Anticipating the collapse of true artistic collaboration Francesca Goodwin investigates the interdisciplinary practice of creative groups on the London arts scene.

 As she holds the spotlight up to both her contempories and herself she uncovers the true drives and inspiration of today’s creative practitioners.

Having run an interdisciplinary arts platform Fabelist for the past few years, ‘collaboration’ has always been something of a buzz word of my lexicon. My focus upon encouraging the cross-pollination of the arts has been to the intent of pushing the professional practice of creative individuals in new directions, as they encounter the comparatively barren landscape of post art college life. The commercial element of these partnerships has obviously also been a consideration- not only in the selling of work but, in the inevitable magnification of the potential market that is reached by a group, especially in light of the digitisation of advertising and audience cultivation.

The primary focus, however, has remained on the initial aesthetic benefits of working across disciplines. Consequently, commercial gains are a welcome but incidental product of the innovative quality of the work produced and, the increased zeal and energy for spectator engagement. This ‘hands on’, instinctual approach that has political/creative intervention as its focus is nothing new.

The art-punk era has always been something of a romanticised historical landscape for me, especially in light of the unifying quality that collaborative creative expression had within the feminist movement of the 70s. It is however a case in point that, not only were bands from Patti Smith to Hungarian group The Spions influenced by their art school culture and the avant-garde but, record companies were also applying art theory to marketing. Indeed, Factory Records were described as using ‘The Bauhaus principle’ to promote their goods.

I am aware that these statements are in danger of generalising a whole movement of counter culture and ideologies but, my premise is to illustrate that subversion, innovation and aesthetics can be projected through interdisciplinary practice and that this can (to an extent) co-exist with more commercial subsistence.

More and more however, I am seeing the term ‘collaboration’ employed as a marketing gimmick. Perhaps as a symptom of an increasingly connected world and, consequently over saturated market, it is becoming harder to make a mark within the creative industries. Likewise, with spending cuts to the arts, focus has turned to the number of tickets sold and how to appeal to, not an audience but, all audiences.

This is obviously to the detriment of a targeted engagement with the genuinely creatively appreciative viewer and, to the integrity of the disciplines involved in the collaboration. One need only look to the recent controversy over Marina Abromovik’s work with Jay Z and Lady Gaga to begin questioning where the art ends and the PR stunt begins. It is all too easy to expound upon an adopted theory of interdisciplinary aesthetics when seats are being filled and red dots applied.

As my inbox daily fills with opportunities to exhibit art- for what transpires to be decorative purposes, in exchange for ‘exposure’- I find myself questioning whether (despite the existence of organisations such as my own) collaboration within the creative industries can still be unsullied and whether, where it does exist, the artists were also able to exist financially without compromising their vision. Could there still be a middle ground where artistic integrity was maintained alongside an alternative commercialism?

And so, I decided to investigate whether the focus upon collaboration and the element of craft and art that was alive in the 70s, was something that was pertinent to the grass roots end of the industry today- for young musicians and artists struggling to make their mark on the ladder to success.

My next question, in light of the ease of the application of the term ‘collaboration’, was how to eek out the true motivations of the emerging arts scene?

My answer was to absorb myself within it- to offset casually conducted interviews with a real-world immersion into the hopes, dreams and, day- to- day practice of individuals who appeared to embody my investigatory criteria. As opposed to simply an expositional memoir however, a journalistic intent and point of removal would be maintained- in order to answer about experience rather than be overtaken by the experiences themselves.

My case study turned the lens onto myself and fellow interdisciplinary artist, journalist and political activist Kirsty Allison. Through a two-way interview we put each other through our paces as to what collaboration means to us and how it relates to the contemporary London art scene. The second test subject came to me by chance.

I first met Ned Mortimer, one half of the acoustic duo August and After, whilst dressed as the queen of the fairies in a wood in Buckinghamshire. He asked me if I’d like to learn do a cryptic crossword and, in anticipation of this unexpected master class, I bartered a ‘colouring in’ lesson in return. Having accomplished both to an admittedly less than expert level, our conversation descended into the kind of romanticized artistic visions that tepid red wine and pixie dust (in this case not a euphemism) often induce.

It was during the course of our meandering conversation that he divulged, with endearing excitement, some of the more idiosyncratic aspects of the pair in terms of their showcasing of artists on their website and, collaborations with other musicians and singers at every level of production.

There was definitely a mention of puppets but, at this point my mind had become somewhat clouded with mead and so I wasn’t entirely sure in the morning whether this had been willful thinking.

Nevertheless, his self-effacing attitude (he had endeavored to expound upon the potential boyfriend qualities of his creative partner in crime Vedantha Kumar) and genuine enthusiasm for the arts left me intrigued.

Having returned home and actually listened to their music, I was impressed. The orchestral element to the tracks and well-matched harmonies lent a haunting quality to the understated lyrics. This wasn’t trying to ‘be’ anything, but rather appeared to be a celebration of a ‘coming together’- a collection of uncontrived, pure ‘moments’. Indeed, it later transpired that much of the inspiration for their songs came from moments the two had encountered, both individually and together.

Likewise, their blog and social media pages were peppered with the applauding of the work of other creative acquaintances. This was not merely reserved for their musical peers- an almost overwhelming mass of whom feature on the album- but also to artists, filmmakers, writers, their fans, their mothers…

I was reminded of this generous attitude reading a Guardian interview with Margaret Atwood a few weeks later:

‘I tweet things people have shared in that area – if they've shown me a review, it's a courtesy to acknowledge it by retweeting it. But to say, 'Buy my book'? I don't think that's what it's for any more than at a party you would say, 'I want you to buy my book, that's £12 right now.' But you might say, 'See that woman over there in the purple gown? She just wrote a sensational novel, which I have read.' It's useful for that.’

Atwood follows this with a brief plug for another campaign she supports- saving the bees. I had been sceptical up until this moment as to whether the quieter collaboration that August and After seemed to exude was at all revolutionary or epoch building. It was all very well collaborating but to be a genuine creative movement- that sincerely welded together art forms- signs of wider implications should be evident. Atwood’s conflation of compliments and campaigning, set in the same tone, started me thinking. If their creative collaboration was genuine was that in itself a statement within a homogenised market? I looked back at their facebook and stifled a chuckle at a video the boys had posted of a spoof promotional video to mark the launch of their album ‘Embers’. It was the first time for a while that I had seen musicians taking themselves entirely unseriously whilst having a serious creative focus.

And so I organized to meet the pair for an ‘interview’ the following weekend. I invited them to spend an afternoon in Finsbury Park- a setting that was certainly incongruous enough to utterly confuse them as to whether they should be giving stock answers or merely commenting on scenery. I did in fact ponder my own selection of venue when we were grabbing bagels from a local bakery afterwards and, was reminded by a friend and fellow writer who I had brought along that- ‘You like parks’. It seemed justification enough.

The wilder nature of our setting did however, from the very beginning, open our meeting up to a broader spectrum of discussion than merely the formal quality of their music. For all the quiet confidence of their sound, as with Atwood, a wider social conscience was something very much alive for the pair.

Having commented on the potential threat of a ‘tribe’ of drunk football fans on my tube journey, Vedantha was eager to explain his own interest in domestic violence against women, having just written a piece for International Political Forum on its continued prevalence in the UK. A track from the album ‘Waltz for Marie’ was in fact inspired by an encounter of such abuse on London Bridge. The beauty of the music belies a serious engagement with a topic that is so often swept under the carpet.

Indeed, later in the discussion the two divulge their eagerness to travel and push themselves outside of the ‘moments’ of their immediate comfort zone. Collaboration for them it appeared is therefore not so much about cozy companionship, but rather an attempt to engage with the experiences of others. Perhaps, I thought, these moments that they were speaking of could be redefined as a ‘movement’.

This is certainly evident in their apparently genuine enthusiasm for gathering artists’ responses to their work:

‘We have different visions ourselves and so we want to see how other people respond to them’.

The results of their invitations to produce work are displayed on their website, with as much prominence as their own music. This may reek of economic naivety however, the two are aware of the fact that in return for giving artists an opportunity to show their work and feeding them with inspiration, they are also benefiting from free (and visually stunning) music videos and album artwork.

We digress into a debate about the importance of the music video in an increasingly online environment- it’s so much easier to share something that combines both sound and visuals, immediately you appeal to a broader spectrum of tastes. My ears prick up at this point since, the exploitation of artists by purporting to ‘showcase’ their work is something that sits rather close to the bone for me. In this case however, it is difficult to steer the conversation away from the revelry the two go into over the beauty on the animation for the track ‘Set Sail’, as well as a photograph which Ned’s sister produced as a reflection of the song.:

‘I really don’t know how she captured it, it’s amazing- you must see it, she’s so talented’.

Their mission genuinely appears as much to be about collating people and impressions as about the sound produced, although obviously the method becomes reflected in the matter of the product- voices and sounds interweaving in mimicry of their creative journeys.

Finance is naturally a concern however, it would appear that, as with the collaborations of the 70s, their natural ability to genuinely identify with other art forms and people, make this a natural dovetailing of creative success.

The way in which the two met at Cambridge university in fact reflects this humanitarian focus. Ned had decided to take his guitar with him to their first college ‘bop’ (‘party’- the lingo isn’t too difficult to decipher it transpires) in order to mark himself out to fellow musicians. He had already applied to be on a suitably ‘musical’ staircase when filling in the accommodation forms and was now on the hunt for a band mate. I suggested that he was looking to pick up girls- instead he picked up Vedantha.

It is somehow ironic in light of this that the first incarnation of the band ‘Esperada’- influenced by Spanish guitar music- was hastily renamed due to the mistaken announcing of them as ‘Desperado’ on one too many an occasion. Another layer of hilarity unfolds as Ned admits that girls were certainly on the agenda when he employed his musical compadres to serenade his then girlfriend, after a particularly sparky lovers’ tiff.

Looking back at my notes I see that I’ve scribbled ‘Desperado indeed…’

Anecdotes aside, it is the spontaneous creative comradeship that appears to exist between the two friends and their collaborators that garnered my interest. This is not only in terms of their encouragement of the musicians that they play with to become part of the creative process, adding their own riffs and improvising as they record the songs, but also their relationship with their audience. When the two officially launched as August and After it was following much deliberation and eventually a crowd sourcing of potential names since, they wanted something that fans would like.

One could be cynical of this X Factor style appeal however, as I console Ned a week after the interview- as he agonizes over writing individually to each of the people who have liked their Facebook page- the decision over the name becomes one that, in retrospect, is very much about giving back to their fans rather than an exercise in mainstreaming. Their concern for the maintenance of the supportive community that is drawn to their vision is evident in the personal approach that they have towards their gigs and promotion.

‘I don’t want it to sound like ME ME ME all the time’, Ned mutters distractedly ‘do you think it’s bad contacting people who you haven’t spoken to for years just because they’ve probably accidentally clicked a ‘like’ button?’

I can’t help but smile because, it is precisely this intimate, sincere approach that marketing gurus spend years cultivating to try and win their clients the love of ‘the people’. In August and After’s case it comes naturally and, although to a commercial purpose, is borne of a genuine concern. It is that which, paradoxically, makes them so popular.

After the interview I send them both an article that I’d been reading about producing music in the proverbial Spotify era. The piece discusses whether actually giving music away for free, would in the long run, generate income from merchandise and collectable LPs than ploughing money into administering what was an inefficient digital relationship.

The extract they immediately picked up on was an argument put forward by the musician Damon Krukowski:

‘Musicians don’t need to reach everyone; we just need to reach our audience. And we don’t need to make everyone pay a little, but we do need those for whom our work means something significant to pay enough to enable us to provide it. I believe that relationship is relatively undisturbed by the Internet—that’s why limited editions, from lavish box sets to underground cassettes, seem to be humming along fine right now. Those are products made for a specific audience, which appreciates their agreed-upon value.’

It is this balance that August and After appear to be successfully, if tentatively, maintaining. Using the internet to bring their audience closer and embracing digitalism as a way of constantly engaging their fans in a ultimately very tactile experience. The dialogue between online communication and a constant stream of gigs and meeting new people is exceptionally organic and understated.

As Krukowski notes, the audience really is becoming all but, that doesn’t mean they should be patronized with gimmicky hooks. Ned and Vedantha’s ‘hook’ rather appears to be more about ensuring everyone feels valued and actively engaged in their music, and not merely a spectator.

‘We do this thing where we send a boat that an artist made for us round the crowd at our gigs and get people to put songs in it. Then after the gig we make a playlist online’

On being questioned as to the point of the exercise:

‘Well we wish we knew all the songs so we could actually play them for people but we don’t so we make them the playlist instead, it’s just kind of nice…’

It’s also ‘kind of nice’ from an artist’s perspective (in light of the afore mentioned cannibalizing of art for event ‘decoration’) that the boys have genuine reverence for the boat.

‘It got damaged and we felt so bad because it was beautiful- a proper sculpture… I’m making the next one’

It is this willingness to engage with hands on aspect of genuine artistic expression, no matter the outcome, that makes their collaborations both genuinely aesthetic but also commercially endearing. Describing the launch of their album, they both rhapsodize about the bunting, artwork and general intimacy of their chosen venue:

‘It was really ‘arty’ and it was so nice that everyone came to support us’.

For the two are not alone in their ethos, the evening of the day we meet in the park they are rushing to surprise a friend who has done vocals on their album in a solo gig. As they hop on the bus they promise to introduce me to another interesting bunch of creative individuals 316 Queens.  These friends and housemates invite musicians and artists to their London home for the day and film them as they work together. The aim of the experience is to capture:

‘the beauty of live music with its natural spontaneity’.

I had been anticipating August and After as being an exception to the rule and yet they are in fact the tip of what is a dynamic, evolving and, above all, genuine movement on the London arts scene. The focus is on partnerships and the subversion is in the humanity of the practice. As 316 Queens state in the description of their vision:

‘The videos are posted online for your enjoyment and our collective appreciation of these great musicians and artist’.

We may live in a more digital age than the giddy hedonism of the pamphleteering era of the 70s but, if harnessed for its creative potential, this can in fact make for a more accessible (rather than simply uniform) creative scene.

The next time I speak to the boys, Ned is preparing to trek up to Yorkshire in order to film a video with a puppet theatre company:

‘I don’t really know how to work a camera but the puppets are incredible and I’ll just get some film friends to help me over skype. We don’t really mind what it turns out like, I’m just really excited to work with them’

August and Aftermay not be starting riots, however what Spencer Tunick says of Lady Gaga’s art-music partnerships is perhaps relevant in support of their approach:

‘Any artistic intervention into the masses will only move societies in borderline conservative countries to have more acceptance towards human rights issues, women’s rights and artistic freedom. Art cannot change the world within a bubble.’

My email pings with an incoming message- Ned is sending me an introduction to a talented young photographer friend of his. As I look back at Tunick’s words I can’t help but hear ‘intervention’ in the buzz.

For further information on August and After see the band's website

Image: Camilla Mortimer