The death of the pop star

The definition of ‘pop star’ in the Collins English Dictionary is unambiguous: ‘A famous singer or musician who performs pop music.’ Well, that seems fairly self-explanatory, doesn’t it? It also seems way wide of the mark, because being a pop star (or a rock star, its longer-haired cousin) encompasses a great deal more than being famous for singing pop songs. As Nik Cohn wrote, describing the first flush of idols of the rock’n’roll age, they were ‘maniacs, wild men with pianos and guitars who would have been laughing stocks in any earlier generation… They were energetic, basic, outrageous. They were huge personalities and they used music like a battering ram.’

Or consider this line from David Hepworth, about Ian Stewart – who helped found the Rolling Stones, and was then dumped by them for not looking the part. ‘He could never have been a rock star for the same simple reason that the rest of us aren’t rock stars. Because we can imagine not being one.’

All this came to mind watching Brett Morgen’s film Moonage Daydream, about David Bowie, for if anyone encompasses the concept of the pop star, it is Bowie. He would have been a laughing stock in any earlier generation. He was energetic and outrageous (if not basic). He had a huge personality and used music like a battering ram. And very few of us could imagine being him. Oh, and he was a famous singer or musician who performed pop music. But where are the pop stars now?

Maybe pop stars have gone for ever – the pair of words has become meaningless, used to describe anyone who happens to make pop music (this time last year I went to the London headline show of an artist described in one daily newspaper as ‘the breakout pop star of the summer’; there were maybe 40 people there.