Shoegaze: The Music Scene That Celebrated Itself
Words by Katherine Elliott
Shoegaze is a term that originated as a description of the way that guitarists, lost in concentration, would stare at the various pedals at their feet when performing. It has since gone on to define a genre made up of swaying, long-haired musicians, dreamy vocals, distorted guitar and enough audio feedback to rival Phil Spector’s “wall of sound”.
Emerging in the United Kingdom and Ireland in the 1980s, shoegaze was the product of neo-psychedelia with musical influences ranging from The Cure to Siouxsie and the Banshees, the Velvet Underground, Pixies and Sonic Youth. The movement itself was relatively short lived, reaching maturity in the late 1980s and early 1990s, with one of the genre’s defining albums, Loveless by My Bloody Valentine, released in 1991. Other influential groups included Slowdive, Ride, Lush, Curve, Pale Saints, Swirlies, Chapterhouse, Swervedriver, the Jesus and Mary Chain and the Cocteau Twins.
The genre is unique in its relation to typical notions of the musician as a public figure. The arguably mocking description of ‘shoegazing’ guitarists implies a sense of introversion, an almost chasing of obscurity. Indeed, critics noted displays of ‘antishowmanship’ at shoegaze gigs. For a burgeoning youth subculture, this is hardly the peacock strutting of Mick Jagger nor the exuberant violence of Johnny Rotten. Shoegazers hardly seemed to be chasing the spotlight, rather it seemed to catch them unaware, lost in the throes of Fender reverb. Yet, perhaps it is this rejection of flamboyance and excessively manicured stage presences that made shoegaze so unique. Shoegaze came of age in the aftermath of seventies glam rock and eighties power ballads. Whilst contemporaries may have been brash and swaggering (yes, this is referring to the Blur and Oasis feud), shoegaze bands took on more insular and reserved stage personas. Instead of public confrontations, those in the scene fostered a sense of community, often switching in and out of bands during live performances, leading to the epithet, ‘the scene that celebrates itself’, coined by music journalist Steve Sutherland’s as a way of describing the genre, at the time a burgeoning underground scene in London and the south east of England.
Whilst the shoegaze movement was fairly short-lived, the genre’s impact on alternative music cannot be underestimated. Having influenced the American college rock scene, mid-2000s nu gaze, metalgaze, blackgaze and what some have labelled east Asian ‘art school’ shoegaze, the list of scenes featuring the suffix ‘gaze’ can at times seem limitless. Not to mention that certain elements of shoegaze music, such as electronic and ambient sounds, went on to pave the way for developments in post-rock and electronica. In a post-shoegaze soundscape, it can be difficult to quantify how radical these musicians were when they burst onto the music scene. In critic Dave Simpson’s interview with The Jesus and Mary Chain in the Guardian, an anecdote from his teenage years says it all; ‘At 15, I took my vinyl copy of Psychocandy back to the record shop because I thought there was something wrong with it.’ If your listeners aren’t contacting customer service, you’re surely doing something wrong.
However, this anecdote actually speaks to our own shifting habits in music consumption. Simpson’s youthful memories of listening to the Jesus and Mary Chain involve visiting a record shop and buying a piece of physical media. Now, music is fed to listeners by monthly subscription, in a 15-second snippet loop mid-scroll or, if you willingly call yourself an ‘audiophile’, by online radio. Contemporary shoegaze artists have come to prominence in this landscape. San Franciscan artist Wisp, whose inspirations include Whirr (if that wasn’t clear by her Instagram handle), Title Fight, Deftones and the Cocteau Twins, exemplifies how new musicians are navigating this environment. Having grown her audience through TikTok virality, Wisp is perhaps emblematic of a reaction against algorithm-fed musicians. In contrast to the small Thames Valley venues and Glasgow underground clubs frequented by the first wave of shoegaze bands, Wisp came to the fore in a digital space.
Today’s music scene is perhaps unidentifiable from its 1980s predecessor. Shoegaze was a scene that functioned in part due to geographical closeness and in-person collaboration. Yet, the stark reality is that grassroots venues are struggling; according to UK charity Music Venues Trust, over a third of these venues are operating at a loss. It is easy to criticise those of the algorithm-led generation, nevertheless, spaces to cultivate young musicians’ talent and alternative sounds are, to put it simply, rare. In the absence of these physical hubs of community, music fans have migrated to social media, namely TikTok. Where community was formerly found in dingy basements with punters tripping over sound system cables and empty pint glasses, listeners can now consume ambient guitar noise through a blue light tinged screen. For those decrying the loss of real-life community, at least, some comfort can be found in the sentiment of shoegaze fans across generations. In a 2012 readers’ panel on the Cocteau Twins in the Guardian, mega fan Peter Neal articulated his response to the band’s music thus; ‘Such fragile otherworldliness, such improbable grace, such incomprehensible beauty, such joy!’. Take away the capital letters and you have a Gen Z comment section. As much as the musical landscape has changed over the years, one thing has remained the same, whether you’re 40 or 14, the otherworldly escapism of a jangly guitar continues to maintain its allure.
