In an age where social media fosters unprecedented intimacy between audiences and artists, boundaries are often blurred. Parasocial relationships – one-sided emotional attachments to public figures – can deeply shape how we experience music, sometimes heightening our appreciation but also complicating it. The knowledge of an artist’s identity, whether positive or negative, inevitably influences how their work resonates with us. Should we engage in cultural boycotts as a form of solidarity, or instead attempt to separate the artist from their art? And when admiration veers into the extremes of ‘stan’ culture, how can we instead foster a more nuanced and authentic listening experience?

“‘Land of Hope and Glory’ is performed to celebrate a supposedly inclusive British spirit, yet its composer actively undermined the career of a talented Black contemporary”

As a Music student, I am well aware of critiques against the notion of ‘absolute music’ – the idea that music exists independently of cultural, social, or political influence. In reality, an artist’s work is always a reflection of their historical moment, their worldview, and their personal biases. Consider Edward Elgar’s ‘Land of Hope and Glory,’ an enduring staple of the Last Night of the Proms since 1902. The song is embraced by older generations as a symbol of unity and national pride, yet its historical context complicates this perception. Despite initially supporting the Black British composer Samuel Coleridge-Taylor, Elgar withdrew his endorsement as soon as ‘Hiawatha’s Wedding Feast’ achieved critical and commercial success – so did Coleridge-Taylor’s publishing editor. This act of professional sabotage reveals an unsettling contradiction: every year, ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ is performed to celebrate a supposedly inclusive British spirit, yet its composer actively undermined the career of a talented Black contemporary. The cognitive dissonance is undeniable, made even sharper by the song’s lyrics, which carry overt imperialist messages.

However, completely removing ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ from the concert hall is not the answer. To do so would risk erasing historical tensions rather than confronting them. It would also contribute to the exclusionary tendencies of the music industry, and remove an opportunity for critical discourse on colonial legacies in music. Rather than outright rejection, we could reconsider how such pieces are framed and contextualised and find more appropriate spaces to perform them, simultaneously lifting hidden figures into the limelight.

These complexities are not limited to historical figures. Contemporary artists, navigating constant engagement with their audiences online, actively construct and deconstruct their own personas in real time. Take Kendrick Lamar’s recent Super Bowl performance, which reinforced his ongoing rivalry with Drake. As an artist recognised for his incisive critiques of the dangerous power structures from which Drake profits, Lamar used his performance not just as entertainment, but as a layered cultural statement.

“‘Stan’ culture, in which fans elevate musicians to near-mythic status, often blinds audiences to a necessary critique”

Moments like these highlight how music never exists in a vacuum; our understanding of it is inextricably tied to our perception of its creator. The argument that we should “separate the art from the artist” is often positioned as a way to preserve aesthetic appreciation while avoiding ethical dilemmas. But is true separation ever possible? Even when we attempt to engage with music in isolation, our awareness of the person behind the work inevitably shapes our experience. Elgar’s racism, Lamar’s activism – both influence how we listen and respond, whether consciously or not.

This does not mean we must reject music outright based on an artist’s flaws, nor should we engage uncritically with those we admire. Instead, we must cultivate a more thoughtful approach: one that resists both idolization and dismissal, embracing the complexity of artistic creation. ‘Stan’ culture, in which fans elevate musicians to near-mythic status, often blinds audiences to a necessary critique. Conversely, the impulse to “cancel” artists outright risks shutting down meaningful conversations about ethics, power, and accountability in the industry.

I choose to listen with awareness, acknowledging both artistic brilliance and personal failings. I would rather see ‘Land of Hope and Glory’ performed in a setting which foregrounds its imperialist history and simultaneously champions underrepresented artists who reflect today’s values. I can appreciate Lamar’s genius while also questioning the hypermasculinity embedded in his public feuds. Engaging with music in this way transforms us from passive consumers into active participants in an ongoing dialogue between sound, history, and identity. By resisting the urge to either deify or discard musicians, instead we open the door to a richer, more informed, and ultimately more rewarding engagement with music.

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