I find societal attitudes to art and morality really crazy.
I don't necessarily disagree with the idea that art and morality should be linked, but it only ever seems to happen in a negative capacity of "don't listen to x because they did y".
There's a whole strain of:
Artists who are not necessarily bad people, but whose art is aggresively immoral (I guess an obvious example would be Biggie Smalls or someone who frequently raps about sexual assault and violence in a positive way, but also the ammount of mainstream pop or country that has sexist or racist undertones)
Artists who try hard to inject their morality into their work (such as Becky Chambers' climate positive fiction, or Giancinto Scelsi's anti-facist music)
On the whole, I don't see anyone care very much about the above two points, people just "like what they like", which is as if we think morality and art are two seperate things.
That makes sense, but then there's this wierd category where "oh that person did this bad thing, so now their art is invalid".
So, what's the overall attitude? Like, art isn't related to morality generally, but there's some mysterious line where if it's crossed art moves into the "forbidden zone"?
I'm all for calling bad people to account for their moral behaviour, but the way we do it in art is so jumbled and inconsistent.
Part of the issue is that in most cases, viewing art requires benefitting the artist, either directly by purchasing it or indirectly by making it more popular. JK Rowling is the most prominent example. That said, it's a spectrum.
some people just can't separate the crime from the art in some cases. i literally can't hear a Michael Jackson song without thinking about the heinous shit he did, and as a CSA survivor myself, it turns my stomach. other people may not have that hangup or even believe he did those things. everyone has a different line they won't cross, it seems.
My dad is not a nice person. He repeatedly cheated on his family for several years, lied, brainwashed us all into thinking that his late nights were normal, and even now doesn't understand why some of his kids don't want to talk to him.
He's a narcassistic sociopath.
But it's not all he is. He took us on mountain excursions, taught us to take risks and developed our sense of adventure and independence. When we needed a ride home after a night of drinking with friends, he'd be there in a flash to pick us up. He exhudes a charm that makes him a fantastic storyteller and I can't shake off the fond memories I have of him, despite all he has done.