HOLDING ON FOR DEAR LIFE Gender, celebrity status, and vulnerability-on-display in Sia’s ‘Chandelier’ Kai Arne Hansen If anyone besides famous people knew what it was like to be a famous person, they would never want to be famous. Sia Furler It is with this statement that Sia Furler begins her anti-fame manifesto, printed in Billboard magazine in October 2013.1 Around this time, the Australian singer revived her solo career after spending the past few years writing hit songs for many of the world’s biggest artists.2 Sia’s return to the spotlight, marked by the commercial and critical success of her hit single ‘Chandelier’ (2014), was accompanied by an outspoken ambition to remain anonymous. She made this known not only through her own statements, but also by concealing her face in all public settings. This involved being visually absent in her own music videos and performing live with her back to the audience. In this chapter, I will consider Sia’s reluctance towards fame as a point of entry for addressing matters of gender and celebrity in pop. The task ahead is to map a set of identity politics against the audiovisual aesthetics of music video and live performance. To elucidate the performative power of acting out gender, be it visibly or audibly, I investigate Sia’s negotiation of gendered identity in ‘Chandelier’. This occurs within a pop context that upholds gender binaries, as well as granting prominence to naturalised ideas of femininity and masculinity. Gendered identity in pop is experienced musically as much as visually, and I will excavate this through discussions on sonic aesthetics and the processes of production that stylise the artist audiovisually. Underpinning my examination of Sia’s representational strategy is the matter that pop artists partake in a music industry that is constantly undergoing major changes as it adapts to new-media models of pop-culture consumption. This is related to how artist subjectivities are placed under constant scrutiny by a celebrity-crazed Western culture. In a critical examination of the political, economic, and cultural ramifications of the reconfigured industry dynamics of the music industry, Leslie Meier (2013, 1) asserts that popular music has been rendered an exceedingly abundant, instantaneously accessible, and ubiquitously available ‘self-serve’ cultural commodity. In the light of Meier’s central argument that “the ‘artistbrand’, not the sound recording, is the core popular music commodity today” (Meier 2013, 25), I will consider how Sia’s persona is constituted across platforms. The starting point for my inquiry is based upon Stan Hawkins’s and John Richardson’s theorisation of personal narrative in pop: “[B]y marking certain events in personal histories as significant, while at the same time bypassing others, personal narrators create navigational beacons that enable themselves and others to make sense of the past, while providing points of reference that will inform interpretations of future actions and events” (2007, 607).3 Given that personal narratives contribute to showcasing the star, they generate interest by making visible the attention-grabbing and memorable slivers of an artist’s biography. These ‘navigational beacons’ provide points of reference that can inform interpretations of pop texts (songs, videos, live performances) as meaningful. On this basis, I propose that personal narratives work as cues for interpretations of pop songs and videos by informing audience responses to musical and visual codes. Vulnerability pertains to several aspects of Sia’s biography as it is presented to audiences – it relates to accounts of substance abuse, personal problems, and depression that are the basis of her purported anti-fame agenda and thus ties in with her decision to conceal her face. Simultaneously, her anti-fame agenda makes her stand out to audiences by raising issues with regard to artistic autonomy and agency, which in turn prompts me to consider vulnerability also as something contrived and put-on. Turning to ‘Chandelier’ I will argue that personal narratives permeate pop songs, videos, and live performances via their delivery through musical and visual codes, the aesthetics of audiovisual production and lyrical content. Before demonstrating this through a close reading, I will attempt to trace notions of vulnerability and agency through an examination of Sia’s personal narrative as it is disseminated through media articles and interviews. Background: Anti-fame, arduous past, and agency Since the release of her sixth studio album, 1000 Forms of Fear (2014), Sia has rigorously hidden her face from the public behind a platinum blonde wig that covers her eyes. The extent to which this signature wig has been integrated into the singer’s promotional material, public appearances, and music videos has in effect established it as her identifying feature.4 Purportedly, this has been Sia’s intention. In a television interview with ABC News, she described the concept of the wig as “creating a brand which is an inanimate object – this bob – you know, being able to put anyone under it: a kid, an adult, a man, a woman, a dog”,5 noting that it allows almost anyone to portray the singer. While ensuring facial concealment, this strategy highlights Sia’s star persona, as represented by the unmistakable wig: her ambition to remain anonymous ends up being what makes her recognisable to a mainstream audience that is bombarded with a multitude of established and new pop artists clamouring for attention. It would seem that Sia’s decision to conceal her face derives from an idea of celebrity and fame as damaging on a personal level. She has voiced her reluctance regarding her newfound fame, and in an interview with David Renshaw in NME in 2015, she described the release of 1000 Forms of Fear as an attempt, ironically, to elude it: Basically, I put this out to get out of my publishing deal. I was planning to be a pop songwriter for other artists. But my publishing deal was as an artist, so I had to put one more album out. I didn’t want to get famous, so I just kept all the songs I wanted and had a lot of fun making it. From that necessity I devised a way I could do this anonymously, with as little work – press, touring, the damaging work [sic]. (original emphasis)6 Sia’s desire to remain anonymous contributes to a narrative that highlights her dramatic personal life. In several recent interviews, she has been outspoken about how personal tragedies, substance abuse, and depression have been interwoven into her almost-two-decades-long career.7 The overarching narrative that is discernible in media articles and interviews traces many of her personal problems back to 1997, when her boyfriend was killed in a car accident. Following this traumatic incident, Sia reportedly started abusing drugs and alcohol, which eventually led her to the verge of suicide. Descriptions of this painful past activate a sense of vulnerability as the principal motivation behind her misgivings about fame. Interestingly, while stories of addiction and depression have long been commonplace in rock as part of the mythic representation of the brilliant but struggling artist,8 pop stars who battle with substance abuse or mental health issues are often met with negative reactions or even social sanctions. Milly Williamson (2010, 118–119) points to the media’s treatment of Britney Spears’s 2007 breakdown, which included the artist shaving her head and being admitted to several rehab and treatment facilities within a short period of time, as one of the most visible signs of a cultural trend towards scorning particular kinds of celebrity. Williamson identifies two categories of female celebrities who are particularly persecuted by the media: the female reality TV celebrity and the female pop star who has been on a drug or alcohol-fuelled path to self-destruction. Observing that Spears, as part of the latter category, was actually hounded by the media, Williamson suggests that what “emerges from an examination of the coverage of Britney’s shaved head is a misogynistic attitude towards the pop star, who is judged by a set of paradoxical female norms that she is seen to be failing” (2010, 118). Emphasising the media’s treatment of celebrities as a gender issue, Williamson attributes the harsh reactions to Spears as partly due to the removal of her hair (one of the key signifiers of femininity) and to her reputation as a bad mother (the ultimate female crime). I concur with Williamson that female pop stars are constrained in their image construction by the strictures of gender norms to a greater extent than their male counterparts. This is particularly evident in audience and media reactions to pop artists who fail to fulfil the expectations of glamourous celebrity. Notably, critical or negative comments towards Sia’s admission of substance abuse and breakdown are largely absent. So how does she circumvent the scorn usually directed towards female celebrities or pop artists who are perceived to be self-destructive? Pertaining to this question is artistic autonomy, and how the attribution of this to Sia through her identification as a skilled songwriter and singer raises the issue of perceptions of agency as an empowering factor. On this matter, Williamson (2010, 119–120) asserts that ridicule and denigration on the part of the media first and foremost target the unskilled celebrity who has become famous due to media exposure (such as reality TV stars), and further that ‘talent’ is seen as a redeeming attribute. In a pop context, notions of talent relate to the persistence of conventionalised views of artistic autonomy which are arguably still relevant within a pop culture which exalts the star. In their analysis of Spears, Hawkins and Richardson (2007, 607) point out that agency is a critical factor for fans; artists are commonly perceived and evaluated according to the extent to which they can be shown to be responsible for key artistic decisions. Most certainly this is evident in the ways that Spears has conducted a revisionist campaign in her lyrics, visual representations, and music to attribute agency (Hawkins and Richardson 2007, 607). Indeed, the anti-fame position that highlights Sia’s arduous past also signals her re-invention as an artist: agency is attributed to Sia by the depiction of her as forfeiting fame in pursuit of perfecting her craft as a songwriter. The focus on Sia’s creative autonomy and agency is created partly by the depiction of her in a number of media articles which highlight her skill as a songwriter, and is echoed in Sia’s own statements: her purported effortlessness in writing hit songs recurs as a topic throughout her interviews. For example, Sia reports that she wrote the melody and lyrics for David Guetta’s ‘Titanium’ in just forty minutes, and Rihanna’s hit ‘Diamonds’ in a mere fourteen minutes.9 The professed ease with which Sia accomplishes professional success provides an appealing contrast to the harrowing tale of her personal problems and becomes a strong marker of agency, highlighting her skill and confidence when it comes to songwriting.1011 In his studies of Gorillaz, Richardson (2012, 211) observes how anonymous performers substitute celebrity status with subcultural capital and gain ‘the right kind of recognition’ by distancing themselves from their obviously commercial contemporaries while aligning their endeavours with the serious side of pop. Richardson argues that a “sublimated authorial role, such as that enjoyed by many musicians working in classical, contemporary avant-garde and contemporary dance idioms, can confer greater approbation on producers than one based on celebrity” (Richardson 2012, 211). Along these lines, the contention put forth by Sia’s personal narrative seems to be that, by stepping out of the spotlight, she is able to fulfill her full potential as a songwriter, and that her talent is evidenced by her critical and commercial success in this regard. I would argue that while the strategy of anonymisation, in Sia’s case, to a certain extent shields her from fame (in terms of being recognised on the street), it also registers as in coherence with narratives that emphasise her artistic autonomy and agency. Inspecting Sia’s agency prompts a consideration of the ways in which her persona and anti-fame agenda relate to expectations about and perceptions of the female pop star. Her conceptualisation of the wig as a representational strategy raises matters of objectification in pop and spectatorship; her efforts to remain anonymous can be seen by audiences and fans as a sign of resistance.12 The conceptualisation of the wig can be interpreted in terms of transgression considering the ways in which it allows for genderplay, as is evidenced by much of Sia’s artwork, videos, and live performances.13 In a pop context where representational strategies that spectacularise and sensationalise naturalised ideas of gender and sexuality are conventionalised, then, one interpretation of Sia’s anonymity might be that it subverts the male gaze. In this sense, Sia’s decision to remain anonymous does not simply mask her identity, but, rather, can be seen as an assertion of her autonomy. Interpreting Sia’s anonymity as a sign of agency and resistance appears to have gained some traction in the media. Helen Brown of The Telegraph proposes that “[i]n an industry that considers women’s bodies as part of the product, [Sia] took a cool stance when she opted in 2014 to [. . .] remain physically anonymous when she performed, staking her fortune on the power of her songs alone”.14 Interestingly, by drawing up a binary between gendered bodies and the ‘power of song’, Brown overlooks how, in pop, the gendered body is constructed musically through “a repertoire of norms [that] disciplines the body through stark imagery and processed sound” (Hawkins 2013, 466). Building upon Hawkins’s assertion, I want to argue that Sia’s gendered representation in ‘Chandelier’ is constructed audiovisually through contesting notions of vulnerability and agency. How is Sia’s ‘vulnerability-on-display’ constituted through musical codes and visual cues? In what way does Sia’s personal struggle become aestheticised through a projection of emotional intensity in live performance? How are perceptions of ironic agency informed by variations in stylistic coding? These questions form a springboard for my close reading of ‘Chandelier’, which deals with the song in its many guises: lyrics, sound recording, music video, and live performance. Swinging from the Chandelier: Vulnerability-on-display Written by Sia and Jesse Shatkin and released in March 2014, ‘Chandelier’ was the lead single from 1000 Forms of Fear. Its commercial success was exemplified by Top Ten positions in the record charts of several countries, including Australia, France, Norway, the United Kingdom, and the USA. The critical reception of the song was also largely positive, its music video quickly going viral and becoming one of the most-watched pop videos of 2014, reaching 700 million views on YouTube within a year of its release.15 The key of ‘Chandelier’ is Bb minor, with the lyrics describing the melancholic perspective of a ‘party girl’ recounting her self-destructive lifestyle. Taking the lyrics aside, I detect an ambiguity in their literal meaning that is brought to the forefront by the way in which optimistic and bleak outlooks are mapped against one another. Optimistic lines such as “party girls don’t get hurt” are followed by lines like “can’t feel anything, when will I learn?”, arguably undermining the honesty or accuracy of the opening line. Likewise, the chorus’s uplifting and celebratory “I’m gonna swing from the chandelier” and “I’m gonna live like tomorrow doesn’t exist” lose their sense of triumph and abandon when the narrator then acknowledges her fear (and self-deception) in the post-chorus: “but I’m holding on for dear life, won’t look down, won’t open my eyes”. The words alone imply that ambiguity and irony are key elements of the ‘Chandelier’ lyrics. However, any investigation into lyrics in pop always needs to account for their musical delivery, which relates to how recording aesthetics and the stylisation of the performer impinge upon our structuring of meaning through reception. On this matter, Hawkins (2002, 91) tackles the issue of working out meaning in pop texts by probing at how attitude is mediated through musical performance. For Hawkins, this involves addressing irony and working out how diverse meanings intend something ambiguous. He argues that “to identify codes or markers of irony in a song, we can only assume their function within a specific setting that denotes meaning for us” (Hawkins 2002, original emphasis). Bringing into question the impact of pop aesthetics on how we ascertain meaning through performance, Hawkins’s idea can be applied to Sia’s dissemination of vulnerability, and how this is supported and amplified by aspects of production, vocal performance, and visual imagery. Significantly, the musical articulation of narratives of substance abuse and depression in ‘Chandelier’ takes precedence in forming part of Sia’s vulnerabilityon-display. With this concept I call to attention how the video, lyrics, vocality, and production aesthetics intersect with narratives presented by and about Sia to promote an iteration of vulnerability that entices and entertains. Accordingly, selfdeprecation and intense emotional display become markers not only of vulnerability, but also of agency as related to ironic intent.16 To focus on the sound recording for now, I would argue that the sonic aestheticisation of ambiguity and suspense successfully underpins the sombre theme of the lyrics. What strikes me in this regard is the instrumentation and production of the verses. Drenched in reverb, with a somewhat ‘distant’ placement in the mix, an arpeggiated synth line outlines the verse chord progression Bbm – Gbmaj7 – Ab – Fm. In the first verse, a deep, rumbling synth bass emphasises the tonic at the start of the first bar. This bass part does not follow the chord progression, and it is a snare-driven drumbeat that claims the listener’s attention. This syncopated snare pattern has a military feel to it and can be interpreted as tying in with the sentiment of resistance that can be inferred from Sia’s anti-fame agenda. The ominous rumbling of the bass at key points during the first verse – and its absence otherwise – emphasises the feeling of suspension that is provided by the dreamy, reverb-heavy, and distant sound of the arpeggiated synthesiser. The placement of the militant beat and vocals in the foreground of the mix assumes significance, and as they compete for attention, the authoritative snare contrasts markedly with Sia’s delicate voice. Thus, the verses arguably present a suspended tension that evokes Sia’s fragility and vulnerability. In the verses, Sia sings in an affected manner with a voice that squeals and breaks, and arguably comes across as strained. The impression of such vocality as strained supports an interpretation of the vocals as signifying vulnerability through their emotional expression.17 Following up on this assertion, I would also suggest that, in the case of ‘Chandelier’, Sia’s vocals add a certain feeling of urgency or desperation to the lyrics which serves to highlight their darker undertones and reveal the ironic intent of certain key phrases. This is most evident in the verses, where her voice conveys a fragility that matches the melancholy theme of substance abuse in the song’s lyrics. When Sia sings “I push it down, push it down” in the first verse, the “I” is barely audible and comes out more like a squeal. Similarly, her voice breaks on the last, prolonged “down”. The sense that Sia’s voice might break at any second brings with it a certain excitement, because we as listeners recognise, from our own experiences, the emotional stress that can cause a voice to break. The fragility of her voice is further aestheticised through the track’s production. With this in mind, we can consider the voice’s central placement in the mix, and the relative loudness of her voice in comparison to the other instruments. These aspects underpin how the use of compression directs attention towards the way Sia’s voice rasps, squeals, and breaks. As such, the listener is brought closer to these ostensibly involuntary sounds, which can be perceived as emanating from a singer who is on the verge of being overpowered by emotion. In turn, such a sense of powerful emotions resonates with how visual codes contribute to conveying vulnerability in the music video for ‘Chandelier’. The video garnered massive attention on account of the performance of then elevenyear-old dancer Maddie Ziegler, who takes the lead role. Though space does not permit me to discuss questions of age in any detail, it is clear that the juxtaposition of childhood and certain pop aesthetics can be seen as problematic. Some reactions to the ‘Chandelier’ video, particularly evident in the comments section on YouTube, critique a perceived sexualisation of the young dancer. In her illuminating study of age, gender, and popular music, Sheila Whiteley observes that “the uneasy relationship between childhood as innocent and childhood as knowing continues to inform the tensions surrounding the erotic potential of the young body” (2003, 24). This is not least relevant in relation to perceptions of pop culture as increasingly sexualised (see Attwood 2009; Gibson 2004; McNair 2013; McRobbie 2009), and it is a topic which warrants further study. At this stage I focus on how Ziegler’s performance in the video relates to Sia’s persona and constructions of vulnerability, as disseminated through particular visual cues. Dressed in a skin-coloured leotard, Ziegler wears the Sia wig and is painted with tattoos that replicate those of the singer. The video opens with slowroaming shots of a decrepit apartment, before cutting to a wide shot of Ziegler propped up in a doorway as Sia comes in with the vocals at the start of the track (see Figure 7.1). The camera cuts to Ziegler at the exact moment the vocals are introduced, emphasising the link between Sia and Ziegler and blurring the line between them. Figure 7.1 Maddie Ziegler propped up in a doorway from the ‘Chandelier’ video. Eagerly, the camera tracks Ziegler as she navigates the apartment as part of an elaborate and expressive dance routine. Framing Ziegler against the stark and looming walls of the dirty apartment works to highlight her vulnerability. This is also emphasised by her skin-coloured leotard, which foregrounds the notion of the child as naked and fragile. The choreography involves dramatic gestures and impressive gymnastics, though it also exhibits an attention to detail that reinforces the distress disseminated by the lyrics. Between pirouettes and somersaults, Ziegler’s pained and angry facial expressions seem to oppose the song’s opening line: “party girls don’t get hurt”. This opposition is particularly evident in the first post-chorus (01:28–01:50) and in the facial close-ups of the second post-chorus (approx. 02:57–03:07), where Ziegler’s incredible variety of emotional facial expressions lends itself to the resigned self-deceit of the lyrics: “I’m just holding on for tonight, won’t look down, won’t open my eyes”. In these instances, the camera hovers around Ziegler, alternating roaming wide-shots, mid-shots, and close-ups that bring her face back into view each time she slips from the frame. The visuals of the video, then – whether through the run-down apartment, the frustration and desperation of the violently beautiful choreography, or the pained facial expressions of Ziegler – support a reading of the ‘Chandelier’ lyrics as a party girl’s cautionary tale of the downsides of living like there is no tomorrow. Employing an eleven-year-old as a visual substitute for Sia bluntly emphasises impressions of fragility and vulnerability through the stark contrast between the child and the theme of the lyrics, a contrast that is further emphasised by the visuals that frame Ziegler in a dirty apartment. Ultimately, the vulnerability-ondisplay in ‘Chandelier’ is achieved in a number of ways but most prominently in the dialogue that it presents between the narrative of Sia’s struggles with substance abuse and personal problems, the visual imagery of the video, and the musical aestheticisation of vulnerability in Sia’s vocals. However, while Sia’s vocals in the verses come across as frail or strained, her singing in the choruses seems to defy any such characterisations. These soaring vocals give off an impression of confidence and virtuosic vocality. The idea of swinging from the chandelier is metaphorically implied musically by the melody leaping a minor sixth from F to Db (via Ab and Bb) on the word ‘Chandelier’, and then again from Bb to Gb (via C–Db) before resolving on F. The soaring melodic phrasing is also emphasised by the track production: during the pre-chorus, there are several harmonising backing tracks, but these are subtracted from the choruses to reinforce the prominence of Sia’s vocals in the mix. Thus, the choruses direct attention towards Sia’s vocal performance: the piercing quality of sustained notes, the separation of vocals from the rest of the track, and Sia’s convincing control over glissandos and inflections emphasise her agency. The contrast between vulnerability and artistic endeavour in Sia’s vocals is arguably reinforced by the visuals. Ziegler’s dance performance, while highlighting the fragility and vulnerability of the child, also showcases her talent as a dancer. Perceptions of Ziegler’s skill are also bound to matters of maturity; her acrobatic execution of the choreography is made even more impressive by her young age. In a sense, then, the strategy of visual substitution, where Ziegler functions as a stand-in for Sia, bridges the notions of vulnerability and agency that can be found in Sia’s personal narrative. This is exemplified by the visuals towards the end of the video: as Sia sings “I’m just holding on for tonight” in the final post-chorus, Ziegler curtsies several times for the camera, all the while with a forced smile on her face (see Figure 7.2). This scene raises the matter of spectatorship, reinforcing a sense of ironic agency on the part of Sia.18 In terms of her outspoken reluctance to acknowledge fame, the forced gesture indicates Sia’s conflicted feelings about her role as a performer and celebrity. This, in turn, highlights the ironic potential of the video by drawing attention to the constructedness of pop performance. Simultaneously, Ziegler’s wide-eyed, put-on smile makes the lyrics’ sentiment of barely holding on utterly convincing. As I have tried to illustrate, Sia’s movement between strength (agency) and weakness (vulnerability) is achieved through a careful navigation of audiovisual aesthetics. I will now turn to a live version of ‘Chandelier’ to discuss other means through which vulnerability aligns to emotional intensity and ironic agency. In turning to a performance that differs vastly from the music video both visually and musically, I want to dwell on how alternative articulations of vulnerability can be achieved through stylistic variation. Figure 7.2 Ziegler curtsying in the ‘Chandelier’ video. Live performance of ‘Chandelier’ and emotional intensity Reluctant to go back on tour to such an extent that she negotiated a clause in her contract with RCA that stipulated that she does not have to tour to support 1000 Forms of Fear,19 Sia performed ‘Chandelier’ live mainly on talk shows and award shows. As of August 2015, just two of these performances had been uploaded on Sia’s official YouTube channel. I will discuss one of these in what follows. Appearing on Saturday Night Live in January 2015, Sia performed a mellow version of the song on a dimly lit stage, backed by a pianist and string sextet. The musical arrangement was changed to fit the instrumentation; the electric bass, synths, vocal samples, and drumbeat of the original recording are all replaced by piano and strings. Rather than attempting to emulate the arrangement of the recording by assigning its rhythmic and melodic motifs to the instruments at hand, the entire arrangement was stripped down – the piano repeats a simple rhythmic motif throughout, while the string section employs various changes in intensity to add a dynamic dimension to the transitions between parts. The effect, ultimately, implies nostalgia and sentimentality through musical aestheticisation, which in turn highlights the song’s sombre theme. Underpinning the sadness of the song’s theme visually, both Sia and the other musicians wear black. Joining Sia at centre stage is a mime artist, who interprets the lyrics through a mix of American Sign Language and mime. The focus falls on the mime, where his apparent emotional struggle amplifies the melancholy of the lyrics through affective body language and facial expressions. In this sense, the mime contributes to highlighting Sia’s ironic agency by clearly contrasting some of the more optimistic lines of the lyrics and thus amplifying their ironic impact. For example, the choruses’ celebratory references to swinging from the chandelier lose a sense of optimism in relation to the performer miming: his movements depict him reluctantly grabbing hold of a chandelier in a simultaneously desperate and resigned act of self-deception. Sia’s vocal performance here is also significantly different musically from the sound recording. This relates to the fact that the song is performed at a slightly slower tempo compared to the recorded version, which is further emphasised by the lack of a beat. The slower tempo and the sparse, acoustic arrangement give Sia plenty of room for employing her voice expressively. The slow tempo facilitates microrhythmic and timbral changes in her vocal delivery as Sia sings the verses in a laid-back fashion that somewhat blurs the line between singing voice and speaking voice. The string arrangement and dynamic changes underpin Sia’s vocal performance in this regard. Particularly, the post-choruses stand out: in contrast to the energetic backing in this part of the original sound recording (which arguably facilitates an extension of the celebratory feel of the chorus), the restrained wailing of the strings highlights the self-deprecating tone of the lyrics.20 Self-deprecation is suggested also by Sia’s vocals in this part of the live performance: admitting that she’s actually not having fun swinging from the chandelier, but rather barely holding on and too scared to open her eyes, she settles in a low, almost spoken register and lowers the volume of her voice, as if speaking to herself. In turn, ironic intent is, yet again, emphasised by the mime artist, who at this point closes his eyes, shakes his head anxiously, and extends an arm towards the audience, palm raised as if keeping them at a distance. Sia’s vocal performance draws attention to the ways in which vulnerability can be feminised sonically in accordance with the conventionalised vocal strategies of contemporary female pop artists. By activating the term sonic feminisation, I want to draw attention to the voice’s centrality with regard to how we perceive artists in terms of gendered identity.21 Vocal stylisation is at the core of this. For example, the phrase endings in the first verse are marked by the singer moving from the last word into a moan (approx. 0:24 and 0:37, respectively). In one sense, this could signify an eroticisation of the female voice that is in accordance with conventionalised stylistic traits of other contemporary female pop voices.22 Certainly, naturalised gestures of gendered identity permeate pop performance at detail level: commonplace perceptions of the vulnerable as implicit in the feminine resonate throughout the song’s theme of a party girl on the brink of selfdestruction, and this link is arguably strengthened by the mapping of Sia’s affected vocal expression against the backdrop of her troubled past. Sia’s vulnerability is articulated both musically and visually through a representation of emotional intensity. I would contend that her affected use of her voice and body language is authenticated as expressive of emotional intensity specifically through the juxtaposition of the song’s theme and the idea of vulnerability that informs her personal narrative. Projecting strong emotions through the voice is a distinguishing musical feature of the live performance, evident at certain points in the choruses (approx. 3:00–3:12) where Sia goes into seemingly spontaneous melismatic embellishments. These can be perceived as the product of emotional expression on the part of the singer, supported by her body language: Sia bends her knees slightly, leans back, and tilts her head during key phrases in the choruses, apparently straining to hit the notes.23 All in all, Sia’s projection of emotional intensity in this live performance can be related to Dibben’s assertion that pop artists often “work within a compositional aesthetic of self-expression in which their musical output is received as though it is the expression of biographical events and reveals the inner life of the performer” (2009, 331). With Sia and ‘Chandelier’, this impression is due to the consistency of the artist’s self-presentation across platforms, which can be related to the aestheticisation of key elements in her personal narrative, both musically and visually. The latter point is exemplified by how vulnerability-on-display is constituted through a bidirectional relationship between personal narrative and musical and visual codes. As I have indicated, Sia’s vulnerability is reinforced by references to substance abuse and personal struggle in the lyrics of ‘Chandelier’. Simultaneously, the lyrics gain additional meaning when read against Sia’s selfpresentation off-stage. The effect of this bidirectional relationship depends on the ability of the artist to skillfully navigate the expressive range of audiovisual codes through stylistic aestheticisation, and Sia achieves this in a way that piques the interest and curiosity of a broad audience. Concluding remarks Granted, showcasing the star is at the heart of the pop spectacle, and it is often the personal narrative that draws us to the artist’s persona. During this chapter, I have been concerned with the ways in which identity politics and audiovisual aesthetics intersect in Sia’s ‘Chandelier’. I have drawn on Hawkins and Richardson’s (2007) theorisation of personal narrative to facilitate an understanding of Sia’s gendered representation and how this operates performatively. Throughout, I have attempted to elucidate how particular foregrounded aspects of pop subjectivities can be taken to bridge the gap between the private lives of stars and pop performance, by informing how we navigate the plurality of possible meanings to be found in any pop expression. Notions of vulnerability are reiterated in Sia’s personal narrative to the extent that it is established as one of the most prominent elements of her persona. If we accept, as Hawkins suggests, that pop artists confirm their vulnerability as much off-stage as on-stage (2009, 186), then this is made evident by Sia’s openness about her personal problems through her interviews and public statements. As my examination of ‘Chandelier’ demonstrates, vulnerability-on-display is constituted through visual and musical codes, which involves mapping audiovisual aesthetics onto Sia’s personal narrative. This helps authenticate her pop expression. The relationship between Sia’s personal narrative and ‘Chandelier’, then, is best described as bidirectional – the narrative that highlights Sia’s personal struggle with alcohol and drug addiction is reinforced by its stylistic aestheticisation through lyrics, musical and visual codes, and audiovisual production. Simultaneously, any reading of ‘Chandelier’ must be informed by Sia’s personal narrative as it relates to interpreting one’s perceptions of and attitudes towards the artist. Finally, I would suggest that Sia’s construction of vulnerability through ‘Chandelier’ hits a nerve in contemporary pop culture by purportedly providing an insight into the emotional turmoil of being a celebrity. A desire to remain anonymous is explained by her perceptions of fame as damaging, implying that she considers herself made vulnerable through her very success. At the same time, the decision to conceal her face can be interpreted by audiences as a sign of agency and an assertion of autonomy. I would suggest that audience responses to Sia’s dualistic subject positioning in ‘Chandelier’ as simultaneously empowered and vulnerable are contingent on an acceptance or dismissal of her ironic intent. Whatever the verdict any particular listener comes to, Sia’s self-presentation in ‘Chandelier’ highlights the multitude of ways in which pop artists are scrutinised in contemporary Western pop culture. Notes . 1 See Furler (2013).  . 2 Sia released her first solo album in 1997, launching a prolific but initially lacklustre career which saw her struggling to connect with a mainstream audience. Since 2010, Sia has co-written songs for artists such as Beyoncé, Celine Dion, Eminem, Flo Rida, David Guetta, Kylie Minogue, Ne-Yo, Katy Perry, Rihanna, Shakira, and Britney Spears, among others.  . 3 See also Hansen (2015), where I employ a similar approach to examine the feminist argument that Beyoncé presents through personal narrative against the audiovisual aesthetics of the ‘Partition’ (2013) music video.  . 4 The signature bob wig is used in the artwork for 1000 Forms of Fear, worn by Sia in interviews and live performances (in which she appears with her back towards the camera/audience), worn by dancers portraying Sia in music videos and live performances, and features heavily in Sia’s own app – ‘Bob Job’ – which is a mobiledevice game featuring Sia’s songs. The wig was re-conceptualised in late 2015 for the release of Sia’s single ‘Alive’, the first track to be released from the upcoming album This is Acting. The re-conceptualised wig plays on a yin-yang theme, one half being black while the other is blonde.  . 5 See Sia on Nightline with Chris Connelly: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P4DMk9BJyY4.  . 6 Renshaw, David. 2015. “Now You Sia. . . ”, NME, 21 February 2015, 10–11.  . 7 See Gallo (2013), Knopper (2014), and Murfett (2010).  . 8 Consider the myth-like status of artists and musicians such as John Bonham, Kurt Cobain, Ian Curtis, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, Keith Moon, and Jim Morrison, whose out-of-control lifestyles and perceived intensity were a huge part of their image and self-presentation. See Whiteley (2006, 330–332) for a discussion on the romanticisation of drug abuse and death in rock culture: “Its heroes are those whose emotions have broken out of prescribed limits, endowing them with a godlike eminence which is curiously enhanced by their often ignoble deaths – the inhalation of vomit being but one example” (ibid., 331).  . 9 See Knopper (2014). . 10 It is fair to assume that knowledge of Sia’s songwriting is widespread amongst audiences. In addition to her songwriting skill being highlighted through interviews, several online magazines have compiled lists of songs written by Sia (see for example “‘Pretty Hurts’ and 14 other songs you didn’t know Sia wrote” on mtv.com). Also, many fans have demonstrated their knowledge of her songwriting in the comment . . . . . . . . . . . . . section on YouTube.  11 Audiences still grant the songwriter a privileged status based on traditional perceptions of authenticity. As Richardson (2012, 209) points out, there is an apparently built-in response in the reception of popular music for listeners to look and listen for an author, and these processes are closely related to perceptions of authenticity and agency. Relatedly, Moore (2001, 199) has observed that, in popular music, authenticity has long been associated with the singer-songwriter. I would add that prevailing perceptions of the singer-songwriter stress the importance of his or her role as author in attributing agency and ascribing a sense of authenticity as well.  12 Strategiesofresistancearecommonplaceinpopularmusic,regardlessofgenre.Forvalubl einsights into this matter and an in-depth critique of masculinity, see Hawkins (2009) on dandyism. Also see Langman’s (2008) study of the body as a site of resistance and empowerment, and Roberts’ (1991) work on feminist rappers.  13 Transgression, in this case, relates first and foremost to cultural perceptions of gender, sexuality, and age. See for example the artwork for the ‘Big Girls Cry’ single where Sia is joined by two men, both wearing the signature wig and dressed in the same skirt as Sia herself. Also, the portrayal of Sia by Ziegler in the ‘Chandelier’ video raises issues of gender and age.  14 See Brown (2015).  15 Released on 6 May 2014, the video had surpassed 744,000,000 viewings by late May 2015, according to YouTube’s count. By 1 December 2015, the number of viewings had risen above 1,008,000,000.  16 See Hawkins (2009, 39).  17 Serge Lacasse has commented on the pervasiveness of interpretations of Sia’s voice as particularly expressive of emotion (2010, 141–142), and offers a thorough investigation of her ‘creaky voice’ in relation to paralinguistic and phonostylistic features.  18 Ironic agency, in this example, also relates to perceptions of gender: to this viewer at least, entering from the perspective of a male feminist, the cultural connection of curtsying to the feminine (compared to that of taking a bow, for example) brings to the fore and problematises the societal and cultural pressures that are put on children from a very young age to neatly fit into categories of ‘boys’ and ‘girls’.  19 See Gallo (2013).  20 See also Hawkins’s investigation into hyperbole and irony in Morrissey’s ‘You Have Killed Me’, where he suggests that “[t]here is nothing more layered and contradictory than self-mockery” (2009, 71).  21 See also Hawkins (2016) and Jarman-Ivens (2011).  22 See Hansen (2015) where I take up these issues in an analysis of Beyoncé’s ‘Partition’ as part of a problematisation of how her performance strategy forms part of a pop style which, through stylistic coding, has much in common with the sonic aesthetics of mainstream pornography.  23 See Dibben (2009, 321–330) for a detailed examination of body movement in popular music performance as related to emotional expression.  Bibliography  Attwood, Feona, ed. 2009. 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