Alyx Vesey

Marnie Stern

brittany — Tue, 05 Oct 2010 08:00:00 +0000

The buzzword on Marnie Stern's self-titled third album seems to be "introspective." Frankly, this descriptor hardly seems indicative of a sea change if we've been paying attention to her lyrics.

Sure, In Advance of the Broken Arm and her breakthrough sophomore effort, This Is It And I Am It and You Are It and So Is That and He Is It and She Is It and It Is It and That Is That, pack a mean sonic wallop. But her second album could have been retitled The Tao of Marnie. It was especially festooned with at-times profound statements and affirmations about the creative process and the human condition. Just because she pitched her nasal voice in a giddy upper register and her fingers were flying across the frets of her electric guitar didn't mean she wasn't doing some soul searching. Even if she didn't announce what the songs were about didn't mean she wasn't in them.

What I think the main difference is between her prior work and the new album is less reliance on creating a sense of immediacy. Previously, her music foregrounded indelible guitar riffs played loud and often executed with superhuman speed. The sound here is more meditative, with less emphasis placed on hooks instead of hypnotic passages that build as they repeat or are broken up by unexpected melody lines. The lyrics, though still introspective, are more clearly applicable to Stern's personal experiences. Much of this is attributed to the opening track. "For Ash" is a song dedicated to an ex-boyfriend who committed suicide and the process of writing it helped Stern out of a creative dead end.

This sense of loss, remembrance, and reflection informs much of the album's content, shifting Stern's ability to channel musical catharsis through her guitar playing. This is evident on songs like "Transparency is the New Mystery," "Risky Biz," "Gimme," "Cinco de Mayo," and especially the haunting closer "The Things You Notice." While Stern and drummer Zach Hill's playing is no less muscular, it possesses the control to vary tempo or decelerate while maintaining buoyancy and ramping up suspense.

But Stern's characteristic playfulness and prowess over a face-melting riff equally defines the album which bears her name. Songs like "Nothing Left," "Building a Body," "Her Confidence," and the pointedly titled "Female Guitar Players are the New Black" could easily slide in to the tracklists of her earlier releases.

However, that they weave seamlessly into this album suggests Stern's steady artistic progression. It also suggests that inward thought can yield some mighty external results. This album may not capture your full attention on first listen, but I'm confident it contains enough interesting ideas to invite many returns. As Stern continues to hone in and balance introspection with formidable instrumental performance, we may get the pleasure of discovering that they aren't disparate concepts. Here, they seem to be in service of one another.

Written by: Alyx Vesey, October 5th 2010

Girls to the Front: The True Story of the Riot Grrrl Revolution

admin — Tue, 28 Sep 2010 02:00:00 +0000

By Sara Marcus

Harper Perennial

First, an admission: like several feminist friends in my age group, riot grrrl didn’t make a profound impact of me until college. I was ten in 1993, the year Sara Marcus claims as pivotal for the movement in her book Girls to the Front. I was moving away from Mariah Carey and getting into the Pet Shop Boys. Riot grrrl was first on my radar through mainstream distortion in the pages of Spin and in the Spice Girls’ defanged “girl power” message. Marcus’s book is a great reintroduction and a valuable entry point for folks who have only a cursory knowledge of riot grrrl.

I especially appreciate that, despite the book’s monolithic title, Marcus incorporates the shared experiences of many girl participants. Riot grrrl tends to be defined by its adult-aged bands, with Bikini Kill and Bratmobile representing the movement. But many teenage girls were inspired by these bands. Some formed ‘zines and bands of their own, like Girl Friend founder Christina Woolner and Heavens to Betsy’s Tracy Sawyer and Corin Tucker. Not all of their contributions were preserved or recorded, so the book’s intervention is all the more important.

Some of these girls also came from working class or single-parent households or did not attend college. Furthermore, while much is made of the movement’s Pacific Northwest origins and identification with liberal arts colleges like Evergreen, Marcus is quick to refute essentializing class assumptions. Riot grrrl’s class heterogeneity becomes more pronounced when Bikini Kill and Bratmobile relocate in Washington D.C. and contend with the hardcore scene, which was primarily peopled by diplomats’ children.

Marcus challenges the notion that riot grrrl was sustained exclusively by white, middle-class, college-educated women. She also points out the movement’s aspirations toward queer inclusiveness were complicated by the efforts of predominantly straight or bi-curious cisgender females. Previous interpretations of riot grrrl represent it as a celebration of white girls challenging gender politics in a vacuum. Marcus points out how some girls created ‘zines, formed organizations, chaired panels, and created conferences challenging feminism’s inherent white privilege, racism, heteronormativity, and class politics, often causing contention and defensiveness from within.

Thus, I also liked reading that riot grrrl was an imperfect, discursive movement comprised of many conflicting opinions, belief systems, and identities. Despite third wave feminism’s investment in the fragmented female self, so often riot grrrl is depicted as a halcyon period for a then-nascent third wave. While it’s sad to read about in-fighting and rivalries, it’s refreshing to read differing opinions on philosophies and movement imperatives. As someone who’s participated in collective and politically-minded non-profit organizations, it seems a more honest representation.

Furthermore, the presence of male oppression from within informs riot grrrl in interesting ways. Riot grrrl formed in response to the right wing’s attack on feminism’s political gains as well as the cultural silencing of incest, sexual abuse, intimate partner violence, poor body image, and low self-esteem. It also opposed punk and hardcore’s exclusionary, homophobic, and misogynistic tendencies, best symbolized by the mosh pit, and implemented “girls in front” or “girls only” policies at shows. So it was really interesting to read about how bands like Fugazi aligned with riot grrrl, but were less willing to cede control over their audience.

In 1992, Fugazi and Bikini Kill played a Supreme Court protest. Frontman Ian MacKaye bristled at the idea of sharing the bill out of concern that the event would be misunderstood as a concert. He was also unable to reign in the aggressive inclinations of his predominantly white male fan base, and blamed the women in the audience who defended their space in the pit.

Marcus does something valuable with Girls to the Front. In representing riot grrrl’s imperfections and contradictions, as well as its relevance, she argues at once for its historical significance while challenging how we understand it. Make sure to check it out. Maybe it’ll convince you form a band with your best girlfriend and kick off a new revolution.

Cross posted from Feminist Music Geek

Written by: Alyx Vesey, September 27th 2010

Radical Act

mandy — Fri, 17 Sep 2010 18:00:00 +0000

Directed by Tex Clark

Million Movies a Minute

Tex Clark made the documentary Radical Act in 1995. It was originally intended as a snapshot of the rise of cisgender female involvement in indie rock following riot grrrl's and queercore's impact, particularly amongst lesbians and feminist women. After over a decade, Million Movies a Minute is officially releasing it this month.

Dedicated to slain Gits' front woman Mia Zapata and opening with Tribe 8's "Manipulate," which mocks at the Utopian aphorisms of 70s-era lesbian separatist women's music, Radical Act serves as a time capsule for the role women played in underground music during the mid-90s. Despite Million Movies founder Erin Donovan's claim that the documentary captures how much has changed within the fifteen-year interval, it's also a timely meditation on how female musicians' relationships to the recording industry are informed by feminist politics. In under forty-five minutes, Radical Act succinctly dialogues varying experiences and opinions of musicians like Gretchen Phillips, Vicky Starr, Kay Turner, Kim Colletta, Toshi Reagon (the lone woman of color featured), and Meg Hentges across topics like initial motivations, band formation, gender performance, sexual politics, sexist assumptions about female musicians, and the degrees to which women's art can make a cultural impact.

Upon first viewing, the documentary suffers a few obvious handicaps. For one, music consumption changed considerably in the wake of digital intervention and the collapse of the recording industry. Also, independent music already fraternized with major labels at this point, making above- and below-ground distinctions almost impossible to parse in the coming decade. In terms of exposition, Clark strings together a series of talking head segments that sacrifice explication. As a result, the documentary makes no effort to contextualize the subjects' contributions to their respective scenes or their larger cultural significance. While I imagine this was either the result of budgetary limitations or an attempt against meddling with subjects' words, it proves to be a barrier. Furthermore, apart from Bikini Kill co-founder Kathleen Hanna and Rock She Wrote co-editor Evelyn McDonnell, a number of profiled women only achieved minor commercial success or never rose above cultural obscurity, potentially alienating viewers who never listened to Sincola, Vitapup, Girls in the Nose, or God Is My Co-Pilot.

With a supposed '90s revival in full swing, my hope is that folks believe much of these artists' oeuvre merit discovery or historical revision. This is due, in part, because one interviewee is Sincola drummer Terri Lord, whose professional contributions to Austin's Girls Rock Camp—a branch of the nonprofit organization for which I volunteer—cannot be overstated. Past this, many of the points raised continue to hold relevance.

As riot grrrl's revolutionary aspirations still charge the air, a lot of big ideas are bandied about here. Reagon asserts that the music industry is a capitalist business, and thus dependent on the interrelated nature of racism and patriarchy, which Starr believes could allay a concerted effort from women to form record labels. Hanna discusses her attempts to blur pleasure and politics in an effort to make activism fun. Starr and Phillips debate the impact of queer visibility amongst pop stars like kd lang and Melissa Etheridge, but also advocate personal value in staying underground. I also appreciate the candid comments about what or who drew them to rock music, as well as their defiance toward expectations of what instruments they should play (I don't play bass!), their proficiency as musicians, and the performance styles they adopt.

Radical Act proves itself a purposeful documentary that successfully bridged a cross-section of female artists who speak of their times. I hope with time it unfolds as a dialogue current artists could join in on at any point. I can only imagine what Beth Ditto could contribute to this conversation.

Written by: Alyx Vesey, September 17th 2010

As It Turns Out

admin — Wed, 04 Aug 2010 10:12:00 +0000

By Mel Flannery Trucking Co.

Halogen Records

Melanie Flannery fronts a New York-based jazz ensemble called the Mel Flannery Trucking Co. Backed by bassist Matt Aronoff, drummer Danny Sher, and keyboardist and songwriting collaborator Lee Pardini, Flannery cultivated a sound that bridges pop, cabaret, jazz, and soul. Their latest offering, As It Turns Out, remains consistent with previous releases.

It also has little to recommend itself. While not unpleasant, the album did not capture my imagination. The arrangements are nice, if a bit too staid and preoccupied with conveying boho sophistication. Flannery and Pardini's lyrics tend to reflect on failed romance without tapping into new insights from such a well-documented subject in popular songwriting. Likewise, Flannery's alto is nice, but lacks singularity in tone or phrasing to set her apart from other jazz-inflected musicians who might grace Starbucks compilations.

Regrettably, I heard little variance between songs in As It Turns Out. I had difficulty telling the difference between "Something About You," "Lift Me Up, Tie Me Down," "We're Still Here," and "I Won't Say Goodbye." I do like Pardini and Sher's flourishes on "I Need You Here With Me," and "You Know What To Do." The latter also serves as one of the album's most appealing track, with Flannery cutting loose. I also appreciate the goofy lyrics in bonus track "You Are the Only One For Me." Flannery's biggest moment is "Gone," the album's proper closer, which boasts a lovely vocal performance brimming with emotion.

At times, the group's clean, slightly funky sound provides a jarring contrast with a song's content. This is most evident in "Running," a groovy slow jam about domestic violence. I appreciate Flannery and Pardini's efforts to represent a very real social problem from a survivor's perspective. This extends toward the album's liner notes, which provide information on the Human Rights Campaign and the National Domestic Violence Hotline. I don't think the song needs a foreboding sound to reflect the content. I just feel strange about the song having such a swing to it.

The group's talent is evident. I just wish I had more of a personal stake in the results.

Written by: Alyx Vesey, August 4th 2010

Oompa!

admin — Sun, 13 Jun 2010 08:00:00 +0000

By Sabrina Chap

Ert Records

A few weeks back, Sabrina Chap (born Chapadjiev) contacted me to see if I wanted to review her new album, Oompa! Never one to turn down a free meal from female musicians, I obliged and she mailed me a copy (with a handwritten letter, no less — thanks, Sabrina!). While the item was in transit, Kjerstin Johnson at Bitch reviewed it for B-Sides.

Having not heard Chap before, the article gave me a good idea of what I’d be listening to. The cabaret sensibility of “Never Been a Bad Girl” suggested The Dresden Dolls (though not Evelyn Evelyn’s super-problematic crip drag) on first listen, as well as Inara George and Jolie Holland in louder moments. The emphasis on classical and ragtime instrumentation also recalled Squirrel Nut Zippers’ dedication to jump blues, jazz, polka, and swing. Both the Zippers and beloved Austin mainstay White Ghost Shivers have cultivated antiquated aural aesthetics to undermine nostalgia with biting observations, sly asides, and at times bawdy lyrics about the realities of modern life. Finally, Chap also seems to share similar feminist camp sensibilities with fellow New York-based retro revisionists Ménage à Twang. I haven’t heard Chap on KOOP’s “What’s a Girl to Do” program, but I think she’d be a perfect fit.

I don’t offer these artists up to slight Chap as derivative, but rather to put her in a larger context of artists. I believe Chap’s talents stand up on their own. I’m also interested in pursuing her written work. She’s penned some plays and edited a zine called Cliterature. She also edited Live Through This, an anthology about women who use art to work through self-destructive tendencies. The book contains interviews from Nan Goldin, bell hooks, Inga Muscio, Kate Bornstein, Eileen Myles, and Annie Sprinkle. That’s a helluva dinner party.

Most of Oompa! charmed me. The songwriting is sharp, the melodies are catchy, and Chap’s band possesses the sort of musical precision that allows it to really swing. I especially liked the self-effacing opening track “Blueprint for Destruction,” idyllic “Carolina,” reflective “Illinois,” spunky “Never Been a Bad Girl,” and the uncertain but defiantly optimistic “Boat Song,” which closes the album. “Failed Waitress/Failed Astronaut” may rank as my favorite track, as it turns the all-too-relateable subject matter of being college educated yet maligned by limited career prospects into a fun little jig. The slinky “Idiom,” which documents a clandestine hook-up with a sexy female stranger, is a close second.

Unfortunately, there are two songs on Oompa! that I can do without. “Little White House” brings to mind the nuclear family idyll espoused in Little Shop of Horrors' “Somewhere That’s Green,” which feminist-minded pop stars like Paula Cole critiqued in “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?” I’m of the mind that Chap is doing similar work here, as the minor key and stately pace suggest compromised expectations. However, much like I felt with “Cowboys,” it’s hard for me to not hear this song as being condescending to its subject.

I also cringe when I hear “Ze Paris Song,” a song about a tourist trying to fit in with her surroundings while eating baguettes and brie as she reflects on the tragic men who love her and eschews the Eiffel Tower. That Chap delivers it in a put-on accent doesn’t help matters. Much like “House,” I believe Chap is being critical here. The results just rub me the wrong way.

Yet despite those minor grievances, I’d still recommend Oompa! Give it a spin on the ol’ Victrola.

Written by: Alyx Vesey, June 13th 2010