When Middlebrow Is Embraced as High Art

Pop music superstar Taylor Swift just won Best Album at the 2024 Grammy’s for the fourth time. This is the most Album of the Year wins for any artist. Ever.

She is undeniably popular — perhaps more popular and financially successful and influential than any artist ever. According to Evan Gardner who wrote this piece for The Free Press, his essay about Taylor got him into Brown University. And Taylor unites America. That’s pretty huge given our divided and increasingly polarized populace.

Still, some people hate her. Like Meghan Murphy, who writes hilariously on the subject (repeatedly) of why Swift isn’t really any good, lacks any and all originality and is just kind of lame. For Murphy, basically Swift churns out uncomplicated music written for children and she is an untalented, albeit market-attuned middlebrow “artist.” (I’m summarizing and actually Murphy might claim “middlebrow” is too complimentary for Swift. As is “artist.”) Still, somehow adults around the world lose their minds over her boring ditties and sometimes are willing to pay as much as $11,000 to see her in concert. It drives Murphy nuts and her belief is that Swifties are in a cult and are totally brainwashed.

“. . . it is strange to watch billions of people become brainwashed into not just believing but insisting that a thing that by all objective standards is neither good nor interesting is amazing, groundbreaking, and worth freaking out over.” — Meghan Murphy

I don’t hate Taylor. My 7-year-old daughter Ruth loves her. But she’s 7. She asked me the other day in between belting “Cruel Summer” and “Welcome to New York” if we could see Taylor in concert.

I’ve actually seen Taytay live. It was in 2015 for her 1989 World Tour. She played Levi’s Stadium and I went with my husband and two teenaged sons. Men in their 40s and boys in their teens are not Swift’s primary target audience, to be sure. But, since I was the Chief Marketing Officer at Levi’s at the time, we got to sit in the Levi’s suite which I figured they’d think was kind of cool. Nevertheless, my husband and sons managed to nap during the show. They were not impressed. I enjoyed it.

I told my daughter sure, we can go next time around. (No way I’m paying any amount broaching $1000 but who knows, maybe I’ll get lucky and pay list price for nose bleed seats.)

If you have any doubt that Swift is a marketed-up concoction, you need look no further than the “documentary” Miss Americana (2020) on Netflix. It won the 2020 Critics Choice Documentary Award but it is basically a long commercial for how Taylor is just like us. But richer. She’s insecure, she had an eating disorder because she listened to the internet call her fat and now she likes burritos. Really, she just wants a normal life in between flying on her private jet to play for 70,000 adoring fans and altering the voting patterns (or non-voting patterns) of young Americans. And she loves her mom.

I watched it a few days ago with my daughter because I was tired of watching Leo, the cartoon movie featuring Adam Sandler (who I love) as a lizard who sounds like an old Jewish man. It had been on repeat for a few weeks and I couldn’t take it anymore (and I have a weird affliction — I hate cartoons . . . I’ll share more on that sometime) so I suggested the Taylor movie/ad.

Here’s the thing: Taylor isn’t without talent, in my opinion. Most pop stars aren’t without talent. But she’s straight up middlebrow (if that) embraced as deep artistry.

If everyone just accepted her middlebrow-ness rather than insisting Swift is The Beatles, Bob Dylan, Janis Joplin, Joni Mitchell and Beyoncé rolled into one I wouldn’t care.

I like dumb pop music. I’ve been known to enjoy Katy Perry, Jennifer Lopez and P!nk. But I hate middlebrow that pretends to be timeless high art. I don’t think Katy Perry’s “Firework” does that.

It’s bugged me for years in books. Sometimes, many years after the fact of a book becoming a best-seller and taking over airwaves and what used to be called water cooler conversation, I will read one. I want to understand what people love and are raving about. And I always think Maybe I’ll like it! 2 million people and the NYT Best Seller list can’t be wrong! I inevitably hate them.

I remember reading Lovely Bones, the 2002 novel by Alice Sebold about a teenaged girl who was raped and murdered and then watches her family from heaven. I read it maybe 5 years after it came out, on the bus to and from work. I couldn’t believe how stupid it was. It’s a murder mystery shrouded in sentimental, soppy spirituality. Fine if people liked it, but it was critically acclaimed and then purchased by Lord of the Rings director Peter Jackson and made into a film.

It’s hard to communicate how much I did not like this book. It was hard to get through. I found it prurient pulp with a Christian patina.

If you want to like the Spice Girls fine — they’re the best selling girl group in history. But don’t pretend that I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want. So, tell me what you want, what you really really want. I wanna—, I wanna—, I wanna—, I wanna—, I wanna really, really, really wanna zigazig, ah is Bob Dylan.

I’ve also read all of Glennon Doyle’s books. The last one — Untamed — I read in one sitting which I never do but there were so few words on each page that it wasn’t much longer than an article. The book has sold 2 million copies. It’s packed with pearls of feminist wisdom like this:

Right there, on the floor, I looked deep into my own eyes. I let the Knowing rise and stay. My children do not need me to save them. My children need to watch me save myself.

Ok I just grabbed the book off of the shelf and opened randomly to page 129 to find a quote that illustrates my point. I didn’t have to search. It was there, first page I turned to. I’m sure I could find one on every page. I’m not looking any further. You get the point.

Now again, if you draw inspiration from Doyle’s words, more power to you. But it’s self-help disguised as a memoir (there’s not even a story!), warmed over commercially packaged you go girl! feminism masquerading as deep thoughts and art. Writer Elizabeth Gilbert says “Untamed will liberate women!” I just wanted to put a fork through my eye.

Maybe I’m a snob. I don’t think so. Again, I don’t mind if people like and buy this stuff. I don’t think they’re idiots for doing so. I read all three Glennon Doyle books! I kind of liked one of them. (It was Love Warrior, I think. My marriage was on the rocks. It moved me!) I participate. I’ve danced to The Spice Girls. I like Rihanna (she may rise above, actually). I’ve seen Justin Timberlake in concert. Twice. But I know the difference between poppy fun and lasting timeless art with universal themes that resonate across geographies and decades. I don’t accept that sugar coated candy is fine cuisine. I just don’t.

(Side note: I’m also not claiming that any of my writing or films rise above. I’m no great artist, believe me I know that. But I read a lot and watch a ton of movies and I do know the difference. It offends my sensibilities to pretend there isn’t one.)

Last night I watched American Fiction, the Oscar nominated film about a high brow, academically minded black writer named Monk who is tired of the literary world tripping over itself to embrace black writers who rely on tired stereotypes and then massively push and market these books as “gritty” and “real.” So Monk strays from his un-lucrative turgid academic prose to write an outlandish book soaked with black trauma porn and ridiculous stereotypes. He calls it almost too hilariously Fuck. He writes it to make a point about how embarrassing and stupid the white publishing ladies are. But of course, it backfires and they definitely do not get the point he is trying to make which would require some self-reflection. They love it. He is paid $750k for it. The publisher blushes and clutches her proverbial pearls when Monk tells her the title but then accepts it as raw and necessary.

It could have been a successful rejection of woke-ness within the lit world. And it almost was, but not quite. It sorted of wanted it both ways. Don’t stereotype. Don’t pander. But also prioritize black stories over all others and some pandering is okay.

There is a female supporting character played by Issa Rae who is a best selling writer. Her book topping the charts is called We Lives in Da Ghetto. It’s got it all. Ebonics and teen pregnancies. That part is funny. Over the top, perhaps too on the nose, but definitely makes its point. But then Rae’s character is critical of Fuck and seems to not really ever get that it’s a stinging satire based on the ludicrousness of her book. Does the Oberlin-schooled writer get it or not? Is her book valid because she did “research” but Fuck is not? Who knows. It was a little muddled but I enjoyed it overall. Not everything has to be a home run.

But as I’ve been pondering writing something about middlebrow-ness I couldn’t help but think the movie was as much commentary on that as woke-ness gone haywire (it always does) in the lit world.

Basically Monk hated that bad books were the ones publishers paid a lot for then pushed to willing readers. And then the entire world treated those bad books as culture-making, idea furthering, important vehicles for changing the world. Then these bad books are bought and made into screenplays and preening narcissistic actors win Oscars for playing the characters. And then those actors give speeches where they can hardly get the words out, so overcome with emotion for having changed the world by playing a character in a movie. (See Emma Stone’s Oscar acceptance speech this year for Poor Things which basically made me want to vomit.)

Don’t get me wrong. I’m still going to watch Poor Things. But I have a sneaking suspicion I won’t like it and I’m already sort of soured on it because Emma — who I liked when she didn’t seem to take herself so seriously — was so verklempt in her Oscar speech. Say thank you, I’m honored, this is so cool. And walk off. It’s a middlebrow movie. Perhaps a high quality one. But I just wish it knew it’s place in the world.