The paradox of being a "girl band"
Is it really all bad to be defined by gender?
“We were considered a female band before we became merely a band. I think Sleater-Kinney wanted the privilege of starting from neutral ground, not being perceived deficit or a linguistic limitation.”
Carrie Brownstein, Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl
Riot Grrrlies, welcome back! Today’s newsletter centers around the paradox of being classified as a “girl band.”
Basically, I’ll be arguing with myself over whether it’s wholly “bad” or “good” to be considered a totem of “female punk” or, more generally, “girl music.”
I’ll start with the bad: you know the phrase “good for a girl.” It’s not a compliment. It assumes that women could never compete with men, and thus, must be held to different markers of success. It’s misogynistic. It’s patronizing. It’s the rhetoric that Riot Grrrl erupted as a response to.
Early members of the scene (like Carrie Brownstein, quoted above and member of Excuse 17 and Sleater-Kinney) spoke out against this fundamental separation from their male counterparts. Riot Grrrls didn’t want to be some new genre of “female punk.” They wanted to create space for themselves in mainstream (read: male) punk spaces. They didn’t want their womanhood valued above their music.
It’s a noble yet lofty goal that still hasn’t been reached. Sexism, am I right?! In the same memoir (sorry, I’m beating this book to death I guess. This will not be the last reference to it, so buckle up.), Brownstein recounts instances when journalists wrote about Sleater-Kinney. Most reviews were positive — some even written by women — but they all fell into the trope of centering the conversation around the members’ gender.
“Never does Sleater-Kinney sound forced, angry or sweet — the three words one most associated with all-women rock bands.” (Metroactive, 1999)
“Sleater-Kinney aren’t some overrated one-trick indie artifact to be filed between Bikini Kill and Bratmobile — and proof to the boys that they’re more than just three hot chicks in low-rider chords.” (City Pages, 2000)
This palaver is rooted in misogyny, internal or external. It’s rooted in the belief that the label of “girl band” held more weight than the music that “girl band” produced. Representation matters, yes, but often the people who are revered as groundbreakers and role models didn’t ask to fill that role.
Now, here’s my argument for the benefits of being classified as a “girl band.”
For girls, especially those younger than the college-age women dominating the Riot Grrrl scene, seeing a “girl band” come up the way early Riot Grrrl bands did — without help from men or regard to capitalist definitions of success — meant something. (Here’s the last reference, I promise.) In her memoir, Brownstein examines the relationship between artists and fans. Before she started her first punk band, she idolized members of early Riot Grrrl groups, having never seen women commanding the stage and creating space as they did.
On a personal note, I find myself drawn to female musicians of any genre. Like it or not (and I don’t, really), patriarchy sorts us into boxes based on gender, meaning those of the same identity likely share similarities enforced upon us societally.
USC’s Annenberg Inclusion Initiative publishes a yearly report in conjunction with Spotify to analyze the demographics in the current music industry. The most recent report found only 22.5% of the modern music industry comprises female musicians, songwriters, and producers.
Because of this continued inequality, there’s something special about music made by people who “get it.” And this doesn’t apply to gender alone; any demographic marker produces a sect of people you’re likely to find some sort of commonality with.
So there you have it, a full email of me bickering with myself.
What do you think? Does the pro of offering positive representation to an oft-overlooked population outweigh the con of having your worth defined by your gender first and foremost?
I don’t know. But, I’ll leave you with an album recommendation. Because I spoke so heavily about Carrie Brownstein in this installation, it only feels right to recommend my personal favorite Sleater-Kinney album, “Dig Me Out.”
This 1997 album falls into one of my favorite subgenres of music: the queer breakup album. You can hear the emotion and pain in Corin Tucker’s voice and the gritty, overlapping guitars really sells the chaotic sadness of the end of a relationship. Notable tracks for me are “Heart Factory,” “Buy Her Candy,” and the titular “Dig Me Out.” If you’re going to take just one of my album recommendations, please let it be this one.
That’s all for now. Take care but take no shit, Riot Grrrlies.