Young America at its very best ...
Karen Carpenter (1950-1983)
"Wants to look like a star / but she takes it too far ..." [a]
I.
Having recently attended a seminar organised by the Subcultures Interest Group (SIG) at the London College of Communication, where discussion focused on Paul Tornbohm's book on the Carpenters (Sonic Bond Publishing, 2023), I find myself intrigued by the tragic figure of Karen Carpenter.
Not so much her distinctive vocal skills or ability as a drummer, but her will to self-perfection and self-annihilation physically manifested in the form of anorexia; an eating disorder typically found in young women and which, according to Baudrillard, might also be seen as a form of social repulsion; i.e., a means of rejecting a gluttonous and disgusting world of consumption via the ecstasy of emptiness [b].
George McKay, a professor in media studies at the University of East Anglia, has written on Carpenter, her condition, and its representation in a fascinating 2018 essay which more broadly explores the relation between the anorexic body and popular music, and it's his essay around which I shall centre (a brief) discussion here [c].
II.
Drawing on and seeking to develop the work of other commentators concerned with celebrity anorexia, McKay expresses a "critical interest in
ways in which the practices and expectations of the music industry set a conformist
template of corporeality, particularly for its female stars" [2].
There's undoubtedly some truth in this idea, though it's not a template that all female artists within the music industry have felt obliged to conform to; one thinks of Big Mama Thornton and Cass Elliot, for example, and I'm pretty sure that even those who set such a template don't expect performers to starve themselves to death; they usually look to protect their investment, even if, in some cases, an untimely death can lead to an increase in record sales [d].
Whilst it's a little unfair to think of Carpenter as the face of anorexia - she was, after all, one of the great pop voices of the twentieth-century, much admired by her peers and influential on numerous later artists - it was nevertheless her death in 1983 from complications associated with a condition which she began to exhibit symptoms of in 1975 [e], that first brought anorexia into the public arena.
Before then, it was little known outside of showbiz and medical circles and it's for her anorexia that many people remember Karen Carpenter today; particularly those - like me - who are more concerned with matters critical and clinical than (middle of the road) musical.
As McKay notes, anorexia nervosa fascinates because whilst it may be viewed as "a mental health issue leading to
or presenting in a diminished corporeality" [4], it can also be regarded as a phenomenon "originating at least
in part in the socio-cultural" [4].
Its complexity (and ambiguity) doesn't stop there either: as Helen Malson and Jane Ussher have observed, the anorexic
body may be "'discursively construed in a multiplicity of often conflicting ways'" [f]. For example, it may "signify both self-production
(of idealised body or identity) and self-destruction (symbolically and physically)" [4].
That's why such a body is often discussed from a political and philosophical perpective; not least of all by feminist authors.
III.
Surprisingly, McKay found fewer than expected mentions or images of Carpenter within the online pro-ana community, where one might have thought she'd have been given special status. He suspects this is because "lyrically there is no obvious
mention
of eating disorders in the Carpenters' repertoire, not even in song
titles" [18].
Alternatively, it could be because "the
music's smoothness is not heard as containing identifiable sonic
signifiers of suffering, pain or anger" [18]. In other words, even those who might otherwise acknowledge Karen Carpenter as one of their own find the Carpenters mind numbingly dull.
Having said that, I think Karen's story is one that should resonate strongly with those who think of anorexia in quasi-religious terms as a spiritual-ascetic practice; those who speak of birds and angels and of the idea that one might take flight if only disciplined enough to achieve purity and perfection in a corrupt and fallen world weighed down by the spirit of gravity [g].
The fact that she died at such a relatively young age - though far too old to join the 27 Club [h] - must surely make Miss Carpenter a martyr-saint in the eyes of those who regard anorexia as a miraculous rather than a nervous condition [i].
Notes
[a] Lines from the song 'Never Good Enough' (2006), by Canadian singer-songwriter Rachel Ferguson; a favourite tune with many in the pro-ana community (or subculture): click here.
[b] Long time readers - or those who investigated some of the older
posts on TTA - will know that I have previously written with reference
to anorexia (at times from a vaguely pro-ana perspective) on several
occasions: click here, for example, or here.
[c] George McKay, 'Skinny blues: Karen Carpenter,
anorexia nervosa and
popular music', Popular Music, Volume 37, Issue 1, (Cambridge University Press, 2018),
pp. 1-21. Page references to this essay will be given directly in the post. Click here to access the essay in the UEA digital repository.
[d] McKay notes that by exerting constant pressure to look a certain way and perform in a certain manner, the music industry does bear some responsibility for when its young female stars implode. However, it's worth noting that professional dancers and fashion models have much greater pressure exerted on them to be ultra-thin than pop performers; see David M. Garner and Paul E. Garfinkel, 'Socio-cultural factors in the development of anorexia nervosa', in
Psychological Medicine, Vol. 10, Issue 4, (1980), pp. 647-656. Cited by McKay.
[e] Carpenter had begun dieting at an early age and weighed around 120 pounds in 1973, when the Carpenters were at the peak of their success. By the autumn of 1975, however, she was below the weight that is popularly branded as that of a weakling - i.e., under 98 pounds - and fans were shocked at her gaunt appearance. Carpenter refused to publicly acknowledge that she was suffering with an eating disorder, however, and dismissed concerns about her health and wellbeing. Some might suggest this indicates anosognosia, but McKay argues (2018, 2):
"Her lack of public utterance on her anorexia, right up to her death,
is understandable, given her lonely and vulnerable position as the global star first
and most associated with it. However, it is also problematic, not least since it leaves
key male figures [including her brother Richard ...] to shape and control her narrative [...]"
[f] See Helen M. Malson and Jane M. Ussher, 'Beyond this mortal coil: femininity, death and discursive constructions
of the anorexic body', in Mortality: Promoting the Interdisciplinary Study of Death and Dying, Vol. 2, Issue 1, (1997), pp. 43- 61. Quoted by McKay.
[g] McKay writes (2018, 12): "Karen seemed to be striving for what she thought of as versions of perfection in voice and in body ..." and he reminds us of the following lyric: 'I know I ask perfection of a quite imperfect world' in the song 'I Need to Be in Love', released as a single from the album A Kind of Hush (A&M Records, 1976).
[h] The 27 Club is made up of popular musicians and other artists who died at the age of 27 and includes, for example, Janis Joplin and Amy Winehouse. Karen Carpenter was 32 when she died on 4 February, 1983.
[i] One day, I'll write a post on the holy concept of anorexia mirabilis; an eating disorder common amongst medieval nuns and religiously devoted young women keen to imitate the suffering (and experience the passion) of Christ.
Musical bonus: The Carpenters, '(They Long to Be) Close to You', single release from the studio album Close to You (A&M Records, 1970): click here for the official video on YouTube courtesy of Warner Music Videos.
A fascinating and stirring post, albeit one that pays little more than lip service to The Carpenters' wonderful, iconic music (that, like ABBA’s, transcends genre, 'MOR' or anything else) and Karen's monumental gift, served with a sneer about their supposed over-accessibility/dullness.
ReplyDeleteThough I haven't read his essay, McKay doesn't give the impression of one who has much knowledge of The Carpenters' melancholy lyricism or ability to be moved by it. What a strange idea that an artist with an illness might broadcast it literally like some kind of clinical case study! As an antidote to his professional commitment to cultural abstraction, he and the 'pro-ana community' might try opening themselves to the band's heartfelt back catalogue to eradicate the risible assessment that 'the music's smoothness is not heard as containing identifiable sonic signifiers of suffer ing, pain or anger'. They could start with the sublime melancholy of 'Only Yesterday' ('After long enough of being alone / Everyone must face their share of loneliness / In my own time, nobody knew / The pain I was goin' through'), the devastating futility of 'Goodbye to Love' (‘I'll say goodbye to love / No one ever cared if I should live or die') and the deeply affecting internal dialogue of 'Rainy Days and Mondays' (‘Talkin' to myself and feelin' old / Sometimes I'd like to quit / Nothin' ever seems to fit’ / What I've got they used to call the blues'). As ever with the arts, of course, it depends what one has in one's soul (and if one has one) as to what one meets there.
I think in many ways Karen was singing about the profound isolation of being a 'star', like the angel at the top of a Xmas tree, and, relatedly, the absent/present duality of the recorded vs personal 'voice', as in the exemplary desolation of 'Superstar': 'Long ago, / and, oh, so far away / I fell in love with you / before the second show / Your guitar, it sounds so sweet and clear / But you're not really here, / it's just the radio'. When you are loved by so many, how much harder is it to be loved by just one? In any case, to jump embarrassingly from all that to calling their music 'mind-numbingly dull' is more suggestive of a sensibility that has itself been anaesthetised than the work itself.
While there are indeed cultural and psychodynamic factors and forces that can be picked up on (and, to give McKay his due, his highlighting of the lyric from ‘I Need To Be In Love’ can also be read productively in conjunction with the late Jungian analyst Marion Woodman's book about anorexia, 'Addiction to Perfection'), in which critics have also discussed the role of her narcissistic mother and hugely influential brother and bandmate, Richard, as with all cultural analysis when pushed too far, what's lost is the individual and her irrecuperable mystery. In my view, the more recent research that points to anorexia as a neuropsychic disorder, as evidenced by the characteristic dysmorphia of the condition, is likely closer to the truth. Karen was a remarkable singer with a terrible illness who couldn't, or wouldn't, be helped, nor help herself. She isn't, and wasn't, a 'martyr' to anything, far less a devotee of some ‘practice’ – how absurd! Pathology comes from the unconscious and takes one over. She was a singer with a superb talent who got catastrophically sick.
Finally, though it's both painful and perplexing to see the ostensible nihilism of TTA reverting to such religious language, I shall nevertheless be fascinated to read the blogger’s promised post on the supposed holy trope of ‘anorexia mirabilis’ among medieval nuns (though it’s hard to see what’s very wonderful or admirable about it).