TV Review: Lord-e-gram

When asked for comment, on the street, a street in a big city somewhere, about the Grammy’s she simply said – spontaneously from what I could tell – that she was going to drink Red Bull out of hers. That interested me for two reasons. Firstly, it shows enough presumption of a win to suggest she understands the American music industry back-slapping shin-dig is a notoriously corrupt spectacle where club members get what they purchase. (Q. What have paintings of Lord Nelson and the Grammy Awards got in common? A. They both have lots of rigging in the background.).  Secondly, it shows her ignorance of what the award is. Last time I saw a picture of one it was like a dinky little desk paperweight sort of a thing, like an over-sized novelty pencil sharpener, resembling the His Master’s Voice logo of the old gramophone – but without the dog. Maybe she was going to put it at an angle and scull from the horn bit? Maybe it is hollow and you have to turn it upside down? Maybe she was being, like, sarcastic?

Would Eleanor Catton have responded to her short-listing for the Man Booker Prize by saying she wants to drink a brand name energy drink from the award? Maybe she has a contract with Red Bull? Maybe this is why her minders only let her do certain interviews? Intensive sheltering followed by a global launch and a timetable of fame that seems to be running all to schedule has created some head. The intrusive media demand private thoughts for public consumption 24/7, and what 16 or 17 year old wouldn’t come off appearing defensive or flippant to varying degrees on occasion when interviews and encounters with media cannot be stage-managed like a show. An inevitable result of the trajectory of every shooting star – along with the hyper-sensitivity from their fans – are the haters. Unreasonably skeptical hatemongerers like me.

For someone being branded as authentic and having lyrics in her hit single supposedly serving as a critique of the Western kids’ obsession with the gauche and ostentatious lifestyle glamourised by pop stars this was the last thing you would expect her to say. The Grammy Awards are the epitome, the temple, of this trashy hedonism. And presumably when she turns 18 she can feel free to name drop a brand name vodka to go with it. It could have been a line from Royals: sipping Red Bull from my Grammy.

Lorded, as it were, as a musical phenomena isn’t quite the same thing as recognition of particular talent or genius. Natural talents like Steve Wonder, Michael Jackson – and for that matter Justin Beiber – were exposed and performing publicly from an early age. Tiger Woods and Lydia Koh got better by mixing it with peers at very early ages in their professional sports. Lorde is not an outcome of that sort of process. It is difficult to tell with music being so much a collaborative package, and with so many layers of production, who is responsible for what and how much of the raw product of the artist is left over or was there to start with.

Manufactured products like Lorde that have been in corporate development for many years before being released onto the market can only be certain of claiming commercial success at this point. No.1 in America on debut and the crossing of alt and mainstream for any performer would definitely constitute a commercial success and also something of an artistic success, but it is not yet fully product-tested and the public have not had much information to go on to make assessments or heard anything previous to the orchestrated hype and tightly controlled appearances of the heroine.

The image protection and image projection of the Lorde project achieved an awesome saturation in this country. Unapologetically adulating local media fell instantly in line with the month-long showering of rose petals of praise to the tune of the project’s management. National and regional media participated in the campaign with the gusto of a telethon, supporting our girl like she was a national product, or it was the America’s Cup, and the music charts determine who wins this concocted contest between the signed-up superstars.

Local media, overwhelmed by the global dimensions, were dazzled by the focused, but fleeting rays creating the reflection and they abandoned a scope of the depth to emphasise the affect of the width. Modesty and enjoyment developed rapidly into mania and expectation. Proportions were blown out by magnitudes. Wise men from back east had annointed Lorde and when evidence of the miracle of this virgin musical birth was made known it sent more hysteria through NZ than the canonisation of Mary McKillop by a future Pope ever will. Metro editor Simon Wilson voiced excited, breathy Michael Hill, Jeweller-style ad spots on radio to hype an exclusive. Newspapers spilled ink by the bucket to splash the Lorde image into every corner dairy and supermarket in the nation. NZ radio thrashed Royals so hard you’d think they’d never passed the anti-smacking law. Blogs gushed insensible wonderment. No-one seemed to want to know why these were the first interviews, the first performances, the first anyone had heard of this person so instantly acclaimed.

The tension is manifest for any product sold in a mass market via corporate entities that claims to be unconventional and autonomous. The relentless assurances she writes her own material must be just one of the minor frustrations she must encounter. This was revealed acutely on Kim Hill’s RNZ show when she was interviewed.

The first question was where did the name Lorde come from? Her response was something mumbled about it being a marketing thing, or… something. She obviously didn’t want to get into, she obviously was uncomfortable about answering it (which I took to mean she thought it was a dumb marketing idea, or a compromised idea that she had gone along with reluctantly). It was a straight forward enough question though and so to deflect and avoid having to answer it directly and properly after the initial brush off of the mumbled response that could not be understood clearly (ie. we have no idea who was responsible for or why the name Lorde came about) she changed the subject abruptly before it could pursued. She said it was a freaky situation to be talking on the radio with someone she’d grown up listening to. Hill detected the sensitivity and the usually aggressive jackdaw didn’t go back to peck at that soft spot. To which I thought: why has a 16 year old been listening to Kim bloody Hill on the radio for their whole lives? What sort of a geeky, wanky, cosseted middle-class circumstance could there possibly be to have created this situation? What parent would inflict that? She then went on to say her mother is a poet, father a civil engineer and they live in Devonport. That would be: Mum an academic, Dad a highly paid professional, living in Devonport, Auckland’s wealthiest and whitest suburb. That is the origin, the cultural origination of the raw product. As with every girl of similar class disposition and inclination in Devonport she was destined for Elam if this hadn’t worked out. She is very much part of the elite of society.

So that answers that question – she didn’t really have an option about listening to Hill. It was a mere function of social class that she would have to endure that torture. It was a foregone conclusion, just like the Grammy(s) will be.

TVNZ, long since having shelved any commitment to airing events like local award ceremonies (the scheduling of the Young Farmers competition to after the late news demonstrates that) and long since abandoning the live international award ceremonies they used to feature, which once included the BAFTA’s, the Academy Awards and others, are now committed to showing the Grammy’s live. Because Lorde is on the bill and is nominated. Not for any other reason.

These events are huge shows in their own right and watching them was a pleasure. Now we only get to see them live, or indeed at all, if it coincides with a local person having enough of a connexion within the industry to obtain a nomination. When will we next deserve this treat? Will she have to keep getting to number one every year in order for TVNZ to show the Grammy’s again? Will no network show the Oscars if Peter Jackson hasn’t got a film up? Some of the best, or maybe just the most memorable, performances have come from the Grammy’s. I wonder if Lorde will be one of them?