What is “selling out” in the music industry, and does it still exist?
For a time, it seemed that there was no label to be placed on an artist more damning than that of a “sell-out”.
To “sell-out”, in the broadest sense, means to compromise artistic integrity and morality, sacrificing authenticity in favour of commercial, social and financial gain. In the context of the music industry, this translates to when artists transition from being signed to an independent label to joining a major label, seen as “selling out” by sacrificing indie values in favour of something bigger. With music, this can also be seen in an artist licensing their music for commercial use or changing their sound to reach more commercial, mainstream audiences.
The severity of being labelled as a “sell-out” has fluctuated over time. In the 1960s, when radio reigned supreme over the music industry, artists surely shared a common goal of commercial success – as many do, but the effort to get on the radio was not seen as a mainstream sacrifice, but a necessary means. Certainly, rock musicians in particular had a complex relationship with the pressures placed on chart success – listen to The Who Sell Out, for instance, and you’ll hear a humorous, ironic conception of commercial gain.
Still, even with such self-aware assessments trickling into the music, the question of “authenticity” looms over the music industry like a heavy cloud. Whether an artist is simply experimenting with their sound or changing for the sake of potential success seems subjective – though some instances of the latter prove painfully obvious. The line drawn between the two sides is consistently blurred and, ultimately, only definable by the artists themselves, but this has never stopped sceptics from wielding the label of “sell-out” against anyone they deem inauthentic.
When considering the concept of “selling out”, Nirvana’s transition from underground heroes to major label sensations immediately springs to mind. As Kurt Cobain told Rolling Stone in 1992: “I don’t blame the average 17-year-old punk rock kid for calling me a sellout. I understand that. Maybe when they grow up a little bit, they’ll realise there’s more to life than living out your rock ’n’ roll identity so righteously.”
Cobain was speaking months after their sophomore album, 1991’s Nevermind, became an unprecedented success – and marked their major label debut. Prior, the band had been signed to the Seattle independent label Sub Pop, where they defined the so-called “Seattle sound” alongside their labelmates that included Soundgarden, Mudhoney and Tad. But by 1990, Nirvana were ready to move forward and, as they began work on their second album, demos of the sessions began to spread, reaching the ears of major labels.
Seeking out the advice of Susan Silver – the brilliant manager behind Soundgarden, Alice in Chains, Screaming Trees and more – and listening to the recommendations of Kim Gordon, Nirvana signed to DGC Records in 1990. They would not be the first alternative band to sign to a major label, nor would they be the last, but Nirvana’s skyrocket to fame in the aftermath of their decision warranted the unjust label of “sell-outs” being placed upon them.
Nevermind’s prevalence in mainstream culture – selling more than 30 million copies worldwide to date – may have made them “sell-outs” in the eyes of punk purists, but as Cobain suggested, perhaps their labelling warranted a question of righteousness.
The notion surrounding punk and “selling out” is an entire conversation in itself. The very thought of a punk band or artist signing to a major label or exploring commercial viability remains a stain on their artistic integrity, provoking the question of whether they fit the genre’s morals in the first place. It is also worth noting that “punk”, once heard as the antithesis to the music industry at large, became one of the most commodified subcultures in history, going from an untouchable force to a marketing ploy. The anti-establishment ethos became, in a cruel twist of irony, the very ethos that intrigued executives and their ideas for commercialism.
The emphasis on maintaining such integrity from artists themselves is an attempt to keep a central authenticity in music, even when commercial potential presents itself. Patti Smith, for example, had been offered her first recording contract in 1971 – on the condition that she rebrand herself into what she described to The Cut in 2014 as “a ‘70s version of Cher”.
“Someone had a vision of how I could be moulded, and of course, I couldn’t do it,” she explained. “I [took a] quarter of the money in 1975 to do Horses because I had complete artistic freedom. So when people say, ‘I had no choice, I had to do it,’ well, I’m sorry, but unless you’re raising the money to look after your sick mother or something, you can say no.”
Within the punk ethos came a sense of achievement in not “selling out”, in sticking to such morals and values as a way of separating oneself from rampant commercialism, fame and the excess that came along with them. Not “selling out” meant holding true to what spurred artists to create in the first place: not for any sort of gain, but for the sheer compulsion to communicate through their work and perhaps, in turn, the chance to have their art reach others.
The 1980s saw a particular commercial shift: artists were no longer simply being accused of “selling out”, but they were scorned for aligning with commodified values. Advertisements began to trickle into the music industry: The Rolling Stones partnered with the Chicago-founded fragrance company Jovan Inc for their 1981 tour, with Jovan becoming the first fragrance brand to sponsor a music tour.
Michael Jackson partnered with Pepsi in 1984 in a lucrative $5.5million USD contract that changed the way that celebrity branding was perceived in popular culture. Rod Stewart similarly partnered with the Canadian-American beverage company Canada Dry, while Journey did the same with the American-style lager Budweiser, revealing a growing trend in music marketing: artists would no longer “sell out” by sacrificing elements of their sound, but would instead align their image with a given corporation for overall gain.
This practice of establishing working relationships between musicians and corporations is more ubiquitous than ever. Seemingly at every turn, countless instances of sponsorship remain prevalent, whether it be seen in musicians appearing in advertisements for food and beverages, clothing companies, fragrances, etc., or in direct sponsorships for tours and live events. In today’s world of hyper-consumerism within late-stage capitalism, where are the lines drawn for what is considered “selling out”, and what is regarded as a mere marketing or commercial move?
This translates into a constantly-evolving sense of “cultural capital”, as Modern Retail calls it, that artists and brands alike curate for mutual benefit. As artists themselves, as well as the literal live music experience (venues and festivals, for instance) are likely to be sponsored by a given corporation and/or brand, has “selling out” become commonplace for survival under capitalism? The concept of “selling out” in a sacrifice of one’s artistic integrity can be said to still exist, in a genuine critique of an artist’s sound and presentation.
But, the equation between companies and artists has become so normalised that to “sell out” is no longer as shocking as it once was, and is now regarded not so much as a “fault” of the artist, but rather something of an inevitable transition.
