Throughout the 1990s, I was a music journalist in London. I profiled hundreds of rock bands at the start of their careers, including Nirvana, Alice in Chains, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam, Nine Inch Nails and the Foo Fighters. I can’t imagine a better way to have spent my twenties. But I witnessed a downside. For many musicians, success was a shock, and nearly everyone I knew struggled with aspects of it at times.
Most were affected by the obvious pitfalls of sex, drugs and alcohol, and some didn’t survive. A lot had trouble reconciling their artistic values with the rigorous demands of a cutthroat business, despite their ambitions. Women, including Björk, Tori Amos and Kim Gordon, described their battles with structural misogyny across the industry. And, in a world that rewards performance and persona, many had trouble establishing healthy relationships and holding onto a sense of identity.
The psychological pressures of fame have since intensified. Social media poses a constant threat to personal privacy, and, for better or worse, parasocial relationships are on the rise. But a recent batch of celebrity memoirs, all set in the pre-digital age, support my observations from the 1990s. Famous people lead peculiar lives, and success has always carried a cost.
