Hard-Earned Fame or Swanky Surname? – A nod to the Nepo-babies

I’d like to thank my parents’ extensive list of executive industry contacts and my widely respected surname for getting me where I am today! Couldn’t have done it without you!

As nepo-babies continue to spawn rapidly in the music industry, I thought it was about time that I slander some of the superstars that are riding on their parents’ waves, using surfboards gifted by Grammy-winning godmothers to culminate their career orchestrated by Oscar winners. I’m sure my stance on nepotism would be wildly different should I have been born on the doorstep of the entertainment industry, for which my parents happened to hold the skeleton key. Though my rants and ravings are driven by envy, the poshification of pop music is an attestable fact. In 2016, it was found that 19% of Brit award winners had been privately educatedand, over the past decade, 40% of Brits nominated for either an Oscar, Bafta or Mercury Prize also went to a private school. So, whilst they may not have been born with a silver opportunity unlocking spoon already intheir mouth, their daddies were rich enough to buy them one.

As ‘chief nepo-baby defender’ Lily Allen claims, the life of an industry plant is more challenging than you might expect. Being ‘starved of … basic things in childhood as their parents are probably narcissistic’, Lily claims that it’s not all sunshines and rainbows, being handed a musical career on a plate. Whilst I’m not naïve to the fact that these babies, once their leg up has been exhausted, will have to put in a lot of the leg work themselves, it’s difficult to appreciate their so-called hardships. I truly value Lily Allen’s work, I think she’s a fantastic lyricist, but it’s hard to sympathise with her woes as she claims her golden earrings hang too heavy and her diamond shoes cling too tight.

The nepo-baby that has fuelled my untamable fire on this frosty February morning is Elijah Hewson. Son of Bono, the lead singer of Dublin indie rock band Inhaler sparked a debate between my friend Grace and me last evening. Upon watching their inexplicably drab live lounge performance, in which they attempted to cover the work of fellow industry plant Lola Young, I felt implored to slag them off profusely. Grace, arguably dumbfounded, struck in Bono’s baby’s defense, claiming their stuff isn’t too shabby. After my second run of the response ‘but he’s a nepo-baby’, her argument diminished to ‘but look how pretty he is’, to which the case was closed. A conventionally grungey, malnourished, floppy-haired Irish boy with a rock star Dad, passable guitar playing and  sufficient singing voice? Yeah, sure, shove them on every festival line-up known to man, with emphasis on Hewson’s Tim Burton-esque eye bags and pleading puppy dog eyes and pray they somehow soundtrack a TikTok trend, and you have yourself a new sensation. Ka-ching!

Inhaler would have to be runners-up in the competition for the most jarring industry plant; however, pole position is maintained by Matty Healy. Son of Denise Welch and Tim Healy, I could happily deep dive into my loathing for Matty’s band, The 1975, which has only been deepened by the fact that once I hear their music, their melodies set up camp in my mind for days to come.  Credit where it’s due: they are an indie pop group that churns out earworms and gives teenage girls something to scream about (the unwanted fondling of a Benidorm star’s offspring).  Needless to say, when they wrongfully pipped Arctic Monkeys to the Best British Group post at the 2019 BRIT Awards, my faith in award shows promptly evaporated.

Many may argue that relations, for example, such as Children’s Laureate and Commander of the Order of the British Empire, Julia Donaldson, to an up-and-coming musician, such as Lola Young, may bear no benefit. However, I am here to emphasise how we must beg to differ. Whilst the doors that may be open for the niece of a children’s author may not lead directly to radio play, record deals and reputable music managers, they are doors into the entertainment industry nonetheless. The likelihood of Julia having the digits for somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody who’s an A and R for Island Records is much likely than my kitchen designer mother knowing someone that can link me with some studio time in the big city. Simple.

I’d also like to reiterate that I’m only so salty because I’m riddled with jealousy. In most cases, I feel as though nepo-babies get the success that they deserve; it just may have been easier and more plausible for them to embark on a creative career. If I were in their shoes, I’d be lapping up all of the contacts I could find and ringing them dry. Quite frankly, the industry should be relieved that the most impressive contacts I’ve got knocking around are my old university lecturers. Although, hitting up Dave won’t pack the same punch as Bono, something tells me.