Arcade Fire did an interview with the New York Times titled, “One Very, Very Indie Band.” When asked about their first two albums and decision to stick with Merge, the small-time independent label that released those albums, rather than sign with one of the big boys that were offering a lot more money, they said;

“Merge is like the labels used to be, based on someone’s tastes and interest in music instead of statistics and marketing. If you look at the Web sites of a lot of the majors, they’re selling everything — hip-hop, country, Disney soundtracks. It’s the throw-a-lot-of-garbage-at-the-wall and-see-what-sticks strategy. Right from the start, we made it clear we’d never sign with them. I mean, why would we?

Maybe that’s why music festivals no longer fill their stages with platinum-selling artists and world-renowned bands. Because a music festival should be about the music.