BTTM-ing Out: A Musician’s Shortcomings Are An Opportunity For Fan Reflection
Punk duo PWR BTTM’s recent issues highlight the need for important and ongoing conversations about influence and accountability in the indie rock world.
In a New York Times piece from June 4th, writer Wesley Morris accomplished what few other writers, critics, pundits, and Regular Joes had for a full two days (an eternity in the digital age): swiftly and definitively nail down the Bill Maher controversy. While Maher’s use of the N-word was wildly inappropriate and offensive, that seemed to be the only point of condemnation people were able to muster (in volumes) pre-Morris. It was he who helped ground and contextualize the entire Maher-Gate phenomenon: Rather than demanding the comedian’s head on a pike, Morris argued that this is a moment for all of us, but especially the TV host, to ask important questions and learn a few lessons regarding, among other things, white people’s still choppy interactions with POC and the power certain words will always contain.
It was while mulling over Morris’ observations on Maher that I got to thinking once again about PWR BTTM.
In May, the punk duo were prime to breakthrough the indie ceiling and become The Next Big Thing. Then, news break regarding sexual assaults perpetrated by guitarist Ben Hopkins, and the band’s coming out party was quickly shut down. As the story unfolded over the course of several days, much like Maher’s, the Web was inundated with tweets and think-pieces and personal essays about what happened and what it all meant. A stream of information that only grew with the duo’s series of troubling statements. Yet I never really found a way to sort through it all, to dissect these unsettling events and find some sense of truth or even a mere strand of insight that we all might use to grow and get better from. But following the path laid bare by Morris, it’s important to use the PWR BTTM debacle as a means of asking more questions as opposed to simply perpetuating shared outrage.
When the first details came in regarding PWR BTTM, I recall sitting in my bathroom for a really long time reading everything over. (It’s the coldest room in my apartment.) All the shock and disgust was there, especially as the victim’s accounts were published in great detail. Still, I couldn’t shake the thought that while everyone had made their decisions, I wanted something more. My appetite was less for blood and for something more lasting and definitive, to have this case make its way through our justice system before condemning the duo to a short, violently painful career death. To cut through the emotion and the misery with pure, unfeeling facts and finality.
“Some people reacted in kind by doubling down on their own journey of self-growth and fulfillment.”
Then the tweets and Facebook posts and blog entries kept pouring in, and I saw how people had reacted to the news. They felt a sense of visceral betrayal: A band who’d been such a positive force for gay and trans kids without many proper heroes would ultimately prove to be such a painful disappointment so rapidly. Many of those same people reacted in kind by doubling down on their own journey of self-growth and fulfillment, proudly declaring an intent to find guidance and support elsewhere. Most of all, people gathered around the idea that PWR BTTM could never derail the momentum toward lasting change and equality that so may people sought. Others, meanwhile, found a kind of solace in simply dropkicking the band to the curb, a way to cover up their own emotional wounds and stress ulcers that had been rendered anew.
In that moment, I recognized the power of the court of public opinion. For all the flack people get for making these assumptions and decisions, they’re less about the subject’s guilt and more a way for people to deal with the resulting fallout. My hesitance to point the blame was grounded in logic, and yet for so many that sensibility doesn’t leave room to quell fears or steady shaking hands and jagged nerves. Pushing the band out of the limelight was a survival mechanism for assault victims and scared kids unsure of their place in the world, and not about providing anything to the defending parties.
“(Most remarkable was) the speed with which the indie rock community reacted.”
Yes, our court system will eventually handle that matter (if it comes to that), but people only have their emotions and their stories to try and make sense of all this confusion and anguish and burning passion for goodness. I understand so clearly now that justice of any kind is meaningless if people don’t have a say in what it means for the rest of the world and how we live our lives.
With these warm feelings of understanding and connectivity come equally essential questions about the larger impact. What was perhaps most remarkable about this PWR BTTM case is the speed with which the indie rock community reacted, decided a general course of action, and effectively sent the duo trekking back into obscurity. Ultimately, there’s no arguing with the final decision given the value of group-speak, and while this whole process has been a way to help console people and give them a voice for larger issues, it does set a mighty big precedence. One that means anytime another artist or group breaks the law or violates the trust of their audience, people will have to react accordingly.
Will the “punishment” be as swift as the supersonic shunning of PWR BTTM? Is there some level of nuance involved in these reactions? Like, would people feel as strongly if a band, say, stole money from fans or torched abandon buildings? Are their any crimes or acts most foul that can ever be forgiven? Can bands or artists ever come back from such a career-altering event such as this? We as fans have a huge amount of power in deciding the fate of bands, and like ol’ Ben Parker once said, that carries with it heaps of responsibility. Without questioning the moral implications of the PWR BTTM case, we have to ask ourselves these essential questions anytime a band does something that concerns, aggravates, or damages large swaths of a community.
“We have to face hard truths about who artists are beyond creative entities here to delight us.”
Without that process, we run the risk of empowering artists who don’t deserve support, or placing fans in certain uncomfortable positions. That doesn’t mean everyone always has to like the final outcome of these stories, but continuous evaluation is how we bridge the gap between fan and artist and find ways to cultivate accountability on all sides. What happened with PWR BTTM demonstrated that while people knew where they stood, such a moral crisis left many a head spinning through the indie music community. If we want to be better prepared the next time this happens (and it certainly will), we have to face hard truths about who artists are beyond creative entities here to delight us, what lines can’t be crossed, and where people are flexible in terms of deciding how we value art in the face of life’s myriad of complicated and sometimes troubling contextual layers.
As a side effect of this evaluatory process, there may come a time when people feel a certain tinge of gun shyness in uplifting new bands. PWR BTTM’s sudden rise to the top of indie-dom followed an arc of a thousand other bands before them, from dive bars to the top of NPR newsfeed in the blink of an eye. Yet their ascension turned deeply poisonous in a fraction of the time, and that’s going to inevitably affect or influence the way we look at bands who are put on that career fast track. I don’t foresee anyone running background checks on the latest indie darlings, or Pitchfork interviewing romantic partners or close friends before assigning anyone Best New Music.
“Uplifting bands like this empowers them to near-godly status.”
However, having some doubt about people placed in such a prestigious position is a natural reaction to what’s taken place, where people want to protect themselves and others from the emotional impact of yet another PWR BTTM crisis. People may put more stock in researching bands, or hold back on endlessly praising some white-hot up-and-comer, even with the catchiest single in all the land. That’s mostly worst-case scenario stuff, but I would generally encourage just such behavior — no matter if it might take away from the rush of immediacy that diving into new music carries. Uplifting bands like this empowers them to near-godly status — they can make bookoo bucks, influence culture, and hold genuine emotional sway among fans.
Giving up that much power shouldn’t come so easily, which it has in the past as just about anybody with a good song and a decent aesthetic or backstory has become a rising star. (I’m looking at you, RiFF RaFF and Good Charlotte.) Understanding to whom we collectively grant this awesome position in our shared lives is a big deal, and not just after what happened recently. It influences us as people while encapsulating who we are as a society or group. They’re not just silly rock stars but ambassadors of culture. Endless talent aside, I’ve got to think that’s why Bono and similar larger-than-life stars have remained perpetually relevant — he represents good in the world (even if he’s occasionally overblown), showing fans that great culture can parlay its efforts into saving people and improving the environment. We don’t exactly have the best track record as of late in choosing great leaders, but we can do something about the kinds of people we “elect” as our musical heroes.
In the end, the stories of PWR BTTM and Bill Maher aren’t all that different: They shock and enrage audiences, and we’re left to figure out what to do when art and its many creators offend or, worse yet, harm people. But what has helped (to some degree, at least) in these instances is folks coming together to carefully mull things over through polite, yet enthusiastic discussion. Yelling and getting emotional certainly has its own usefulness, but it’s when we forego simple outrage for critical thinking that we find something resembling a larger truth or shimmery enlightenment.
