THERE ARE NO MALE GROUPIES: ON WRITING
I'M A MAN
Published in The Guardian, May 2000
The sound men most want to hear, says the Marquis de Sade,
is a woman's cry when you're inside her. It tells the world
you have this shattering power to make her feel. When Duke
Ellington was twelve, he and his mates took girls to the
reservoir-banks, in hearing distance of each other, to see "who
did the greater job as a man". The marker was girl noise. "If
the girl's reaction was loud, he was a great fucker because
the chick was hollering 'Baby I'm coming', all that shit." Competition
was hot: "some cats pinched the chicks to make them
holler. One slipped his chick quarters."
For centuries, men turned that cry into music
by writing love-songs women sang. Across the board - pop, rock,
opera,
blues, folk,
from "ma man don't love me and he treats me oh so mean" to
Mozart's Countess in Figaro lamenting her husband's faithlessness
- men have written, produced, and directed songs that defined
the female voice as vulnerable. Hurt by a man, longing for
him. Abandoned. "The problem with operas", the Glyndebourne
director Graham Vick told me, "is they're written by men
full of notions that women can't live without them." Bessie
Smith, Billie Holiday and Piaff did write songs, but till the
Seventies (give or take trailblazers like Janis Joplin), women
mostly sang men's songs, and sounded how men wanted. The difference
between women's lovesong and men's was that women's was by
the people it was about. Carly Simon took off that tradition
in "You're So Vain" (1972).
But the trouble about singing "Bet you think
this song is about you, don't you?", is - he's right.
That was what I wanted to write a book about - what effect
it might have
on women making music now. Most women, singers or listeners,
have thousands of songs in their heads written by men, which
seem to express women's feelings. Are there any voicing men's
feelings, written by women? And did that imbalance matter?
I interviewed singer, composers, directors. I came up against
the singer's answer - that your job feeling a song's feelings
untiol they are your own. "Bessie Smith takes a lyric
and makes it like she wrote it," said Marianne Faithfull.
I asked the opera singer Josephine Barstow if, when singing
a woman created by a male composer like Violetta in Verdi's
Traviata, you're aware of serving a man's idea of a woman's
feeling? "I couldn't look at it that way," she
said. "It's
not my job. If I think, 'I'm expressing Verdi's desire, not
Violetta's,' it's not going to work. I have to express Violetta's
feeling, try and work out where I think she's at." Singers
can't affored to distance themselves from the song. "It
never bothered me," said Marianne, "that songs
were written from a man's point of view. I don't believe
gender's
important in a song."
But if women singers and listeners were so used
to identifying with men's ideas of how they felt, how could
they know how
their own feelings "really" sound? Wouldn't their
songs follow suit and highlight the vulnerable, hurt voice
men had attributed to women for centuries? Well - yes, until
the Seventies, most women in pop did work, more or less,
with manmade ideas of how women sound.
What changed everything was punk. Overnight, lyric
content was transformed. You got songs about cigarettes, murderers,
traffic-lights, wanking, impotence. In The Slits' song "Ping
Pong Affair", the singer ditched evenings with her boyfriend
for nights of smoking and masturbating. The one thing you
could not write was a love song. When punk blew every stereotype
to bits, ideas of voice changed too. "Oh bondage up
yours," screeched
Poly Styrene, whose name challenged the artificiality of
how women look and sound. "I am a cliché".
She and Siouxsie Sioux had a lasting effect. "Siouxsie
made me feel things were possible," Shirley Manson of
Garbage told me. Chrissie Hynde was another role model for
her; and
for Kristin Hersch, whose album Hips and Makers (1994) had
lines like "No you don't put me in that box".
The punk ethos also brought technical changes. Up to the
Eighties, most women guitarists used a folk stroke, down-up.
Rock style
is everything on a down stroke, which makes the music more
precise, urgent, aggressive. After punk, women began to switch.
Early Elastica played folk-stroke, loose and floppy. When
they used a rock right hand, the music sounded different.
More punk:
sharper edge, sharper beat. But even so, women were up against
something much bigger than guitar technique: and I had to
implications of all that.
Above all, there was that rhythm thing. Beat is
the heart of rock and roll and is also - at first I thought
this was
just
coincidental, at first - the core of male sexuality. "Male
ecstasy in performance starts here", said Patti Smith
in 1978, jerking at an imaginary cock. "Building and
building till the big spurt at the end." Rock 'n' roll,
and British Sixties rock, was first made by men - and (I
began belatedly
to realize it was created to express, basically, being a
man. The Stones took their name from Muddy Waters: "I'm
a man, I'm a rolling stone". Janis Joplin was all too
aware of being in a totally male game. The astonishing big
new
thing
about rock 'n' roll in the Fifties, and the rock's birth
in the Sixties, was the blatant staging of male sexuality.
To understand what post-punk women were up against.
I had to take apart the roots of that, see how that worked.
The
male
self-myths that seem to be coded into the chords and style:
the dreams of being a hero, violence, omnipotent, and dark.
And so a book about women in rock became a book about the
main chalenge they face: the malemess of their medium.
Even today,
though women's rock currently outsells men's, rock is still
(I was told by a man who should know, high in a recording
company) a "pretty boysy place". "There's
this huge fuss about women in rock" Shirley Manson
told me, "but
I don't feel anything has changed. The whole industry is
run by men. How can you change an attitude and an atmosphere?
It's
nonsense." Rock's classic sexual politics mean "powerful
sexy men and girls on their knees sucking off the stage-hand
for a glimpse of God", as a Courtney Love fan put
it.
There are no male groupies. "I've never been
approached and l've never met a female star who has," said
Chrissie Hynde. This imbalance gives women's work the edge.
Rock
has always got its energy from challenge. One reason some
of the
best rock around today is by women is they make their response
to rock maleness - including how rock traditionally sees
women - their starting-point. Women like Kristin Hersch,
P.J. Harvey,
Shirley, handle voice, or guitar, or lyrics differently
from pre-punk musicians. Everything stronger: challenge,
not victim
voice. Shirley likes Chrissie Hynde's voice because "it's
vulnerable and strong."
One San Francisco women's
band, Tribe 8, takes all this to extremes. The singer Lynn
Breedlove gets men in the
audience
to suck her clip-on rubber penis. "I whip my dick
out and masturbate, the group are wanking the necks of
their guitars:
we're spoofing men, the narcissistic aspect of rock, how
the focus is on the penis all the time." And then
she slashes it off. Songs like those on Liz Phair's Exile
in Guyville make
a similar same point lyrically: women exist, and make music,
in "Guyville" - a manmade universe.
You can illustrate
the problems of women's lyrical relation to male rock
tradition by how you hold a guitar. Jazz guitarists
hold theirs at chest or waist level, where fingers fall
naturally on the strings. Rock guitarists hold it cock
level. What
should women do? You play best higher, but it looks wrong.
If you
hold it crotch-level, you're imitating men. That's not
what you want: you want your own way of doing things.
As for breasts
- do you go for one squashed, the other hanging over?
Some women modified guitars to fit. But since punk, and especially
since the early Nineties, women have just flung away
the
worry and got on with it - brilliantly. Voice and stroke,
stance
and lyrics. Women rockers are a great example of women
taking male tradition somewhere new. And maybe it's the
first time
ever that women are making a sound to express, not how
men have said they feel and sound, but more like what
they really
feel. |