Hello to all.
I’ve neglected my Substack. I know, and I should try and write more for myself. But today, I’m trying.
I’m planning a revamp, a purpose to this newsletter. Something more fun, maybe more engaging (for you and me), to keep my writing going. I want this to work, but I’ve also been tired, and shit and my beginning of 2023 is a FIASCO.
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It took me six months.
Six months of work for this piece. Six months of hard work. I’ve never had a kid, yet this felt like giving birth in pain to a child. But this is a piece I’m genuinely proud of. It takes time to write something so emotionally challenging. It’s taxing, it’s a pain, and it makes you miss the Alex G show you REALLY wanted to go to. But I did it for a purpose.
My partner told me that I should write this. Or film myself talking about this. I decided I’d write. I’m more comfortable writing.
Why did I write this “damned” piece?
According to Reddit, well… it’s poorly written, and my grammar is shit, and I should be careful with my words since these are “allegations.”
(Yea, I read the subreddit. Sue me. I couldn’t stay away; Arcade Fire stans are vicious!)
According to a Substack that was created to answer me and deleted in like 15 minutes, but screenshots exist, I am “disingenuous, journalistically lazy, and totally Montréal.”
(I think the person who wrote this is a music journalist who doesn’t like me writing about this. Je m’excuse, vraiment.)
But the thing is, I didn’t write this for these people. Or anyone disagreeing or thinking we shouldn’t talk about this, or saying, “rock stars f*** groupies” (the victims were fans, not groupies.) No, I wrote it for accountability. I wrote it because Butler’s victims were accused of being groupies, which they weren’t. I wrote it because the story felt like a déjà-vu of a situation I’ve seen so many times. I’ve written it because mainly, in Montréal, people seemed to be apologetic about Butler’s behaviour. I wrote it because this could happen to any young woman. I wrote it cause it could have been me.
I, too, was a fan. I, too, would have felt so lucky to talk to the lead singer of my favourite band. I, too, could have fallen into this.
If you don’t remember, three of the five victims who agreed to speak to Pitchfork were from Montréal. One even said that their concerns were ignored. I quote :
It wasn’t the first time I heard these stories. I’ve listened to these stories a thousand times as a journalist and wanted to understand more about the dynamics surrounding our scene, which bases most of its identity on the Indie Rock boom of 2005.
We have failed collectively to build a safe scene. We haven’t taken the allegations seriously enough to stop this behaviour at its roots. Other victims wouldn't have existed if people had listened to Lily’s concerns the first time. I wanted to explore those dynamics and how media and the industry act in Canada and Quebec in a way that unconsciously allows abuse to happen.
When you first read the piece, I guess you cannot understand how many people I talked with (more than those in the article) and how hard it was to hear everyone’s stories. But when I started my career, I promised myself I’d report the more challenging stories that no one wanted to hear about or talk about. And this is why I wrote about this. Because stories of abuse in the music scene are often disregarded and put aside until someone starts to dig in. I want to dig in. I want those stories to come to light. And I want music journalism to change. To stop being so complacent. I want it to delve into darker stories that aren’t fun to report but should be reported.
Music journalism shouldn’t only be about shows, festivals, new albums, and artists’ profiles. It should also be about what is wrong, what we should do to make our industry safer, and how we must protect fans and artists. My piece was about this and much more.
Holding the music industry accountable is essential. Protecting young fans and artists from abuse is important.
This is why I wrote this. This is why I’m doing it. And this is why I’ll keep doing it.
Sorry, Reddit and angry Substacker, you’re not getting rid of me.
This might be the last time I speak about my NPR piece. But I find this funny.
A year later…
So yes. You can manifest things in life. I didn’t think I’d manifest it like this, but hey. I’ll take it.
All to say, cover what you want to cover and believe in what you are doing.
This is why I do this.
Little interlude to end this. I’ve repeatedly been listening to the new Lana Del Rey album since its release last Friday. It’s an intimate album with heavy piano, and it reminds me of the simplicity of Norman Fucking Rockwell (NFR) in its most beautiful way.
My favourite song of this album? Candy Necklace, which features Jon Batiste. It’s hauntingly profound and sadly beautiful.
And as usual, LDR lyrics are incomparable. I mean…
Sittin' on the sofa, feelin' supеr suicidal
Hate to say the word, but, baby, hand on the Bible, I do
Feel like it's you the one who's bringin' me down
You don’t need much to understand what is going on.
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Until next time.
-xo