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As much as it's changed the TV and advertising businesses, "American Idol" has also reversed the usual cycle for hit music acts, in which "overnight sensations" arrive only after years of dues-paying in clubs, thankless courtships with record companies and, typically, overlooked and undersold early recordings.
In the "Idol" realm, stars are crowned by the public before music biz insiders hear them, with no input from the media gatekeepers (other than FOX, of course) that normally shape commercial taste through press, radio and MTV.
Simon Fuller, credited as chief architect for the "Idol" phenomenon, is variously lionized as a packaging genius and reviled as a Svengali -- not surprising, given that his resume is dominated by pre-fab pop and bullish stats for single and album hits that reflect his Anglo-centric market view.
In addition to masterminding the rise of the Spice Girls, Fuller's management firm, 19 Group, had at least one highly regarded international star in Annie Lennox. But most of his signings as a record company talent scout (for Chrysalis Records) and later as a manager failed to achieve seismic successes stateside.
(Significantly, his countryman and "American Idol's" most caustic judge, Simon Cowell, has a similar track record. Cowell's preening depiction of himself as ace A&R (artists & repertoire) executive and prescient taste maker is convincing only to listeners whose horizons are confined to post-rock pop. Like Fuller, the on-screen Simon's pre-"Idol" impact was largely limited to the U.K. and Europe, and conspicuously modest with respect to U.S. crossover successes. He may swagger like a mogul, but Cowell's "stars" would draw blank stares from stateside "Idol" fans.)
Yet Fuller has effectively transformed a TV competition into a career incubator where even losers win big. And he's done so while staying far away from the big trends that drive the Hot 100 and dictate mainstream music industry tastes.
Popular music, as heard through the "Idol" filter, suggests an alternate universe where hip-hop and heavy metal never happened, rock has been decaffeinated and funk is merely fun with a "k." Country's post-Garth camp is familiar terrain (hold the pedal steel guitars and fiddles, though), sweet soul music still sways the masses (Motown űber alles) and '60s pop is disinterred with similar reverence.
The first "Idol" winner showed just how the show had turned the cycle
upside-down: Kelly Clarkson's first single, "A Moment Like This," erupted on its
day of release, shipping over 200,000 and hitting Number One (with a bullet, of
course) on the Billboard Top 100.
Her RCA debut album, "A Moment Like This,"
shipped in September 2002, a few days before the Grammy Awards deadline for
eligibility.
The Grammy's Recording Academy had recently loosened its guidelines for the coveted Best New Artist category, recognizing the tough, years-long slog that many performers faced to break into the public eye. But Clarkson, a Texas waitress before "Idol," was already on a first-name basis with millions of "Idol" fans. By the time the Grammys considered candidates a year later for 2003's Best New Artist, Clarkson was already ineligible — she was too famous.
What's even more remarkable is that, in an industry dominated by albums, "Idol's" primary focus is on singles, not albums, as career calling cards. Few mainstream acts have bothered to release singles in recent years. Clarkson's sales were thus the highest first week's singles tally since 1999, an achievement that Billboard's chart chief, Geoff Mayfield, regarded as "uncharted territory" in the current marketplace.
If Clarkson's breakout hit suggested that the show's title was no "Idol" boast, the Class of '03 extended the brand's reach, showing that even the runners-up could ride on its increasingly broad coattails. Ruben Studdard may have been the new "Idol," but the show's number two finalist, Clay Aiken, wound up outselling Studdard when the duo's first singles were released in close proximity.
More recently, season 2 contender Kimberley Locke has punctuated this market expansion with her own out-of-the-box Number One hit, "Eighth World Wonder." Although Locke's record deal isn't aligned with the "Idol" roster attached to 19/Fremantle's deal with RCA Records, it's not surprising that the single's promotion was closely tied to the current season, with even the cover art echoing the color palettes, layout and type fonts used for the Studdard and Aiken debuts.
Again, the "old school" singles-first attack is consistent with 19/Fremantle's British base, and reflects a regional European market that has continued to generate big careers for singles-driven pop icons like Rick Astley (in the '80s), the Spice Girls (the '90s) and Kylie Minogue today. This formula's success is surprising only to music trend-watchers who ignore what's clicking overseas; America's dominance of international market share has slowly but steadily eroded, and other markets have re-focused on more local styles and artists.
Fuller's comprehensive manipulation of his artists reflects a flair for
rotating his crops by following TV exposure with singles for both individual
artists and finalists as a group, solo and "Idol" package tours and, with more
checkered results, appearances in motion pictures (so far, a tepid feature built around Clarkson and runner-up Justin Guarini and cameos for Studdard and Cowell in other
features).
For his efforts, Fuller has tossed out the usual model for
record-management profits, cheerfully demanding a far larger slice of the
pie. In contrast to the 15 to 20 percent stake most managers snare, Fuller
and 19 reportedly ask — and get — from 25 to 50 percent of all earnings. That
financial stake, and the career control it reflects, more closely resembles the
role of Elvis Presley's notoriously domineering manager, the late
"Colonel" Tom Parker, a worthy model for Fuller's multi-media
string-pulling.
Fuller's hydra-headed operation controls more facets of the talent's careers than traditional managers, packaging the recording deals and concert tours in addition to the show itself. Through Fuller, 19 and Fremantle, the talent is also deployed in the faux music videos aired during episodes of "Idol," which play as de facto commercials for featured sponsors. The artists who do earn recording deals reportedly get low royalties while ceding certain ancillary rights that many conventional U.S. acts would guard more jealously.
The impresario is not apologetic about either his micro-managerial style or his vault-bursting cash flow. "If you think of Andrew Lloyd Webber, if he creates 'Phantom of the Opera,' he owns it," Fuller told MSNBC earlier this year. "He hires Michael Crawford to take the lead. Crawford doesn't get a cut of 'Phantom of the Opera,' and no one questions that. My deals are the best in the world. I create 'Phantom of the Opera' and then say to Michael Crawford, 'Let's be 50-50 partners, or 60-40 — whatever the deal is.'"
The thousands of young hopefuls who converge each season for "Idol" auditions apparently agree. And in an era when mainstream career options are pinched by the industry's panicked economy and shrinking record label rosters, Simon Fuller's formula may seem less like a plantation and more like a fast track to celebrity, if not artistic expression. Even the industry pros that snickered at the show's debut no longer see "American Idol" as pop curiosity or guilty pleasure.
It's must-see TV for the 21st century music biz.
Sutherland, TV
editor for MSN Entertainment, is a journalist, former music executive and
confessed "Idol" viewer.
