Who Is Music Really For? The Ballad of Wallis Island and the Philosophy of Great Music

We musicians are constantly searching for meaning. During every performance, there is always a latent journey of seek and discover. Every song forges new pathways, new perspectives, new relationships. Each note is a summit from which we aim for the next.

This process can be tremendously exciting, and it's an important part about what makes music special. But it's also true that this dopamine-saturated process can, just like any other, result in the development of 'siloed' thinking: at best, an artist chasing the high; at worst, a gambler chasing the elusive win. We can so easily get caught up in the pursuit of our personal muse, that we forget what performance, music, indeed art itself, actually exists to do.

It is this thought that has played on my mind ever since my most recent film experience. I may be regarded as somewhat late in the game for finally catching up with last year's "The Ballad of Wallis Island". Being honest, at first, as I saw the film's thumbnail and tagline on my TV (judging a book by its cover, as after all, what is a book cover for?), I hesitated to dive in. It seemed more like a "Fishermans Friends" happy-go-lucky drama/comedy that lacks enough depth to justify its runtime, but curiosity got the better of me and I took the plunge. I was not disappointed.

The film’s refreshingly straightforward premise sets up a single performance by a disbanded popular folk duo who reunite – unwittingly and unwillingly as the case turns out – for a gig on a remote island. It’s not made entirely clear to the stars, however, that the audience will consist of a single person – a lottery-winning superfan who seeks to make all his dreams come true with an intimate performance from his favourite band. A no-brainer wish fulfilment exercise for the fan, it would seem, and it's pretty much all upside for the two musicians, with substantial cash on the table for the gig.

As the film weaves through the relationships between the characters and we discover the depth of the duo's past, as well as that of the wealthy superfan, it seems that the film is trying to explore the human relationship with the past. We are, as I think everyone can agree with, predisposed to colour our histories, and lock up memories in a very specific light. We tend to remember ourselves and those we love in the way we wish us/them to have been, rather than something closer to the often uncomfortable reality.

The relationship we hold to our pasts is clearly central to the film and its characters, but what I take from it is something different. Instead of an exploration of humanity, personal histories, and lost relationships; it seemed to me that the film was ultimately a story about music, and what it does for us. It asks that vital question:

Who is music for? Is it the artist, or the audience? 

We musicians, I think, too often take it for granted that it's the former. Music is an endeavour of, by, and for musicians, and it is we who decide how the art can be performed, consumed, and judged in posterity. We are the ultimate gatekeepers of our field.

When the first of the folk duo arrives on the island (Herb), he presents as the prototypical washed rockstar: calling 'his people' at any minor deviation from his idea of the plan, and, despite claiming to "prefer intimate gigs", is dismayed when he realises that the superfan (Charles) will be the sole audience member - truly the ultimate intimate gig. After all, he is the Herb Mcwyer, deserving of nothing less than wide acclaim and stadiums of fans. In reality of course, his glory days are far behind as he slowly sells himself to the machines of industry in a desperate attempt to retain any relevance.

The arrival of his counterpart, Nell, leaves him instantly winded. He appears unable to function properly around the ex he clearly never got over, despite the years apart.

The film explores the two characters through their relationship that has shifted over the years, and reveals Herb's unwillingness to let go of the glorious past, and Nell's ultimate acceptance of and contentment with the happy mundanity of life. They are, ultimately, two sides of the same coin. One musician never stopped chasing the dream, only to realise it had evaporated many years ago; and the other realised that music was the journey, not the destination.

It's a painting I can relate to, as someone who had a strong conviction I was going to make it as an artist in some form. I really saw it as a calling - to write and produce music as a solo artist or as part of a group, and to pursue that goal by any means necessary. I, like many others in their youth, had bold ideas to move around the world in pursuit of that dream. It was only when, like Nell's character, I met someone who made me realise that notoriety, acclaim, and even 'artistry' isn't all it's cracked up to be. Happiness, at least for me, wasn't found in fame or fortune - it was in sharing simple, everyday life with someone you love.

This focus on how we find human value in music is the heart of the film. It's explored through contrasting Herb's toxic, self-centred 'artiste' persona with Nell's mindful normality: examining how we must approach music, and all art, as an extension of our own lives, rather than a set of fixed goals.

This theme is also beautifully presented in the one relationship that we never directly see play out: that of Charles and his late wife, with whom he shared his love of music. The film reveals that, instead of Charles being a superfan in search of the perfect gig, he is in fact looking to commune with the spirit of a loved one. He is a man desperate to re-live the happy memories through the soundtrack he loves.

The story is, ultimately, indicative of the depth that music offers us. The performance of a song is both a profoundly spiritual, and uniquely personal experience; and thus, must be treated by performers with due reverence and respect for the devolved nature of the form.

Herb, Nell, and Charles share a moment on the beach

It is with this realisation of what the film was about that it got me. Never before had I experienced a piece of film or TV that seemed to really understand what music is. Music isn’t about fame, or money, or even something sounding good:

Music is what it makes us feel

Us. Not the artist, the producer, or the label. We, the listener is what really matters when all is said and done. Performances, whether they be live or recorded, ultimately do not exist for the pleasure or benefit of the performer, while that is a desireable artefact in making music. Performances exist for people to experience. Everything else is window-dressing.

It's great when, after taking in something like this film, my own experiences and outlook can be calibrated. As a self employed person, it often feels inevitable that you become silo'd within your own world of work and life. Unlike in most jobs, where there are colleagues and managers to keep you 'in check', going it on your own can, I think, result in developing points of view that are somewhat un-grounded. Consuming media, as well as of course speaking to others, works to disrupt this self-reinforcing process.

Watching the film and thinking about it a great deal over the last few weeks has reminded me of the importance of the audience experience, and the absolutely vital aspect of performances being devoid of ego. I do not matter, only how my audience is affected.

And with that, I'll see you on the next one.

Finlay