To watch the rise and fall of a fictional band that’s loosely based on Fleetwood Mac doesn’t sound as much fun as knowing the rise and facture of the real Fleetwood Mac. Those folks really put the fun in dysfunction. Sure they made some great music (and a lot of mediocre songs, too), but if not for their mega-smash Rumors one wonders if Fleetwood Mac would have suffered the same fate as the fictional Daisy Jones & The Six. If you’ve read the novel by Taylor Jenkins Reid, you know how the story ends. However, for those who only know this fictional tale by what they are watching on Amazon Prime, you’ll have to wait for the series to end to find out what caused the band to break up at their peak in 1977. I haven’t read Reid’s novel, but I’m going to guess that since she used Fleetwood Mac as her template, it’s not hard to guess what broke up Daisy Jones & The Six.
The series is enjoyable after three episodes. The characters are generally well-drawn, the dialogue is good, and the story is a good soap — which means there’s plenty of drama. Again. It’s only been three episodes, so the jury is out with regard to the ending.
That’s not to say that there isn’t anything to comment on about the first three episodes. Indeed, there’s a lot that appears authentic about the music business — well, the music business in the early to mid-1970s. What’s clear is that the infrastructure that made up the music business was still in robust shape. Radio was the way the majority of people heard about new music. Musical artists looking to get on the radio were looking to get signed by a label. Those labels would bankroll studio time to record an album, front the expenses on manufacturing copies of records, pay for the album art, the print runs of the album covers, inner sleeves (which often meant hiring graphic artists for design layouts, typesetting of lyrics, liner notes, and other album information), and then mailing the albums to radio stations and record stores. Additional promotional material for record stores could mean extra large posters to be displayed, flyers, bumper stickers, artist photos for media, and press releases. Oh, and then there are ad buys. Not just here and there, but buys in major music magazines, newspapers, some TV, and, of course, radio. All those elements that go into signing, recording, and marketing a band from a label’s perspective are risky investments because new artists are challenging to sell to the public, sell to radio programmers (this is without the cocaine inducements), sell to concert promoters, and sell to A-list bands who are considering opening bands for their tours, etc. All the while, the artists are often blind, ignorant, or uncaring about the business end of things because, well, it’s sex and drugs and rock ‘n roll. Once the money starts rolling in, it’s the good life after that; a good life where the money never ends.
There’s more than a bit of that with one of the main characters of the show. Billy fronts the early iteration of Daisy Jones & The Six — then known as The Dunne Brothers. And as the same suggests, Billy has a sibling in the band. Well, The Dunne Brothers went dud. In an effort to rebuild what went wrong, the name The Six is suggested by the band’s new keyboard player, Karen. It’s agreed to and now The Six has a new name and a new motivation to make it big. It took some convincing, but once Billy was on board, they were all lockstep in it together.
You see, Billy is the primary songwriter whose music is generally good, and Billy is the kind of guy who affects all the right rock moves, but his addictions are making him into a real douchebag — which is especially pronounced when he thinks he’s cool and desirable.
The other half of the Douche Twins is Daisy. She was raised white and rich and exudes a kind of privilege that comes with a strong financial cushion of money. Played by Riley Keough (Elvis Presley’s granddaughter), Riley brings an unlikable quality to a character we’re supposed to be rooting for. Granted, both Billy and Daisy aren’t entirely douchey, but they do douchey and destructive things when it’s clear a good thing is being handed to them. But that’s the nature of drama with flawed charters, right? You’re supposed to love them, but there are also parts that are easy to hate.
In terms of the music industry, people like Billy and Daisy are nightmare clients for the business side of things. They often don’t care about dangling carrots like record deals or being able to be sober enough to honor the terms of a tour. Nope. They are either too self-absorbed or half in the bag to be bothered with all that egghead biz stuff. Instead, they are artists whose genius will be embraced by the public if the label would just do their job and get their names out there. It’s a familiar tale, but in the series, it’s handled more authentically than in other depictions of the music industry. Part of that is because the story also focuses on the band’s producer, Teddy.
Teddy is a seasoned pro. This guy has produced hit records, and critically praised records, and knows what makes for a good song and a great one. He’s also a guy whose track record at making the label money is starting the wane, so he’s feeling like his ability to spot talent, nurture it, and make it successful is not as sure as it was a few years ago. During this time of doubt, he hears Daisy sing and is completely struck by her voice. He attempts to make a business connection by giving her his card at the bar in the venue, but she’s unimpressed. You see, Daisy is an artist. She’s not in it for the money.
Teddy also has a chance meeting with Billy — after Billy and his brother Graham are picking up toilet paper and booze at a local grocery store. Billy convinces Teddy to listen to one song of theirs. Reluctantly, Teddy agrees. When the band performs for him, he sees a solid group he could probably get an album deal and tour. He convinces the label to give him a shot and while the recording sessions are good, it’s clear that Billy is lapsing into alcohol addiction. His addiction gets so bad that by the time they are on tour, he’s visibly drunk on stage and his antics cause the label to drop the group. Billy goes into rehab, quits the band, and tries to be a better husband and father to his young wife and infant daughter. Kind of boilerplate in terms of a narrative. However, it’s the economic fallout that tumbles onto Teddy’s head that’s another moment of authenticity. Rarely do movies about the music industry focus on the professional lives of producers. The kind of risks they take, the way they help shape an artist’s songs, the kind of diplomacy it takes to manage hotheads, and the business connections it takes to launch a band from obscurity into the mainstream.
It’s those moments (and others) in Daisy Jones & The Six that bring to the fore a central feature of the music industry: it’s made up of startups, contractors, and corporations. That’s why there are so many desperate, deceptive, manipulative, and self-destructive people in the industry. Everyone in the business is in it for success.
That’s because success buys freedom — mostly financial. Of course, while success can buy freedom, it can’t buy happiness. Instead, it can hasten deeper levels of misery. Ah, this is a well-worn tale borne out of a well-worn maxim. If the creators of Daisy Jones & The Six can breathe new life into an old story then they’ll have something very unique. However, given the first three episodes, it’s looking like it’s going down the road of a traditional soap opera. Soap operas are not necessarily bad things, but do we really need a standard soap opera love triangle set in the music industry? Amazon says yes, but here’s hoping Daisy Jones & The Six breaks with convention with more moments of authenticity.
