Music

Cher, the artist the music industry keeps dismissing and the charts keep proving wrong

For more than sixty years, the music industry has been writing Cher's final chapter. It keeps getting the ending wrong.
Penelope H. Fritz
Cher
Cher
Photo: Gage Skidmore from Surprise, AZ, United States of America / CC BY-SA 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons
BornMay 20, 1946
El Centro, California
OccupationSinger, Actress
Known forMamma Mia! Here We Go Again, Burlesque, The Player
Awards2 Grammy

Standing at the Grammy Awards podium, eighty years old and wearing something no one else in the room would have attempted, Cher received a Lifetime Achievement Award the music industry had taken roughly six decades to deliver. She instructed the standing ovation to sit down and told the room something her career had already demonstrated: never give up on your dream, because it will happen. What she did not mention was the number of times the industry had decided, confidently and publicly, that it would not.

Born Cherilyn Sarkisian in El Centro, California, Cher grew up in a household that moved frequently, her mother an aspiring actress herself. At sixteen she met Salvatore Bono on the edges of the Los Angeles music scene — a man eleven years older working as a gofer for Phil Spector. Their early recordings as Caesar and Cleo failed to chart. Renamed Sonny & Cher, they recorded I Got You Babe in 1965 and watched it reach number one on both sides of the Atlantic. Cher was nineteen.

The duo became one of the defining acts of the 1960s counterculture, their offbeat domesticity a counterweight to the era’s more explicit radicalism. Five of their songs sat in the American top 50 simultaneously — a feat shared at the time only with the Beatles and Elvis Presley. By the time their partnership began to fracture, Cher had already pivoted to a solo career, landing consecutive Billboard Hot 100 number ones through the early 1970s with Gypsys, Tramps & Thieves, Half-Breed, and Dark Lady, three songs whose subject matter — marginalized women, racial identity — was not standard pop fare. Cher made them pop anyway.

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After the Sonny & Cher divorce in 1975, the prevailing industry verdict was that the act had been the act. Cher answered with television, hosting The Sonny & Cher Comedy Hour and later a solo variety series simply called Cher, to enormous ratings. Then she pivoted again into film. In the early 1980s she appeared opposite Meryl Streep in Mike Nichols’ Silkwood, earning her first Academy Award nomination. Her performance as the mother of a disfigured boy in Peter Bogdanovich’s Mask won her Best Actress at the Cannes Film Festival in 1985. Her portrayal of Loretta Castorini in Norman Jewison’s Moonstruck won her the Academy Award for Best Actress in 1988, the same night she wore an outfit to the ceremony that became more discussed than some of the films nominated.

Rock radio had largely ignored her until 1989, when the album Heart of Stone and its single If I Could Turn Back Time — shot in a video aboard a Navy warship that MTV briefly banned — introduced her to an entirely new generation of listeners who had not heard the name as anything other than their parents’ punchline. A decade later, the 1998 album Believe did the same thing again. Its title track deployed pitch-correction software in a way no major pop record had before, creating a mechanical vocal warble that sounded like the machine breathing. Critics called it a gimmick. The song spent four weeks at number one on the Billboard Hot 100, topped charts in twenty-three countries, and generated what producers began calling the “Cher effect” — a technique that went on to define the sound of popular music for the following two decades. Cher invented something, was patronized for it, and watched the rest of the industry quietly adopt it.

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The pattern of dismissal then absorption runs through the whole arc. When the 2002–2005 Living Proof: The Farewell Tour grossed over $192 million, it was reported partly as a curiosity — as though the financial fact required explanation. The tour was presented in the press as a victory lap rather than what it structurally was: proof that her audience was real, large, and had been consistently underestimated. The farewell in the tour’s name proved aspirational rather than factual. She returned, repeatedly, because the market for what she does is not a museum audience.

In 2026, the year she turned eighty, Cher attended the Met Gala in a custom Burberry look that cited her own past, accepted the Grammy Lifetime Achievement Award with a speech that landed more like advice than nostalgia, and completed Cher: The Memoir, Part Two, due for publication in November. The first volume, released in November 2024, debuted at number one on the New York Times bestseller list. Warner Records scheduled The Farewell Tour live album for release on vinyl and streaming in September 2026. Cher spoke publicly about recording new material — about making pop that feels like the present rather than a retrospective. She has said this before. She has also, repeatedly, meant it.

What the Lifetime Achievement Award cannot quite contain is the chronology it is supposed to summarize. Seven decades of number-one singles — the only artist in history to achieve that across seven consecutive decades, with 2023’s DJ Play a Christmas Song completing the set — is a statistical oddity that tells you something about persistence, but not enough about what it costs or what it requires. The next chapter of Cher’s memoir and, presumably, of Cher’s career remain unreleased.

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