There is no time more wasted than that spent in discussions on the Internet. However, what took place in the discussions under the article about Václav Neckář is, I think, worth paying attention to. It reminds us of the depersonalization some fans are capable of towards their favorite artist on the internet. As if he wasn’t a man of flesh and bones, who can suddenly read from those who supposedly always loved him that he would rather die than do what gives his life meaning.
First, let’s recall the facts. Václav Neckář managed a number of health and personal difficulties. And for him, music was always an important part of the way to overcome them. Almost a quarter of a century ago, after a serious stroke, he gradually learned to speak and perform again, and singing played an unquestionable role in this.
Despite all the handicaps, he managed to record successful singles and albums in the following years. Midnight is a hit that every pop singer silently wishes for in the final part of his career. Even thanks to tireless concerts, Neckář has remained relevant. And even beyond his generation, as shown by his really passionately received performance at Rock for People in 2023, which had the audience moshing and crying with emotion.
Now Neckář, in his eighty-two years of age, has decided to end the activities of his band Bacila and, quite possibly with regard to his health, to approach concerts differently – acoustically, more calmly, with more emphasis on singing and words. As Vlček writes, more Cohenovsky. “I will die without singing,” he explained to his fans at the preview of the new program at Klub Doupě. And that was exactly what was written in the title of the article, which began to live its own algorithmic life on social networks.
Hundreds of discussion posts are surprising in their cruelty:
“She’s a mummy now, let her sing at home in the bath.”
“Stop the ordeal on stage. Get some rest.”
“He’s an old man, he should be home.”
“Everyone should retire in their prime.”
“They lack judgement, self-respect, like the Vondráčeks.”
“Maybe he doesn’t even realize anymore that the applause is more out of sympathy. Not because people like it.”
“You should stop singing, it’s embarrassing, you’re not ashamed, I liked you, but everything comes to an end.”
You can read about this and much worse under the article about the concert program, which so far only took place in a private club and only a few people had the opportunity to see (and judge) it. In those passionate condemnations, Neckář seemed to cease to be a concrete person. It turns into a symbol or a figure that can be talked about without inhibitions. The Internet adds another factor to this: the online brake effect. Anonymity and physical distance allow people to say things they would never say to a living person’s face.
And thirdly, there is the special, parasocial relationship that fans develop with famous personalities. The listener has the feeling that he knows the artist, that he is part of his life. But it’s a one-sided relationship. And when an idol behaves differently than its audience imagines—for example, if it chooses to sing even at eighty-two—admiration can very quickly turn to anger and the projection of one’s own failings and the giving of well-intentioned advice.
But still, why so much anger under an article with a headline that explains everything?
“I will die without singing,” says Václav Neckář clearly and directly. It is his free choice to continue playing. Like whether or not to buy a ticket to his concert. Or write or not write a comment that wishes the worst to another person.
