Grrl Powered Cock Rock!!

I took this Anthropology class which discussed the implications that art has on globalization and how art has and is an expression of an individual's culture from their own viewpoint. Basically, the whole issue of globalization is seen as a negative, however through the medium of art, which is constantly crossing international boundaries, there is a positive take on globalization. There is a crossing over of genres and new ideas being added to old sounds. Exciting stuff really. This blog however is not about that. No, this blog in fact is about feminism and rock music. One of the girls in my class gave a presentation where she exposed the class to, as she deemed them, "girl cover bands of cock rock bands." I know what you are thinking; "some chicks out there are doing their own version of Ratt, Poison, WASP, etc." See, when I hear "cock rock" that's what I think of. Overly masculine, horrible 80's power metal bands. Perhaps I'm mistaken in that definition. If I am, please correct me.

The cover bands she featured were "Lez Zeppelin," "AcDshe," "Kisses (female Kiss cover band)," and "Iron Maidens." For the most part, these bands sound like cover bands. They play the songs decently well, don't sound terribly original, and overall have bad vocals. Still the implication that these bands are taking what is perceived as a hyper masculinized form of rock music and making it their own is an indication of female empowerment (mind you, this was still the presenters assertion). I would like to disagree with this.

First off, I will admit that it isn't a huge stretch to reach the conclusion she made. However, my first problem is that these bands are not doing anything new. A cover band is meant as one thing; to pay tribute to a band that you enjoy to listen to. To regurgitate someone else's artistic accomplishments and then say that what's being done is new and empowering, is recursive. There is little ground made by a group of women covering "Number of the Beast" in a smoke filled bar in Southern California. Sure the idea is neat, and the whole "taking back the phallic symbol" of the guitar does have some implications, but really it's not going to advance the state of equality and feminism. These tribute bands come across as more of a shtick than anything else and I think most people would view it as such.

Second, the idea of simply doing something that's been done before lends little credibility to someone as an artist. These women could very well try and create music of their own, something that allows them to say what's on their minds. This in and of itself could be a source of motivation and empowerment for younger women who see these original female groups. The idea of, "I want to do what she's doing." The young woman would then go home, learn an instrument, and start the process of creating something new. With the right mindset, the lyrics and the music could be a vessel for change, much as rock music has been in it's short history. A cover band does little to nothing to advance these goals.

Third, focusing on these types of bands as the source of empowerment does not give credit to the real force of change going on in the metal community; female fronted metal bands. If you are even remotely familiar with the heavy weights of the metal scene at the moment, you know that Arch Enemy are huge. Arch Enemy are fronted by none other than Angela Gossow. Otep (not Opeth) are also a female fronted metal band who have gained a fair amount of popularity. Both of these bands feature aggressive vocals (of the "cookie monster" variety), places that have been dominated exclusively by males. The fact is, these women (along with many others) have taken the most unintelligible, aggressive and what would typically be thought of as "masculine" vocals and done them extremely well. Sometimes better than most guys. If you want to talk about women taking over something that has been seen as masculine and domineering, talk about this. Not only are these women creating something of their own, but they are also placing themselves in the position of authority (the singer) and doing it in a hyper masculine form (death metal style vocals).

There is still a breach though. There are very few female guitarists out there. Very few female drummers. There seem to be a disproportionate number of female bassists though. Also, while Gossow and Otep have talked about empowering young women by being on stage, the majority of the metal fan is still male and still only sees "the hot singer." While this in itself is nothing new to rock (there has always been the "hot singer" in rock, male or female) there are still more "hot" sentiments towards the women. This is a chasm that the rock/metal community may never pass.

I've only touched on the surface of a very complex issue here. Mostly, it's me reacting and raving. However, I think I've got something here. I would suggest going and looking up some female fronted metal bands. There are some good ones out there. I'll even give you a short list too. Look at me, all nice and shit. :P

Arch Enemy
Otep
Straight Line Stich
In This Moment
Nightwhish
Within Temptation

And there are more. Those are simply the ones I can pull off the top of my head.

Mayday! Mayday!

Alright, so my month long poetry-a-thon Didn't pan out as planned. However, I'm still going to try something here. First off, many of you know that I am a vegetarian. Well, I've decided for the month of May that I am going to attempt to go full fledged Vegan. Mostly, I'm doing it to try and get myself out of some bad eating and spending habits. So, it's kind of like a fast. Starting tomorrow and up until the 31st I will not consume a single animal byproduct. No cheese, no milk, no ice cream, no chocolate... I must be crazy. :P I do however think this will be a good thing for me though, get me back to eating better and not spending my money on Taco Bell or Qudoba.

With this though, I would like to extend an invitation for anyone who is interested to go vegan (or at least vegetarian) with me. If you've ever wondered what it would be like to go veg, or felt a pull to do it recently, this could be your place to start. Hey, I freakin' started because of Lent, so it's not that strange.

I'll be using this blog as a kind of weekly, maybe semi-daily journal to record my progress, my feelings, and other such reality-TV esque variables. So, come and watch me give up that last bastion of dietary normalcy! It'll be a fun ride!

Sad Day...


Goodbye... it's been fun...


Here! Fun link!

You know, just in case you need a reason to go veg. :D

Fearful Women

Arms and the girl I sing - O rare
arms that are braceleted and white and bare

arms that were lovely Helen's, in whose name
Greek slaughtered Trojan. Helen was to blame.

Scape-nanny call her; wars for turf
and profit don't sound glamorous enough.

Mythologize your women! None escape.
Europe was named from an act of bestial rape:

Eponymous girl on bull-back, he intent
on scattering sperm across a continent.

Old Zeus refused to take the rap.
It's not his name in big print on the map.

But let's go back to the beginning
when sinners didn't know that they were sinning.

He, one rib short: she lived to rue it
when Adam said to God, "She made me do it."

Eve learned that learning was a dangerous thing
for her: no end of trouble would it bring.

An educated woman is a danger.
Lock up your mate! Keep a submissive stranger

like Darby's Joan, content with church and Kinder,
not like that sainted Joan, burnt to a cinder.

Whether we wield a scepter or a mop
It's clear you fear that we may get on top.

And if we do -I say it without animus-
It's not from you we learned to be magnanimous.

-Carolyn Kizer

February in Sydney

Dexter Gordon’s tenor sax
Plays “April in Paris”
Inside my head all the way back
On the bus from Double Bay.
Round Midnight, the 50s.
Cool cobblestone streets
Resound footsteps of Bebop
Musicians with whiskey-laced voices
From a boundless dream in French.
Bud, Prez, Webster and The Hawk,
Their names run together riffs.
Painful gods jive talk through
Bloodstained reds and shiny brass
Where music is an anesthetic.
Unreadable faces from the human void
Float like torn pages across the bus
Windows. An old anger drips into my throat,
& I try thinking something good,
Letting the precious bad
Settle to the salty bottom.
Another scene keeps repeating itself;
I emerge from the dark theatre,
Passing a woman who grabs her red purse
& hugs it to her like a heart attack.
Tremolo. Dexter comes back to rest
Behind my eyelids. A lonliness
Lingers like a silver needle
Under my black skin,
As I try to feel how it is
To scream for help through a horn.

-Dexter Gordon

A plethora of poetry!

Since I forgot to post the past few days, you all get four poems today! Neat huh?

My Husband Is a Sniper

And the fat kid likes cake.
We live in the sewer stewing over
melted flesh and our right
to pursue death.

My husband is a sniper
and he waits in the trees
for me to come home
before he fires.

Something went wrong in the desert
and he doesn’t know
whether he pulled the trigger
or not.

And all the men
slip into their corners
to be alive in nightmares
and not remember.

Pike felt blood on his hands
in the right light.
-Amy Solomon-Minarchi


My Sister, Who Died Young, Takes Up The Task

A basket of apples brown in our kitchen,
their warm scent is the scent of ripening,

and my sister, entering the room quietly,
takes a seat at the table, takes up the task

of peeling slowly away the blemished skins,
even half-rotten ones are salvaged carefully.

She makes sure to carve out the mealy flesh.
For this, I am grateful. I explain, this elegy

would love to save everything. She smiles at me,
and before long, the empty bowl she uses fills,

domed with thin slices she brushes into
the mouth of a steaming pot on the stove.

What can I do? I ask finally. Nothing,
she says, let me finish this one thing alone.
-Jon Pineda

Same Old

The same old story is different with each
re-telling. What did mother say? One
of the sisters asserts her truth to the other's
incredulity--someone has to be right.
Was the forest dark or light? Chiaroscuro
doesn't count. It's not logic but will,
the will to win. The trail in Mohican Park
leads to Lyons' Cave, deep and murky
with its rocky brow above the spring
you can drink from, or could. And the dark rot
of leaves under the oaks sprouts morels
you can fry, spongy smoke on the tongue.

You can't make people get along.
Are the sisters speaking? One sulks
outside. The other begins again,
the audience all her own. Branches
break their fall, and the few grasses
are shriveled. Why enter the forest at all?
The arrowheads have been harvested,
and all the bones filed into needles.
-Mary Crow; Colorado Poet Laureate


What It Was Like Those Days

Since, as a child, I was happy
as a child, I thought every one
was happy, including the grimy man
who lived at the city dump in a shack
decorated with hubcaps, broken chairs
by the door cheerfully facing out to a waste,
those days, of rubble smoking and oily dirt,
although it was a strange kind of happiness
I knew I wouldn’t ever know.
Even the dead, I thought then,
grinning as I biked around town,
were happy in their own way.
That’s what it was like.
-Robert King
(by permission Northwest Review)

Believing in Iron

The hills my brothers & I created Never balanced, & it took years To discover how the world worked. We could look at a tree of blackbirds & tell you how many were there, But with the scrap dealer Our math was always off. Weeks of lifting & grunting Never added up to much, But we couldn't stop Believing in iron. Abandoned trucks & cars Were held to the ground By thick, nostalgic fingers of vines Strong as a dozen sharecroppers. We'd return with our wheelbarrow Groaning under a new load, Yet tiger lilies lived better In their languid, August domain. Among paper & Coke bottles Foundry smoke erased sunsets, & we couldn't believe iron Left men bent so close to the earth As if the ore under their breath Weighed down the gray sky. Sometimes I dreamt how our hills Washed into a sea of metal, How it all became an anchor For a warship or bomber Out over trees with blooms Too red to look at. -Yusef Komunyakaa

National Poetry Month

Happy National Poetry month everyone! Woot! In honor of this month, I will be posting a new poem everyday throughout April. It will either be a poem of my own, or a poem by someone else. So, without further adieu, here's a poem!

Ode to a Coffee Bean
by Daniel J. Adkins

The smells of sunrise fly into my head
The black, earthy smell of liquid joy
Rouse me from the sleep of engulfing beds
That first sip is as to a child on Christmas,
Getting her favorite toy.
The dark, smooth coating given to the mug
Opens a portal into the secret word
Where one bean from a stately tree hung,
Picked, looked at with a careful eye, in fingers twirled
Chosen to be my morning comfort
From halfway across the globe.
Now you sit, among compatriots ground, covered
With scalding liquid to extract your essence
For me to ingest, to share, to connect as lover
To see the conjoined life we lead, you needing me
To unlock your potential, me needing you to unlock my mind.