Earworm of the Day: Throwing Muses - Manic Depression

Earworm of the Day: Throwing Muses - Dizzy

My cable system used to have a channel called "The Box." If you grew up in the 90s, you probably remember it. It was sort of like a primitive YouTube in that you could watch videos on demand (for a price -- you had to call in an "request" your song, and maybe it would get played during someone's actual waking hours). Most of it was pretty standard pop and hip-hop, albeit hip-hop when MTV played little of it that wasn't "radio-friendly." (I'm pretty sure The Box is where I first heard Public Enemy, Geto Boys, and NWA.) It also had a paltry selection of "indie" rock before that was really a thing outside 120 Minutes. This was one of the songs that made it into their regular rotation. Maybe not the Muses at their best, but it was my introduction to the band.

Five singers who subvert the "prettiness imperative"

I've been reconnecting with the music of my misspent youth. And as someone whose musical musical diet relied on healthy servings of punk and indie rock, that means lots of white boys and guitars. Of all the genres and sub-genres of popular music, rock and all its permutations has been the least able to achieve some sort of parity, and, not so surprisingly, still maintains a sense of credibility among critics, It's plainly obvious whose music is considered art, while whose is considered commerce.

This week it's been Wilco's Yankee Hotel Foxtrot I've had on repeat. I've long been a fan of Wilco -- Jeff Tweedy is from just outside my city, so he's always had that "hometown hero" appeal, even though he rarely plays and lives in the windy city now. At just over a decade old, it may not be cool anymore, and singing its praises now more than marks me as an aging rock fan, but YHF is one of the most intriguing records to come out of the 00s. and I've been paying a lot of attention to Tweedy's voice. While I've never really been a fan of his singing, which stylistically wavers from a Dylan-inspired twang to a hoarse Jerry Garcia, his broken rasp fits perfectly with the music. I wondered, what would happen if a female artist sang that way?

I keep going back to this Tiger Beatdown piece from a few years ago, but it flawlessly illustrates the "prettiness imperative" that female artists face. To make good music, one must be willing to takes risks -- to sound "ugly," but not at the cost of the inherent sexiness that sells records. 

"Because for women, prettiness reigns. Being pretty, sexy, fuckable, is of paramount importance. This extends not only to appearance but to action. Which is where rock ‘n roll comes in. Because in order to make good rock music, you have to be able to do things that are not pretty. Pretty is not interesting, pretty is not groundbreaking (unless it’s juxtaposed with things that are not pretty), pretty is boring. And pretty is the thing that our culture enforces on women with a vengeance. The prettiness problem excludes women from rock ‘n roll in a three-phase process."

Earlier this year I wrote about Merrill Garbus, whose album whokill was topping every critic's best-of for 2011. While she garnered tons of critical acclaim, some pop culture pundits were flummoxed, notably Chuck Klosterman. Her vocals are noticeably un-pretty by conventional standards. Granted there have been, and are, many artists who don't rely on sex appeal, but their voices still fell into what's considered acceptable for a "girl singer." I tried to come up with a few more examples of female singers who aren't afraid to make an "ugly" sound.

Rewind: Throwing Muses - S/T

I just finished reading Kristin Hersh's new book, Rat Girl. It's a pretty interesting look into not only her life in the Muses early days, but her creative process. (She's synesthetic: seeing colors in sound.)

I wanted to go back to the Muses first, their self-titled album, but it's unavailable as a single record right now. The two-disc set, In a Doghouse, contains both that album, and the EP Chains Changed. It was one of the first albums I had a visceral reaction to. It scared me, and I put it away for a long time after that first encounter. It was a lot of emotion to take it all at once -- almost too raw and suffocatingly close. But I learned to see the beauty in that.

Lost and Found (Album): Throwing Muses - S/T

I almost didn’t include the first Throwing Muses album in this series. Out of all the albums I've written about so far, it's the one I've listened to the least. But that does nothing to lessen its impact. This record fucking scared the shit out of me when I first heard it. And I loved every minute of it.

Without getting into why it's a such a rare feat for a woman to make an ugly sound (the pretty girl/pretty voice trope is well-documented, I don't think anyone needs a primer), Kristin Hersh's voice is a thing  to behold: an unapologetic screeching, visceral growl. She's also an uncommon songwriter, willing to wade through the muck of simply being female and growing up in a culture that devalues that.

Throwing Muses' songs are incredibly complex --I mean, musically complex --  something that's gotten lost along the way. Historically, critics have over-focused on her lyrics, and, regrettably, her bipolar disorder. I've read too many reviews and interviews which seem to focus solely on her disease as the inspiration for her music -- or the strangeness of it. And it's terribly unfair. In an interview with Venus way back in 2003, of the way the media has promoted her music Hersh says:

"... I can't be angry about it because press is press, like they say, and I appreciate the job that a music journalist does. It's very difficult and you need an angle beyond 'And this person made another record.' But I was disappointed in that particular angle because people had implied that music was made by crazy people before, and I had always said, 'No, this is what would come out of your sister or your wife or your friend. It's only strange to your ears because you've been raised on Top 40.'"

Truth: Hersh is still out there making music, though the Muses have been all but written out of the indie canon. (Indie rock is quite the boys' club -- why, you haven't noticed?)