In the days before social media, Ozempic, and Snapchat filters, the stars of the music industry possessed a quality that is missing from our current era: ugliness. Much to the detriment of popular music today, ugly has been almost completely wiped out from the industry. Stars with chemically whitened teeth, perfectly toned abs, and personal stylists are flooding out of the Los Angeles labs where they’re developed. Like giraffes stampeding into our algorithms, tall and blonde, it seems like every other week a new popstar is invented—identical in looks and sound. I still can’t tell the difference between Stella Lefty and Ella Langley, and I recently learned that The Dare and Sombr are actually two different people.
The issue with the saturation of what we have decided is “beauty” in the music industry is that we’re missing the quality that makes music good, the spark that touches our souls. Anyone who grew up ugly can tell you that personality is formed when you have something to make up for. Don’t believe me? Ask your hottest friend if they know any good jokes (they don’t).
With our current shift away from the “body positivity” movement and the easy access to weight loss drugs, cosmetic surgery, and the ability to edit photos to the point of hyper-realistic unrecognizability, it’s easy to forget that just a few short decades ago music was ruled by weird-looking people. The greatest musicians and bands of the 20th century had faces only their mothers—and millions of adoring fans—could love.
This article is dedicated to the Beatles’ manager Brian Epstein, who managed to convince millions of teen girls around the world to fall head over heels in love with four guys who looked like mice that made a wish to become human men. As the 60s wore on, the Fab Four grew out of their boyish looks and into mustaches that would never be allowed within 500ft of an elementary school. The strangeness of their faces, hairstyles, and outfits is only surpassed by the scale of their influence and innovation in rock n’ roll.
Together, Simon and Garfunkel hold some of the most hauntingly beautiful vocals in music. Songs like “Bridge over Troubled Water” and “Scarborough Fair/Canticle” speak to something deep within the human spirit—it makes sense why their music has had such staying power over generations. Despite sitting in the pantheon of lyrical and musical greatness, I think that where the duo really shines is in their album covers. Take “Simon and Garfunkel’s Greatest Hits.” Here we see another example of a musician entering the 70s and deciding to don a mustache and haircut that are an affront to polite society (see: Paul McCartney, Gram Parsons), as well as the running theme of the Ichabod Crane-like Art Garfunkel towering behind Simon. That brings us to “Bridge Over Troubled Water.” If you told a modern-day ten-year-old that one of the greatest and bestselling records of the 20th century had a cover that pictured an unkempt preteen walking home from school being stalked by a looming Scandinavian who can see through souls, they would think that unbelievable. In our days of the hyper-airbrushed supermodel-popstars exclusively appearing on album covers, it is almost unthinkable that this grainy, uncompositioned photo could sell over 25 million copies worldwide, making Simon and Garfunkel 19.6 million in pure sales. You’d think they would’ve used that to buy better clothes.
No band has evolved with the music industry like The Grateful Dead. The Dead were a band of ugly, physically dirty musicians followed to muddy fields in far-flung reaches of this country by their hordes of uglier and dirtier fans. As the years progressed and we lost members of the band, they were slowly replaced by cleaner, more attractive men. Trading in Shakedown Street for merch stands with factory-made tie-dye, Woodstock for The Sphere, the dead have slowly whitened their teeth, washed their hair, and become prepared for a new era of better, cleaner counterculture. Of course the most egregious insult to the music-lover’s sensibilities was the addition of famous heartthrob John Mayer to the band. As Mayer noodles in front of thousands of tech CEOs in Golden Gate Park, I wonder if he thinks about how far the Dead frontmen have come—from a nine-fingered wizard in crocs to a man who wears statement necklaces and has his own branded laundry detergent.
The days of the audio medium are gone. Music now goes hand in hand with social media, televised award shows, and music videos. Instead of falling in love with tone, voice, and lyrics, we first see piano-key teeth, impossibly shiny skin, and Grammy red carpet looks. The public is thirsty for a flawless new starlet, and record companies are happy to give it to them. Today, music is just a sliver of the Popstars’ existence. Social media, skincare lines, and TV cameos all play into the influencer-centered culture we’ve built, where music is less of an art or a calling and rather another way to become, and stay, famous.
Image Credits: Dezo Hoffmann, Henry Grossman, Danny Clinch, Bill Silano, Abbott Mills, Peter Powell, Herb Greene, Sameh Tawfik