Creativity as career

By Mairi Small

Singing about work is nothing new. Work is one of the most universal topics in music, from Gaelic waulking songs to sea shanties to spirituals, blues, country and folk. The work song can pass on the experience of a particular place and time; it can also be an opportunity for protest and for a radical reflection on the conditions the singers are living under. 

Singing about creative work is not new either. The strange world of the touring musician, the life on the road, is a common refrain across genres. But there has been a recent trend of musicians engaging specifically with themes of making art in the 21st century, with creativity as a career, and with work and life as a musician under modern capitalism. This October, indie rock singer-songwriter Mitski released her latest single, ‘Working for the Knife’, in which she explores the conflicts between her desire to create and the pressures on artists today. During the summer, musical comedian Bo Burnham put out a new comedy special, ‘Inside’, which was hailed by many as some of the greatest art to come out of the COVID-19 lockdown. During the special, he looks at many different themes, such as mental health, isolation, and modern politics, but a recurring issue is that of creativity itself, and it is an issue Burnham remains conflicted about throughout the special. These two artists may seem opposed in their tones and mediums, but I think they cover similar ground. They may reflect on creativity from different angles, but their perspectives combined reveal some very interesting things about contemporary views of art and work. 

Throughout her discography, creativity has remained one of Mitski’s recurring topics. Her second album, ‘Retired from Sad, New Career in Business’- written while she was studying studio composition- is often about ambition and about striving to achieve success. And it is not easy. The track ‘Because Dreaming Costs Money, My Dear’ is all about the practicalities of music; to make art, even to have the confidence to dream about it and see it as a possibility, often requires financial security. In the chorus, Mitski’s ambition is written with earnestness and then set against its obstacles: 

So darling play your violin, 

I know it’s what you live for

Darling, play your violin, 

We will manage somehow

The speaker in this song may be a parent, or Mitski encouraging herself. The music in the verses is full of dark chords and a twisting melody; the chorus strips it back, leaving a melancholy tone for the lyrics. It is at once a comfort and a sad acknowledgement of the difficulties of making your way in an artistic career. Another song on the same album, ‘Class of 2013’, develops this further. Over a fast piano track, Mitski sings, almost yells, for her mother to take care of her while she tries to find out what to do with her life. She asks her to let her sleep in her house, to wash her back; she seems to be crying out for the comfort glimpsed in ‘Because Dreaming Costs Money, My Dear’. Above all she is asking for permission to dream: 

And I’ll leave what I’m chasing 

For the other girls to pursue

Mom, am I still young, 

Can I dream for a few months more?

There is a sense here of time running out, despite her having just graduated. She cannot rely on her mother for too long; and to “make it” as a musician requires youth and beauty. There is also the anxiety of whether these dreams are for her, or if they remain in the  possession of the “other girls”, the richer girls, or the girls whose stories are more easily sold: perhaps the ‘Best American Girl’ of Mitski’s later song, in which she explores her experiences as both Japanese and American. In Mitski’s lyrics, art is not a separate, holy thing; it is always bound up with money, family, the wider culture and the economic system. 

The newly released ‘Working For the Knife’ treads similar ground, but from a new perspective: from an artist who has, indeed, made it. Still, however, Mitski writes that “the road ahead appears the same”. Her old ambition is still there, as she potently describes crying at films because she wishes she was “making things, too”. But that instinctual desire to create, which appears an essential element of Mitski’s character in her work, is again contrasted with the external world. She is working for the knife. The knife can be read broadly as capitalism; a system that turns art into products and requires endless content. But Mitski cannot easily escape it. She is in turn working, living and dying for the knife. It is bigger than her, and, despite herself, she sacrifices herself for it. She has found how to make a living through music, but that living is a kind of dying. Her music reflects this, with towering walls of sound, heavy chords made up of synths and guitars, contrasted with her clear and emotive voice, the sound of human against machine. I think it is important to note that while the songs mentioned are about music, their reach goes beyond musicians, or artists generally. Music could easily stand in for emotion, for the human, even the spiritual, within us. Mitski’s music especially is very playful with its unexpected chord changes and the flow of her voice. For everyone, it can seem hard to keep that part, that playfulness, alive against financial pressure, burn-out and isolation. Mitski does offer some hope, saying that “maybe at thirty, I’ll see a way to change/ that I’m living for the knife.” It’s doubtful, but it’s there. 

The songs of Bo Burnham’s ‘Inside’ often reflect similar themes. Both artists reference reaching their thirties and are looking at what it means to create. Opener ‘Content’ describes the pressure to make, even when what is being made isn’t worthwhile. We are told to “open wide” as “Daddy made you some content”. Burnham pokes at the relationship between creator and consumer; and consumption comes up again and again, art forming an endless entertainment. The whole of ‘Inside’ is a creation about creation, the fabrication of art left on display as we oscillate between the singing, joking Burnham and the man lying on the floor or staring at himself in the mirror, clearly deteriorating. There is a high cost to making that content. But even then, it is all filmed, all crafted; the line between the real Bo Burnham and the performer is always blurred. 

There are also questions about the point of art, about whether Burnham should speak at all, and there is a back-and-forth between the overtly comedic songs and those that are just sad. ‘That Funny Feeling’, while it has witty lyrics, is ultimately a commiseration for the feeling that the world is hopeless and that we are at the end. For Burnham too, time is running out; there is something hanging over us. In his lyrics, Burnham often collates cultural references, tying together seemingly disparate things such as Deadpool, Pornhub, Jeffrey Bezos, and the commercialisation of revolution. In this way, he bears a similarity to indie singer Father John Misty, who sings about vague revolutions and apocalypses, making such references as “bedding Taylor Swift every night inside the Oculus Rift.” On the one hand, it’s a brave move, as such specific references will surely become dated very soon. But for a contemporary audience, all these items work as shorthand for the absurdity and emptiness of the modern world, and their interchangeability presents an ironic detachment. Art, politics and entertainment are all one. Burnham’s anxiety comes across very movingly in ‘That Funny Feeling’ but there is almost, I think, an indulgence in this near-apocalypse feeling, even if that indulgence isn’t much fun. There is also an assumption that the audience of ‘Inside’ is similar to Burnham in their political views and awareness. The narrative of the world here, of progress and of change, is superficial and acknowledged as such, as Burnham lists the issues of “systematic oppression, income inequality and the other stuff”. Neoliberalism and capitalism are awful, but not deeply understood - though that lack of understanding, the alienation from world events, is perhaps part of the point. But we all know the figureheads of the modern system, and it is enough for Burnham to wear a camouflage outfit and sing “Jeffrey Bezos'' over a great beat to evoke both humour and despair. Burnham makes use of a shared language and a shared pessimism. ‘Inside’ has touched many viewers as it has acted as catharsis for common feelings during lockdown. But the question remains, in a work that so openly references politics, whether or not more is needed; if this mutual commiseration is enough, or if it just forms more empty content. 

But Burnham would warn against seeking inspiration from a comedian, or from a “special kind of white guy”; he will not be “healing the world with comedy”. ‘Inside’ is self-aware to the point of bending back in on itself; but it does explore real difficulties in whether or not art can be a vehicle for change when it is made for profit- when it is part of the system it critiques. Burnham never answers these questions. ‘Inside’ is a tangle of creativity and questions about creativity. It is also very funny, and I agree it is one of the most interesting pieces of art to come out of lockdown. 

Looking at both Burnham and Mitski, we can see the different layers of making art in the 21st century: audience, opportunity, money, politics, celebrity. There are many other artists who discuss these issues, and I think it is important to bear in mind Mitski’s ideas about stories. While she worries that no one cares for her stories about “no-good guys”, the plurality of her and others’ stories- whether about work, love, protest, or anything else- remain essential, for both emotional catharsis and a variety of perspectives for the potential for change both inside and outside of art. Creativity as a career is fraught with difficulties, but the freedom to be creative is an absolute necessity.