Have we all seen Kristen Stewart’s new haircut? I for one love it. Some people have been hatin’ on her new ‘do on the Interwebz. And, really, c’mon.
1. Stewart’s playing Joan Jett. During her time in the Runaways. In the mid-1970s. This was what her hair looked like. It’s kinda still what her hair looks like. Further, this is what a lot of girls’ hair looked like in 1975, including other members of the Runaways. I hope Dakota Fanning also got her hair cut to play lead singer Cherie Currie.
The Runaways; from left to right: Joan Jett, Sandy West, Cherie Currie, Vickie Blue, Lita Ford
2. I like Kristen Stewart. She was great in Adventureland and she seems to have a relaxed attitude toward her role as Bella in Twilight — perhaps playing Bella Swan is one for them and playing Joan Jett is one for her.
2A. I also like to think when Stewart was offered the part, she asked “Do I get to cut my hair?”
3. Sure, you could throw a wig on Kristen, but she looks hot. Not hot despite the mullet. Hot with the mullet.
Also, I can’t help but read some queer panic in some folks’ disapproval of the haircut alongside Joan Jett’s queer identity. Take Popcrunch. In addition to including an unflattering photo when they posted the news, they made an effort to contrast Joan Jett’s mullet, which they don’t like, alongside Bella Swan’s damsel mane, which they hope Stewart will return to once the movie wraps.
And while I have some music nerd doubts about the Runaways biopic, I’m heartened because a) few music biopics are about female artists, b) those that exist tend to be about (self-destructive) solo artists and not about bands, c) even fewer tend to be about teenage girls in bands, d) Joan Jett is a feminist dykon, e) Stewart and Fanning are around the same ages as Jett and Currie, and f) the movie marks the screenwriting and directorial debut of Floria Sigismondi, a female music video director who got her start working with Marilyn Manson and shot one of my favorite Christina Aguilera clips.
So, kudos to you, the living legend you’re portraying, and your present company, Kristen. If you wanna keep your mullet after the movie wraps, I support you 110%.
I just really like that Neko Case was on Conan last night. Two of my favorite redheads, one of whom is making a transition from late late night to late night and the other made Middle Cyclone, my favorite album of the year so far. Kinda nice that they were both around last night to nudge each other closer to the mainstream. Anyway, I thought I’d share.
Someday, when I have enough time and energy, I’d love to get involved in roller derby. I like to skate and I need to get over the hump of worrying about being mean and channel my competitive spirit into something feministly athletic. It’s on my to-do list.
Anyway, Kristen sent me this piece about derby, kitsch fashion, and lesbian expression. Logo even made a short documentary, which you can watch here.
One thing I find really interesting about derby is its punk spirit. It’s evident in the costuming, the names people choose (which often subverts popular, sometimes normative female celebrities into something far more gleefully violent, excessive, and grotesque), and its DIY ethic. Once I come up with a name, I’ll be in business.
These aspects of derby, along with its feminist spirit and lesbian bent, are things I hope to see in Drew Barrymore’s directorial debut, Whip It!. Adapted from screenwriter Shauna Cross’s Derby Girl, the movie will focus on a teenage girl, played by Ellen Page, and her participation in Texas Rollergirls.
Recently, I got in a fight with my partner over a minor bit of dialogue from Amy Heckerling’s 1995 movie Clueless. Please don’t question who was right on this. I was a pre-teen girl in 1995. At one point, I could recite the entire thing. I’m sure, if given a cue here and there, I could do it again at 25.
Not suggesting, of course, that if you were a pre-teen girl in 1995, you have to hold Clueless close to your heart. As a matter of fact, I resisted seeing it until it was out on video for almost a year. We had cable at home when the movie came out, and MTV advertised it all the time. I also remember reading Seventeen and other teen magazines, and it ran stuff on it a lot (though I seem to remember Seventeen actually giving a less-than-laudatory review, criticizing its unrealistic use of hyperbolic slang and schoolgirl chic).
Adding to this, when I originally saw promotional stuff for Clueless, I didn’t see me in it. Cher and Dionne were ultra-feminine and super-rich (if also good-intentioned). Several of the popular girls in my seventh grade class would emulate their look and attitude (some, perhaps instinctively, bringing in a bit of Heathers-style bitchiness). I remember this one girl actually tried to give my friend Jerusha, a Pentecostal who had to wear ankle-length dresses and skirts, a makeover because she had “total Tai potential.” Ugh. I just checked out.
BTW, my seventh grade style was Tai pre-makeover. Minus the drugs, of course. One time a girl in P.E. offered to snort Lucas Limon with me and I ran away in fear.
For readers of the blog, perhaps you can guess my entrance into the movie. Yes, you got it. The soundtrack (which, for those who are curious, was released on Capitol — the movie was a Paramount picture). I couldn’t find a lot of scenes online, but for a sense of sound and image, check out this fan-made video, underscored by The Muffs’ cover of Kim Wilde’s “Kids in America,” which opens the movie.
I actually never owned the soundtrack. My friend Brandi had it, so I borrowed it from her. The closest I got was my VHS copy of the movie, which contained the music video for Supergrass’s “Alright.”
Maybe I can snag a copy at Cheapo Discs. Because man oh man, is the soundtrack ever a treasure trove of the era. With plenty of alternative musical artists — Radiohead, The Beastie Boys, Mighty Mighty Bosstones, Coolio, General Public, Smoking Popes — it’s at once a document to a small period just after Cobain left us and virtually anything could get a pass on MTV or mainstream radio (Beck, for example), as well as evidence for just how important a soundtrack is in selling a movie. Remember how Cher doesn’t want Tai to burn the cassette to Coolio’s “Rollin’ With My Homies” — I always read this as sly product placement.
And lest we forget, the soundtrack is teeming with female artists. Jill Sobule, Salt-N-Pepa, Luscious Jackson, The Cranberries, The Muffs, and a just-about-to-break No Doubt (with a song about girlhood oppression from a woman who does not consider herself to be a feminist). They’re all here.
That the movie is underscored by music by female artists who are, if not all feminist, certainly embrace a pro-woman agenda should not be overlooked, especially in popular music’s larger sociohistorical context. Riot grrrl broke, the kinderwhore look had been made runway-ready, and The Spice Girls happened the following year. But Jill Sobule was singing about kissing girls and MTV played the single’s very post-modern, post-structural, super-campy music video all the time. Beavis and Butthead were also completely dumb about it (intentionally? as a commentary?).
Of course, working within the mainstream is tricky. Just look at the music video for Luscious Jackson’s “Here,” made specifically for the movie. It’s an exercise in compromise. On the one hand, we’ve got a tough group of Noo Yawk broads (one of whom is a lesbian) playing their gig in the middle of a skating rink during a roller derby meet. On the other hand, the derby girls are super-femme and the rink projects images from the movie. Sigh. Perhaps it begs the question “alternative to what?”
The inclusion of artists like No Doubt lead singer Gwen Stefani may suggest a post-feminist agenda, and the Luscious Jackson music video may hint at age-old tensions between underground and mainstream. However, I think that, in the context of the movie, a song like Jill Sobule’s “Supermodel” being used during Tai’s make-over scene (which I wish I could pull up, but can’t — cue the movie!) is winking at the performative and learned aspects of becoming feminine, which I think at least suggests that the movie’s politics may lean toward its writer-director and actually align with more of a third-wave feminist perspective on gender politics.
Unfortunately, despite the movie’s success, it hasn’t always been easy for Amy Heckerling. Sadly, 2007′s I Could Never Be Your Woman, a May-December romance starring Michelle Pfeiffer and Paul Rudd that some argued was more explicitly feminist, went straight to DVD. In the “Whatever!” DVD edition of Clueless, Heckerling even discusses how hard it was to get the movie greenlit because there were three female leads and no leading male character. It wasn’t until producer Scott Rudin became interested in the picture that the studios got into a bidding war and Paramount picked it up (after having originally turned it down).
It makes cultural moments like Clueless, as compromised as some may think it to be, a proud declaration of girl. With its soundtrack, it at least suggests the possibility of turning “girl” into “grrrl.”
Cover of Exile in Guyville, released on Matador in 1993; image taken from The Village Voice
I’ve never been as excited and nervous about purchasing an album as I was with Liz Phair’s Exile in Guyville. Of all the albums I’ve ever bought, I think I know more about it than anything. I studied the thing for nearly seven years before I bought it.
So, I was almost 10 when this album came out in 1993 and, if you know anything about it, you know it’s laden with immodest lyrics like “I’m a real cunt in spring,” “He’s got a really big tongue that rolls way out,” and, well, all of “Flower.” As an avid Rolling Stone reader, I was well-versed in this aspect of the album, because it seemed like this, along with it supposedly being an answer record to the Rolling Stones’ gritty masterpiece Exile on Main St., was of the utmost importance to male rock journalists.
Anyway, I was way nervous about getting this album and, ever the arbiter of self-control, I’d keep myself from using allowance and later paycheck money to buy it. I’d mentally smack my hand and say “Not now. You’re not ready.” If my mom knew I invested so much mental energy worrying about the explicit content of an album, she probably would have just bought the thing for me.
I finally bought Phair’s debut album on my seventeenth birthday. My friends Amy and Ryan pooled together $30 for me and I went to Barnes and Noble, determined to buy this taboo item. I took a deep breath, strolled to the music section, blithely snatched the album (along with GusGus’s This Is Normal), paid for my purchase, and ran out of the store in a flush. I went home, turned my stereo to the lowest audible volume and listened to the entire album lying on the floor, inches away from the speakers. The experience had a wrapt solemnity that others might have given the loss of their virginity. I was not the same after listening to it.
If I spent this much time mentally preparing for how my life would never be the same after hearing the album, I spent the next two years listening to it every day, learning every word, memorizing the instrumental tracks, tuning my ear to the watery guitar melodies, and poring over the Clint Eastwood/porn star sleeve art.
Sleeve art for Exile In Guyville, Part I
Sleeve art for Exile In Guyville, Part II
And I wasn’t alone in my investment in this album. I remember sharing this album with my then-boyfriend Kyle. As choir nerds, we particularly loved that the song “Flower” was a) super-dirty and b) a madrigal!
The first thing I’ll tell you that I loved about it was Phair’s voice. What Rob Sheffield referred to as “Peppermint Patty on a bad caffiene jag” in the Spin Alternative Record Guide is a pretty good description. Her voice was dry, low, and raspy. She had a perfectly average voice. It wasn’t a scream, like Courtney Love’s. It was unimpressed, garbled when she hit low notes, strained at the high notes, beyond deadpan. I’d later find out that she was inspired by lo-fi acts like The Spinanes and Tall Dwarfs (and maybe, perhaps on an unconscious level, Anna Da Silva and Gina Birch of The Raincoats or Moe Tucker from The Velvet Underground). At the time, though, it sounded like nothing else I’d ever heard. It sounded like she was right in the room with me.
Her voice was very relateable, seemingly the voice of someone who had done everything right up until the point of recording and was just really tired of being the smart, good girl. One need only listen to “Canary,” a song set to “Chopsticks” about a girl who obeys all the rules, gains nothing from it, and is ready to set everything on fire because of it. At seventeen, I could totally relate.
Phair’s singing style juxtaposed nicely with her look. Now, I’m not gonna slobber all over her the way that some rock journalists at the time. Yes, she’s attractive. But, more importantly, she looked very straight-A student white girl next door — perhaps what girl studies scholar Anita Harris would label a can-do girl. Again, very relateable, as I was at the time in Chamber Choir, a member of National Honor Society, French Club, Drama Club, and other nerdy, non-controversial extra-curriculars. But I was also sexually frustrated — at once eager to experiment but nervous about going too far and yet all-too-ready to lie to my friends about what I actually had done.
I think these aspects of her sound exaggerate the blunt shock of her lyrical content which, as mentioned earlier, was pretty graphic. At the time, this lumped her in with third wave’s “do-me” feminism, an eye-rollingly glib and essentializing term that suggests that females can be empowered simply by celebrating their sexuality (absenting, of course, how normative this concept could be in terms of gender roles and sexuality, and how the ones who tend to benefit from it are middle-class white women, who don’t have the cultural baggage of being branded excessive by being too young, working class, queer, or women of color).
Thinking about Phair as a “do-me” feminist also essentializes her lyrical content to being limited to just fucking, which is not all she was doing with Exile in Guyville. As hinted at in the title, she also wrote critically about patriarchy. There are entire songs about the fallacy of male machismo (“Soap Star Joe”), wishes to reverse the double standard between men and women (“Explain It To Me”), feeling invisible (“Canary”), getting bullied by men (“Help Me, Mary,” “Johnny Sunshine”), as well as anthems dedicated to not putting up with it anymore (“6’1″”). Coming out of the male-dominated Chicago underground music scene, she had a lot to rebel against.
In addition to open feminist critiques, Phair was often elliptical in her approach to fighting patriarchy. She referenced the work of male musicians (the title itself winks at both The Rolling Stones and Urge Overkill’s song “Goodbye to Guyville”), swiping hooks, lyrics, and album concepts to reframe her work, reclaiming much of rock’s cocksure attitude for her own purposes. Sometimes she would lie — the most famous example being “Fuck and Run,” where she claims to have done just that since she was twelve. Phair would later go on to admit that this was a fabrication, which made others cry foul.
However, these sorts of lies I think are told for the sake of one big truth: that rock music’s obsession with authenticity betrays its practitioners’ desire to self-mythologize, fabricating whole identities that don’t align with their actual gender, race, class, and sexuality; that, indeed, authenticity is itself a gigantic lie. That this lie is being purported by a girl strumming a guitar into a 4-track in her bedroom makes its execution all the more stunning.
Also, focusing so extensively on the shockingly dirty lyrics from the pretty blonde lady strumming her guitar eclipses an actual discussion of her guitar-playing, which is great and contributes extensively to her sound. Her tunings, phrasings, chord structures, and harmonies have a warped quality to them at odds with the immediacy and catchiness of her music compositions.
It’s unfortunate that this album gets a lot of emphasis placed on it in relation to the other two albums that she did with Matador (though whitechocolatespaceegg was also distributed through Capitol, who she later signed with, who held a considerable stake in the company between 1996 and 1999 before owners Chris Lombardi and confirmed nice guy Gerard Cosloy bought back the label). Both Whip-Smart and (most of) whitechocolatespaceegg, in my estimation, capture Phair’s wry lyrics, idiosyncratic tunings, musical references, and indelible ways with pop hooks.
And while I found her attempted pop star turn working with the Matrix in the 2000s to be unfortunate, primarily because it seemed to take the particularities of her voice and sound out of the product, I also think it’s important to remember that, to rephrase an ESG EP title, indie cred doesn’t pay the bills. Sneering at her later work and dismissively stating that “Liz Phair sold out” absences the fact that she’s a single mom who makes music for a living. While perhaps becoming a pop star is not the answer (and certainly didn’t help Phair much financially), deriding this career move out of hand eclipses the necessary discussions that need to be had around how unfairly the commercial music industry compensates its artists, how monopolistic they have become, how difficult it is for independent labels to stay in business, and what little regard the mainstream music industry has for older female artists.
That said, her debut album lives on. Just a couple of weekends ago at a friend’s birthday party, I sang this song (courtesy of Karaoke Underground), doing back-up with my friend Karin while our friend Erik killed the lead vocals. And, of course, with the 15th anniversary re-release, folks like Shayla Thiel-Stern have done considerable reflection on what this album means to them, how it has influenced contemporary music, and how it shaped their feminist beliefs. I hope that it continues to inspire generations of girls and boys to spend hours with it, whether playing it above a whisper or at full volume.
Live on, Liz Phair; image courtesy of NYMag.com
If you have anything to add to this series, please do. E-mail submissions to feministmusicgeek@gmail.com. Don’t worry about abiding by tired genre hierarchies. Jean Grae, Sleater-Kinney, and Kylie Minogue are equal in that regard. Remember that the personal is not only political but educational, so feel free to share any memories or recollections that you’d like in conjunction with the artist/record/concert/scene/album cover/music video that made you a feminist. Thanks!
I just finished the first five volumes of Bryan Lee O’Malley’s Scott Pilgrim (not knowing that the final volume has yet to be released — yowzas, Vol. 5 drop-kicks you!). My friend Susan was good enough to let me borrow them — thanks, Susan!
The general premise is as follows: Scott Pilgrim is an aimless, jobless twenty-something Toronto resident with a band. He’s more than a bit scattered and commitment-phobic. At the beginning of the series, he dates a smitten Chinese Canadian teen (radly named Knives Chau), but falls hard for Ramona V. Flowers, an elusive American with ever-changing hair. In order to be together, he must defeat all seven of her evil ex-boyfriends in battle.
An otherwise mundane story about a guy and his social group quipping and shrugging toward adulthood, the series’ content clashes interestingly with its manga-influenced aesthetic and jarringly cut up with action sequences that hail the early Mario Brothers video games. Initially, the style was a little jarring, as the previous Oni Press title I had read was Local. Yes, the look is problematic, particularly in terms of how Japanese popular culture (manga, video games) are being used to tell the story of a primarily white group of young people. At the same time, being a twenty-something never seemed so fun, innocent, and lively. This is coming from someone who just signed a fat student loan check, so I appreciate these flights of fancy.
I’ll briefly launch into the reasons why I wanted to read it and why you might like it: 1) Edgar Wright is directing the feature adaptation, 2) Michael Cera is starring in it, and while his film work has been hit and miss for me, I’m still willing to see his movies, and 3) Scott Pilgrim is in a mixed-gender band, which I thought may be useful for this ol’ blog.
Now, if you’re a feminist and you’re like “ugh, I don’t really want to spend time and energy reading a comic about some slacker dude’s misadventures,” take comfort in Susan’s words to me. Like Luke Skywalker, Scott Pilgrim may be the protagonist, but in many ways, he’s the least exciting character. And, to me, the most interesting characters are all female. For the sake of specificity, I will focus on one of them — a firebrand drummer by the name of Kim Pine.
Now, the reasons why I should be in love with a comic book character are obvious to me. And not just because she reminds me of a girl I had a crush on in college. And I’m not alone.
To the right, a fan-made Kim Pine pin with a message that I quote in the entry title
For one, Kim Pine is the brains of the operation known as Sex-Bob-Omb. She’s rational, level-headed, practical, and responsible. There’s a reason she’s referred to as “The Smart One.”
She’s also “The Rhythm.” Importantly, she’s not the bass player (the role in the band that Scott actually occupies). She’s the drummer, and a pretty good one at that. Traditionally, women tend to be bassists if they play in a mixed-gender band (ex: Tina Weymouth, Kim Gordon, Kim Deal in The Pixies, etc.). They also tend to be the only female in a mixed-gender band. Pine is the only female in Sex-Bob-Omb, a speedy punk outfit, and she drives its beat.
Kim Pine on drums; Scott Pilgrim on bass
Refreshingly, Pine does not suffer fools gladly, and usually not at all. But she does most of this without getting mad or even raising her voice. A withering look or a deadpan response is all that is required.
Kim Pine is not impressed with you
That said, she’s loyal to Scott, who she dated in high school but has no romantic feelings for as a woman in her early 20s. But she also challenges him, and doesn’t let him slack on her couch or get too mopey.
She’s also really good friends with Ramona. They have a stable, supportive relationship based on mutual understanding and respect. She also is shown having good relationships with her co-worker Holly and Lisa, an up-and-coming actress who also dated Scott in high school. Yay, steady female friendships!
Kim Pine and Ramona Flowers
Kim also works at the neighborhood video store. As someone whose opportunities in local media retail have always eluded her (probably because of my prediliction for button-up shirts), I’m always jealous of people who have cool, if not financially lucrative jobs. My friend Allison works at Waterloo and is happy to do it, not because of the pay, but because of the atmosphere, the sense of community, and the discount (also, I’d imagine, the free beer).
This aspect of Kim’s characterization was so great to me. Her job, along with the others that Scott’s friends occupy (barista, dishwasher, cook, courier, telemarketer), reminds me of some of my friends Joe/Jill jobs. None of Scott’s friends go to college (Kim talks about enrolling), but they still have access to the same kinds of shit jobs that many of my friends were qualified for after graduating college. None of the characters in Scott Pilgrim have “careers” in the traditional sense. Yet, despite this supposed lack of financial responsibility, these characters are trying hard to find some kind of creative outlet, suggesting the DIY spirit is alive and well in today’s twenty-somethings.
Also, duh. Kim’s really cute.
Apparently Alison Pill is playing Kim in the film adaptation and I’m excited. I especially hope we get to see her make out with Knives (along with another female character who engages in a lesbian relationship). Pill would certainly get more action than she did playing Harvey Milk’s uncharacteristically desexualized campaign manager Anne Kronenberg in Gus Van Sant’s otherwise great biopic.
Until the final volume reaches the bookshelves and the movie makes it to the multiplex, let’s enjoy The Wonderful World of Kim Pine, courtesy of O’Malley’s flickr.
So, lots of ladies in music have played with alter egos. Kate Bush, PJ Harvey, and Neko Case have made careers for themselves writing and recording songs as multiple characters, playing with gender roles in the process. Tori Amos released American Doll Posse in 2007, wherein she recorded and subsequently toured as a five-member girl group, each member having their own distinct look and personality modelled after Greek goddesses.
I keep thinking about female musicians’ use of alter egos alongside Elana Levine’s reading of the Showtime series The United States of Tara, which is written by Diablo Cody and stars Toni Collette as a working wife and mom with multiple personality disorder. Levine reads the show as a response to third-wave feminism’s interest in the multiplicity of identity.
I find this concept useful for my preoccupations with gender performance in music culture, particularly in thinking about Beyoncé’s Sasha Fierce and Bat for Lashes’ Pearl. Click on the artist’s name to watch each music video.
Bat for Lashes
“Pearl’s Dream” Two Suns
Directed by Nima
Beyoncé
“Diva” I Am Sasha Fierce
Directed by Melina Matsoukas
Thinking about the multiplicity of identity in conjuction with women of color opens up and complicates issues of identity even more (Bat for Lashes’ Natasha Khan is British and of mixed ethnic and racial hertiage — Pakastani on her father’s side, Caucasian on her mother’s side; Beyoncé is African American who is of French descent on her mother’s side). Khan’s Pearl wears a blonde wig and reads as white. Beyoncé’s Sasha has a metallic glove associated with robots and cyborgs, who are often racially coded as white. That these personae are shown alongside the artists’ “true” identities is also important, suggesting that they are both performances and extensions of themselves.
The clip below was sent to me by a friend and it is simply too awesome not to share.
I love these kinds of Internet mash-ups (like Gwen Verdon’s performance of Bob Fosse’s “Mexican Breakfast” routine rescored by Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” and Unk’s “Walk It Out” — for further inquiry, check out Priscilla Peña Ovalle’s Flow column). I especially love bringing Miss Piggy and Peaches, two very unruly females, together.
No, I’m not Repesentative John Conyers biggest fan.
Perhaps some of you know about the Performance Rights Act, which Conyers introduced. Thus, perhaps you are aware of how the instating of annual performance royalty fees, daily song usage reports, and content restrictions could strangle independent stations, who primarily trade in non-mainstream music. It could also fold college stations that aren’t affiliated with Clear Channel.
The impact seems obvious to me. Taking these measures limits, if not completely voids, civic and student participation in grassroots media production. Also, it seems that the biggest supporters of the Performance Rights Act in the music community are folks like Bono and Billy Corgan (you know, selfish rich people). It just seems like Lars Ulrich vs. Napster all over again.
So, the people who really suffer here are “the little people” — independent stations, comprised of hubs of people who either couldn’t (or, more usually, wouldn’t) play the mainstream radio game. Independent musicians, many of whom are not under contract with record labels or subsidiaries who would benefit from this legislation, suffer too. If there’s no independent station to broadcast (or stream) their music, then fewer people hear their music.
For me, of course, this problem has a human face. On the front page of The Daily Texan is a news story about how the PRA could spell the end for KVRX, UT’s radio station where I, along with many friends, and generations of people before and since my tenure, got their start. I highly recommend reading the article, which succinctly outlines the terms and the stakes.
To quote my partner, who also worked at KVRX, “Bah! Stupid Congress never considers non-commercial radio. Time to write a letter.” I highly recommend you do the same. For example, you could advocate for the passing of the Local Radio Freedom Act. For more information and ways to get started, visit Free Radio Alliance’s Action Center.
My mom raised me right. Roseanne was required family viewing when I was a kid. I remember watching season eight’s “The Getaway, Almost” with her — I was in seventh grade. In it, Roseanne and Jackie pick up a musician named Garland who’s involved with riot grrrl and then get righteously, proactively pissed about sexism and dumb boy shit.
I’m gonna co-teach a Music History class for Girls Rock Camp Austin in two weeks, and, in thinking about curriculum and how to go about discussing riot grrrl, I was like, “dude, I gotta watch that again.”
Now, I know there’s some weirdness. For one, Jenna Elfman is a riot grrrl? Dharma? Whatever, that’s cool, even if she’s a Scientologist (she’s also in the music video for Depeche Mode’s “Halo”). For another, the episode aired in November 1995. By that point, riot grrrl was already co-opted, commodified, and compromised by the mainstream media.
Some may argue that the discussion itself may be a little on-the-nose, but I’m so thrilled that ABC devoted eight minutes (roughly 1/3 of an episode) to a discussion about riot grrrl, sexism, and feminism! And they played Bikini Kill’s “Don’t Need You”! WHAT?!?!?!? I know that their rawkus sound is played for laughs, but you can’t beat the look on Roseanne’s face when she starts absorbing the sound and message.
