‘A working-class hero is something to be.’ Even coming from a man less steeped in irony than John Lennon, it should never have been possible to take this statement sincerely. But more than half a century after the ex-Beatle released his thoughts on the straitjacket of class, rock fans continue to take Lennon at his word.
How else to interpret the musings of people like Rick Beato? As YouTube’s most notable music critic, the white-haired rock musician and producer has become the latest figure to bewail the dominance of rich kids in the music business.
‘When I do these top 10 countdowns on Spotify, I go back after I make the video and I look at the artists and I see what their background is,’ Beato says. ‘And invariably the artists that are popular – almost all of them – are from wealthy parents and work with professional songwriters.’
It’s an observation that has become obvious to music fans in recent years. Taylor Swift – by some measure the most popular musician of all time – is only the foremost example of wealthy parents buying their kids a golden ticket to the music business. Swift’s financier father Scott reportedly ploughed six figures into the songstress’s first record label, later cashing out at $15m.
Other more thoroughbred ‘nepo rockers’ further down the charts can be spotted by their familiar surnames. Nancy Sinatra is of course the daughter of Frank; Enrique Iglesias is the son of Julio; and our own Lily Allen is the daughter of Keith – the iconic chanteur behind, um, Vindaloo.
Kids have always followed their parents into the family business, of course. But the argument is that rich kids are more prevalent in music than in previous eras. Beato cites a plethora of working-class bands from yesteryear, including the stalwarts of the British Invasion (the Beatles, the Who and the Kinks) and the leading acts of 1980s Seattle (Nirvana, Soundgarden and Pearl Jam), but finds little to compare it to today.
British journalists – none of whom, of course, went to private school – have spared few pixels chronicling this trend. When the band The Last Dinner Party broke through in 2023, not even cheap accusations of misogyny could stymy the observation that the band’s singer Abigail Morris attended the independent Bedales School (other alumni: Lily Allen, Eliza Doolittle and the Kook’s Luke Pritchard).
If one takes this argument to its logical conclusion, very little of the rock canon survives inspection
John Rawls would no doubt be appalled. But there is a more pernicious argument made by music fans about the dominance of posh kids across the arts, and especially in the supposedly earthier territory of rock music: the idea that art that comes without struggle has no soul.
Beato is no doubt right to point out that horny-handed sons of toil can ‘tell stories based on their upbringing, something that rich people, frankly, can’t do’. ‘Fortunate Son’ by Creedence Clearwater Revival could not have been sung by Keane, and not merely for reasons of taste. But if one takes this argument to its logical conclusion, very little of the rock canon survives inspection. Even the likes of Noel Gallagher, who once told Michael Parkinson that his mum was too poor to afford carpets in their council house, was living in unfathomable luxury compared to many of the bluesmen whose music was pinched by English schoolboys in the 1960s.
Indeed, many of the men who produced rock’s bumper crop of tunes arrived in the world at an extraordinarily fortuitous time: late enough to miss out on the Second World War, early enough to enjoy the post-war peace and economic growth in the decades that followed. Even if he had to wiggle out of the Vietnam draft, John Fogerty of Creedence Clearwater Revival was a fortunate son of history.
Many of rock’s undisputed greats were indisputably middle class. Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd and Radiohead were all some way between middle class and posh, as were people as authentically rock and roll as Mick Jagger, Joe Strummer, and Shane MacGowan. Rock music has never been the preserve of the working class, much as leather-jacket enjoyers would like to pretend otherwise. But I wonder if it has lost its mojo of late. While I could name some great bands from recent years – Wunderhorse, Sorry, Wolf Alice – rock music hasn’t represented the cultural zeitgeist since Alex Turner was accusing phoney New Yorkers of growing up in Rotherham.
Rock and roll has been disappointing obituarists since it was invented but given that the first Arctic Monkeys album just turned 20, it may be time to accept they have a point. Listen to whatever passes for the charts these days and frequently there is not a guitar in earshot, to say nothing of the warm sound of a tube amp. Sadly, rock is now a niche taste.
That doesn’t mean there won’t continue to be good rock bands, as a glance down the line-ups of the (admittedly depleted) festival rosters this summer can verify. But rock’s ability to stage a cultural revolution is truly over. The Bank of Mum and Dad might be able to buy you a record deal, but even they can’t afford to make the punters listen to it.
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