ARIAs: Getting Past The Cultural Cringe

Sunday's ARIA Awards telecast on Network Ten had many cringe-worthy moments, writes A.H. CAYLEY, but none worse than what it continues to suggest about Australian music.

[Historical image is withheld pending rights review.] Even before Sunday’s showing on Network Ten, there was talk that the ARIA Awards were on shaky ground. A streamlined format and change of venue (from Homebush Bay to the Opera House) was set to revitalise the industry’s “night of nights”, but after the debacle that played itself out over the weekend, it’s not a stretch to say the ARIAs may be lost forever.

There are those who will be pleased. There are those who say the ARIAs don't adequately represent our industry, that it's a waste of time, and a load of shit – and that's fine. I'm not all too far from those opinions myself. But will scrapping the ARIAs really do any good for Australian music? I don't think so. I think they're flawed, I think they're gauche, I think they're usually embarrassing, but only because I think the ARIAs could and should be so much better. The musicians of Australia deserve it. The music fans of Australia deserve it. And yet, instead of wanting to make it better, we cringe and turn our backs.

It could have been so good this year. The live performances for the so-called “Genre Awards” in the lead up to the telecast were not such a bad idea. Live music is a major part of the industry – a billion dollar contributor to the Australian economy – and to have it celebrated as a part of the awards is a good move that should be encouraged. But it came at a cost. Awards like Best Classical Album, Best Jazz Album, and Best World Music Album have always been mere footnotes on the telecast, but this year, we saw even less of our music scene represented on air. Genres outside the mainstream – dance, country, hip-hop to name a few – received almost no coverage. For acts like these, being seen on a nationwide celebration of Australia's apparent best is a valuable and deserved piece of recognition. I know the ARIAs aren't about breaking lesser-known artists to the nation, but if there's an opportunity there, why not?

Australia has an incredibly healthy and worthwhile hip-hop scene, for instance. I won't pretend to be an expert on the genre, but there's no denying its legitimacy as a part of our musical landscape. To have it covered in a matter of seconds in a reel of the preceding days' announcements showed for posterity our lingering discomfort with that damned skip-hop (I mean, “urban”). It may portray Australian culture more honestly than rock or pop, but with every alveolar tap and broadly pronounced rising diphthong, we cringe a little more. For the ARIAs to remain relevant, all aspects of our music scene need to be recognised at the same level, rather than just those Network Ten thinks will rate highest.

This year saw more recognition for independent music across the board than in previous years, but rather than being celebrated, it was made a joke. Queensland independent MP Bob Katter presenting Best Independent Release showed once again that Australia's still not too sure about independent music. Shall we raise it to the same level of appreciation given the other categories in the telecast? Or shall we have a drunkard in a hat present it instead, because his job description has a single word in common with the award? Katter presenting that award displayed about as much thought as having Julie Bishop present Best Female Artist because she ovulates too.

That Katter – a right-wing, ignorant homophobe – was there at all said a lot about national opinion. Are we really OK with a politician saying “poof” in 2010, while claiming there are almost none in his electorate? Inviting him to present on the nation's biggest musical awards night – a section of the arts, let's not forget – suggests it's fine. I only wish Sia had taken it one step further than merely suggesting her sharp, phallic trophy be anally inserted. She should have had him demonstrate.

Homophobia was acceptable again later in the night during former-Idol failure and recently sacked NOVA presenter Ricki-Lee Coulter's exchange with Modern Family actor Eric Stonestreet, who plays a gay man, but is not gay himself. Smoke and mirrors! The entire segment revolved around this. Coulter kept referring to the fact that she thought he was “you know...” accompanied by limp-wristed Carry On-style hand gestures. But then, what else could they discuss when he had no reason to be there?

“For the ARIAs to remain relevant, all aspects of our music scene need to be recognised at the same level, rather than just those Network Ten thinks will rate highest.”

The ARIA Awards continue to fly in international “celebrities” each year as a means legitimising the night, but it only serves to undermine it. Stonestreet, post-feminist pin-up Carmen Electra, and American R&B artist Jason Derulo do nothing for Australian music at an Australian music awards night but take the spotlight away from it. So too do “presenters” like Lara Bingle and Erin McNaught. I'll let Natalie Bassingthwaighte off the hook because at least she was in a band once, lame though it was. The mockery these “celebrity” inclusions make of the event proves that even at a night apparently celebrating Australian music, it's still just not good enough without some – any! – form of international validation. We're better than that, and our music is way fucking better than anything Carmen Electra's ever done. If the ARIAs would get past such desperate grabs for ratings, perhaps it would rate better. It would certainly be a win for credibility.

But therein lies the problem. The ARIA Awards aren't about credibility, they're about ratings, and everybody knows that. So it gets turned into a joke by those who create and by those who consume: we sneer, we wait for the unintentional laughs, we live-tweet it for its kitsch factor (and I include myself in this cynical list – the #Schmarias hashtag under which some friends and I tweeted the Awards was a national trending topic), because there's little else to be done in response to the yearly approbation of cultural cringe, besides cringing in reply.

I'm sick of cringing, but I will not turn my back, and you shouldn't either. I look forward to the 2011 ARIAs in the hope that it will finally be what we deserve – a proud celebration of Australian music, not an embarrassing televised fuck-up.