Nepobabies: Talent, Luck, or Just the Right Last Name?

By Beth O’Halloran, Music Editor

She’s minted, or at least her parents are. She had a stable full of horses growing up and summers in private resorts. She was privately educated without a scholarship, she dropped out of college to pursue music full time, and now she’s headlining gigs across the world. While I’ve not mentioned anyone in particular, perhaps the names of multiple artists popped into your head. As long as wealth exists, the nepotism debate will continue its course throughout the music industry, especially given the meteoric rise of artists such as Gracie Abrams, daughter of blockbuster director J.J. Abrams, or Inhaler frontman Elijah Hewson, son of U2 frontman Bono. I recently saw a clip of the latter’s cover of The Jam’s classic “That’s Entertainment”, a working class anthem charting life for ordinary people, sarcastic in its delivery of joy in the face of hardship. There’s something painfully ironic about four privately-educated musicians singing about life in a working class community, complete with accents that sound like they grew up in the north inner city, not Blackrock. We’ve all heard the joke of the three simple rules to go by: never ask a woman her age, a man his salary, or an indie musician why their parents’ names are blue on Wikipedia. But why do we tend to get so defensive about it?

In short, it’s a slap to the face for hardworking musicians who’ve struggled for years to make ends meet, while some can put in less work and still have a career handed to them. The driving force of nepotism is not necessarily fame but rather wealth, and while the two go hand-in-hand, they are not often seen together. With wealth comes influence, and this influence can buy anything. Taylor Swift’s father bought shares in Big Machine Records, her first label, before her subsequent signing in 2006, and her career following this needs little explanation. The reason that Gracie Abrams’ background is so scrutinised is that her dad had the luck of becoming a household name. It’s easier to do a speedy Google search and discover their relations when they’re often in the public eye. Others have the luxury of quiet wealth. Bedroom-pop superstar Clairo appears to have humble roots, crafting upbeat lo-fi hits using her laptop. However, some sleuthing beyond the humble Google search reveals that her father, Geoff Cottrill, is the chief marketing officer of Topgolf and was also the vice-president of the Grammy Foundation. His affiliation with the music industry has been scrutinised as part of his daughter's record deal. This is seen primarily in indie circles, and faces more scrutiny due to the nature of the genre. Short for independent, can an artist really be labelled as this if they have strong connections to release their work to a mainstream audience? 

Occasionally, however, the double standards when discussing nepotism can render the argument useless. It’s almost as if whenever any talented female artist comes onto the scene, they are immediately hit with accusations of being an industry plant. The summer of 2024 saw the careers of both Charli XCX and Chappell Roan skyrocket, but it wasn’t long before rumours circulated that both were ‘industry plants’, a byword for manufactured authenticity, propelled by major labels. Although it may seem that both have appeared out of nowhere, this is not the case. Charli XCX began her career performing at raves in the late 2000s, while Roan had been struggling to make her career grow since she started releasing music in the mid 2010s. The immediate assumption that both artists are being backed by industry tycoons indicates that their talent is undermined. As if the success coming from writing and producing their own music is impossible, or their hard work is simply not enough. For a world that craves authenticity, especially in an age where there is a risk of music overconsumption thanks to social media, we often find ourselves struggling to appreciate their art and instead find it easier to label them as ‘manufactured’.

There’s no better illustration of the misogyny rooted in the argument when comparing indie rock bands Inhaler and The Last Dinner Party. Inhaler’s debut album topped the charts across Europe in 2021, and had previously toured with Noel Gallagher’s High Flying Birds in 2019, despite having only released four singles, which is no mean feat. There is no denying that they’re talented of course. If they paved their path based on connections alone, they would be a flash in the pan, releasing a handful of songs, never to be heard from again, eventually fading into obscurity with other indie bands of days gone by. On the other hand, there is no denying how their privilege has aided them. All four members were educated at St. Andrew’s College, Blackrock: a Dublin institution which boasts a large list of notable alumni, such as journalists, actors, broadcasters, athletes, and of course our quartet. It’s almost as if a good education, one founded on wealth and status is a great advantage in finding success in later life. This is not a new concept, but why has there been little noise from the press about their upbringing? The Last Dinner Party’s treatment in the media in comparison to Inhaler’s is a shining example of these double standards. Their origin story echoes that of the former, an alternative rock band who formed while at university whose debut album peaked at number one in the UK. Unlike Inhaler, they are a group made up of women, and we also have no reliable evidence of the background they come from. So surely we shouldn’t assume anything about them, right? Wrong. Claims of having industry ties and rich parents began cropping up, following opening for acts such as Florence + the Machine, Hozier, and even The Rolling Stones. Despite hours of scourging the internet for concrete proof in regards to these claims, I returned with nothing substantial, but why were they an automatic assumption? Once again, female artists are hounded for something that men so often escape. 

This all being said, I refute the idea that music made by these ‘nepo babies’ is inherently bad. I’d be a hypocrite to state otherwise. All five members of The Strokes, one of my favourite bands of all time, grew up incredibly wealthy. I’m a firm believer in if they’re talented and prove their worth, then they deserve the accolades they’re awarded. Admittedly, it is intensely frustrating to see some deny that their connections at the very least helped them to get where they are today, regardless of their work ethic in the first place. Sure, your parents might not have jobs in the music industry, but there’s no denying that the privilege and stability that their wealth brought was the key to opening more doors at a faster rate; all this when many up-and-coming artists struggle to make ends meet, as they lack the security that generational wealth can afford. As mentioned earlier, not only does money bring power but also stability. It’s easier to make music and hone your craft without needing to commit to a job to pay bills and survive. There’s a chance that the next pioneer of a new genre may be struggling to put food on the table. What if the next Bowie currently has to choose between spending time writing songs or paying their rent? How different would the music we listen to be if finances weren’t such a barrier? 

The debate surrounding nepotism in the music industry is overall quite difficult to navigate. It often assumes the worst of female acts while simultaneously letting male acts off the hook. It can also be difficult to strike the balance between praising an artist for their work whilst acknowledging how much easier it may have been for them. There are many, many factors that can indicate an artist's success and work ethic, and sometimes, their upbringing and background might not even play a role in this. While the music industry has made more room for working class musicians, their wealthy counterparts continue to co-opt their aesthetics, but lack the authenticity. You can wear tracksuits, buy Y2K pieces off of Depop, go for pints in pubs frequented by old men, release music using an accent that isn’t your own. But regardless of how hard you try to manufacture this image of relatability, you’re not like them, in your lack of experiences and secret disgust of poverty. To put it best, Pulp’s “Common People”, despite being released over thirty years ago, remains evergreen, as Jarvis Cocker perfectly put it: ‘Laugh along with the common people / Laugh along even though they’re laughing at you / And the stupid things that you do / Because you think that poor is cool’.