On Fictional Bands
Collage by Primcess
Patti Smith once said “rock n' roll is dream soup.” The concept; the idea; the fantasy presented before the audience’s eyes tells half the story in and of itself. However, sometimes this attention is not limited only to real bands. It’s puzzling, how entrancing the appeal of fictional bands can be, when they live within the two-dimensional confinements of film and writing. People appreciate musicians for, rather tautologically, their music. However in this case, you’re lucky if the band plays one or two numbers in a movie. Otherwise you are left with nothing but the fantasy and your bowl of soup. A dream of very complex individuals, often at odds with each other and at the cusp of their breakthrough, collaborating on some music that never actually existed to begin with. They seem so real that someone could even forget they’re not – it almost makes more sense if they were. Except, with no discography, what substance is there to appease us? Why the intrigue of these mythical, untethered bands?
Some of it comes down to the way people process media. The philosopher Tamar Gendler put forward the argument that consciousness manifests itself in more ways than one when it comes to how we consume fiction. The first form would be belief – the knowledge that these characters and bands indeed do not exist. However, “alief”, as she calls the other one, is our mind’s ability to temporarily pause our belief that these stories are not real. This is how people are able to become so absorbed in movies to the point that they can escape the everyday. It begins to explain why some of these bands may feel like they’re meant to be real.
On another note, many of cinema’s fictional bands happen to be set during the feverish hedonism of the 70s, casting images like Almost Famous’ hypnotic Penny Lane. Curls bouncing, she delivers the line “you are home!” at the back of a tour bus reeking of sweat and denim and rock’n’roll at the perfect, cathartic moment, courtesy of divine cinematic timing. In that sense, the appeal becomes more predictable. Nostalgia in and of itself is something intangible, so adding a band that was never really here into the mix can only increase the sense of longing for what is not.
And yet there is something so paradoxical about hearing the nonexistent Russell Hammond, guitarist of the film’s fictional band Still Water say: “from here on out, I am only interested in what is real. Real people, real feelings, that’s it, that’s all I’m interested in.” But the audience doesn't mind – they’re here to see gritty, they’re here to see messy, they’re here to see raw. For all they care, Still Water is as real as any band out there. These musicians on screen are not about the cold hard facts, but rather palpable, emotional truths. Fictional bands can take larger-than-life feelings and transform them into tangible scenes we can digest. Music critic Lester Bangs briefs the film’s main character. “You cannot make friends with the rock stars,” we’re told. But their euphoric highs and manic lows entrance us into empathizing. With a backdrop of frivolous nostalgia, Almost Famous serves us the fragility and complexity of human relationships on a platter. Would Fleetwood Mac’s timeless album Rumours still be the same without its brutal backstory?
On a wider scale, it also makes sense why audience members may be drawn to fictional bands to appreciate the band lore and world building. People do love buying into the mythology of Rumors and all that it stands for – its legacy, its drama, and the intoxicating buzz from it all. From Nick & Norah’s Infinite Playlist’s untraceable Where’s Fluffy? to the dense and atmospheric songs of I Am Not Okay With This’ Bloodwitch, fictional bands have amassed enough trivia of their own to stand beside real ones. To confess, that very well could have been what initially piqued my own interest.
The concept of fictitious bands has long fascinated me, although my recent reading of Daisy Jones and The Six fully confirmed it. For how long I have had this interest, I do not know. It must have crept up on me slowly throughout my consumption of media growing up. To this day, I still collect a list on my phone of phrases that would make good band names despite lacking interest in ever actually forming a band, as I do not have a musical bone in my body. For each hypothetical group I craft a backstory.
One of the band members in Daisy Jones and The Six proclaims: “music is never about music. If it was, we’d be writing songs about guitars.” He’s right. If music was only about the music, then the magnetism of all these fictitious bands would not be there. Just like its predecessor Almost Famous, this book confirms the real human interest is in the relationships. How do these relationships intermingle with creativity, conflict and the yearning for a sense of freedom and independence? Will the damage done to the dynamic of the band be mendable? Even if it is not, the dissolving of a group, with its lack of closure or tidying of loose ends, is reassuring due to the relatability of failure.
Daisy Jones and The Six brings in the additional element of having a full track list complete with lyrics and stunningly realistic song descriptions – but none of these songs actually exist. There is no melody they follow and readers will never know the gratification of listening to the songs they read about for so long. It could be so easy to imagine Daisy Jones’ sultry voice singing “baby, when you think of me I hope it ruins rock ’n’ roll,” off an elevated stage. And yet. A whole new layer of longing for the unreachable crystalizes.
Daisy Jones and The Six, along with all other fictitious bands, is no longer about whether you love or hate the members, or whose story you believe. You can’t even judge their discography if it doesn’t exist – it’s about what the band represents. Bands are always more than the sum of their parts. The phenomenon that collectively, members become more than they are individually. There’s a certain rush that comes with that realization, as well as an ache to experience something like it. The music comes secondary. First and foremost, these are stories about people coming together. The pattern spans across all fictional music groups, including the underdogs we cannot help but root for like Sing Street, Paranmaum from Linda Linda Linda, and the 13-year-old punk fanatics from We Are The Best! They all have a human story to tell. Another quote from Daisy Jones and The Six: “It is what I have always loved about music. Not the sounds or the crowds or the good times as much as the words -- the emotions, the stories, the truth -- that you can let flow right out of your mouth.” It’s true, and we all do. Sometimes we love the emotions, stories and truth told to us by bands so much, that they no longer have to be attached to any music at all. And that’s okay.