Connie Souphanousinphone on fiddle and Bobby Hill on soda bottle; image courtesy of wikia.com
One of the recent joys in my life is Netflix adding seasons of King of the Hill and Parks and Recreation to its Instant queue. This provided me with solace over the past week as I attempted to rid a seemingly endless stream of sinus waste from my nose. Also, these delightful Greg Daniels-helmed sitcoms make up for The Office outstaying its welcome long before Jim and Pam walked down the aisle.
I’m revisiting the sixth season of Hill, a show I’ve already established my fandom for in an earlier post about another female musician in the cast. However, I must’ve either missed or forgotten about “The Bluegrass Is Always Greener,” wherein overworked violin prodigy Connie Souphanousinphone ditches music camp in Fort Worth to enter a bluegrass competition in Branson with neighbor Hank Hill and his buddies.
Connie is one of the show’s most interesting characters and played wonderfully by Lauren Tom. She is smart, shy, and well-mannered, yet critical of her parents’ materialism and stubborn toward her dad’s wishes that she dump boyfriend Bobby Hill, date the more superficially suitable Chane Wassonasong, and become an accomplished violinist. She’s the protagonist of “Aisle 8A,” which focuses on her getting her first period while staying with the Hills while her parents are away on a business trip. It’s one of my favorite episodes of the show’s run and perhaps one of the few episodes that considers an animated girl character’s foray into menstruation.
Connie’s parents Mihn and especially her father Kahn put a tremendous amount of pressure of their only child to excel in school and extra-curricular activities. The dimensions of their involvement are complex. They at once take pride in their Laotian heritage and also out of a need to prove themselves as fully integrated into American bourgeois society, supposedly a world away from the fictional suburb of Arlen, Texas. Connie takes pride in her scholastic achievements, but as a musician isn’t as interested in becoming the New York Philharmonic‘s principal violinist as she is in having fun. She becomes interested in bluegrass after hearing Hank jam with the neighbors in the alley. Fed up with her father’s hovering (and possibly also the stereotype of the Asian American violin virtuoso), she skips out on a bus to Fort Worth and gets the gang together for the trip to Branson.
Connie's backing band, minus bloodhound Lady Bird (from left: Jeff Boomhauer on banjo, Bill Dautrive on washboard, Hank Hill on acoustic guitar, and Dale Gribble on keys); image courtesy of flavorwire.com
Things take an interesting turn, however, when Hank reveals he may share more with nemesis Kahn than the same letters in their name when he puts too much pressure on Connie and takes the fun out of performance. She quits the band and starts playing on a street corner with Bobby. Admittedly, she and Bobby have troublesome delusions of meeting poverty-stricken Appalachian families to get back to the “roots” of bluegrass. However, the episode resolves with all parties convening and Connie reconnecting with the personal joy she gets from playing music.
Sometimes a movie just finds you right when you wanna see it. I felt this way the other night watching Alex Sichel’s only movie, 1997′s All Over Me. Five minutes into this poignant story (written by Alex’s sister Sylvia) about a young girl coming out, crushing on her friend, learning about homophobia, finding love, and thrashing on her guitar, I was hooked.
It didn’t hurt that the movie makes good use of Babes in Toyland and Sleater-Kinney.
I originally put this one in my Netflix queue because Leisha Hailey is in it. She has hot pink hair and plays in a band led by Helium’s Mary Timony called Coochie Pop. Perhaps unsurprisingly, I love her. I met her once when a friend was building her house in Marfa and she was as nice as I was paralyzed with awe. I think I was about 11 when I heard “You Suck,” a song she recorded as one-half of The Murmurs. I also really like their cover to the theme for H.R. Pufnstuf from the ultra-90s alterna compilation Saturday Morning: Cartoons’ Greatest Hits. They were two girls with Manic Panic hair, acoustic guitars, and helium voices that swore a lot, often in harmony.
How can you not love her?; film still of Leisha Hailey's Lucy
And, then there’s all the other stuff she’s done. The Yoplait ads that a lot of people have slammed but that she and I argue are super-queer (especially this one). Her electro project Uh Huh Her (taken from the PJ Harvey album of same name). She was also consistently my favorite part of The L Word, playing sarcastic, loyal, proudly bisexual wordsmith and deejay Alice Pieszecki.
Anyway, Hailey’s the love interest in this one. And does she ever meet cute with the movie’s protagonist. They exchange flirtatious glances in a guitar store. Hearts.
The story itself focuses on Claude (not Claudette, even though that’s her given name), a fifteen-year-old, working class baby dyke who loves knee-length shorts, her guitar, and her best friend Ellen (played by be-credded Imitation of Christ impresario Tara Subkoff) who is in serious denial about her friend’s true feelings (and possibly her own).
All around Claude, people are correcting her, trying to convince her that she likes boys, telling her to dress more feminine, putting lipstick on her. It’s particularly hurtful that the worst enforcers of heteronormativity in her life are also the two closest female presences — Ellen and her single mother, Anne (played by Ann Dowd, who plays Cookie Kelly, a similarly unsympathetic mother, in Freaks and Geeks).
It doesn’t help matters that Claude is totally in love with her best friend, who has ambivalent feelings about their relationship. Ellen seems to be aware of Claude’s attraction, and in two instances (momentary) reciprocates physically, but quickly dismisses these moments, running away from them so as to get closer to Mark, her dangerous, homophobic, possessive, violent boyfriend who may have killed a young gay man in the neighborhood. He’s played to type by Cole Hauser, who may be a lovely individual, but has a low monotone and looks like a red-headed potato and thus seems pitch-perfect to play angry young chauvinists.
When Ellen isn’t running to Mark, she’s abusing drugs and drinking. Add to that her (anorexic?) skinniness and blondeness and you have a girl trying very hard to be rebellious and subversive but who actually plays right into staid notions of straight, white, patriarchal society. And while she always reaches out to Claude in need — notedly through music, as both girls play the guitar — she is just as quick to push her away.
Meanwhile, Claude can’t really abide by straightness or patriarchy. There’s no room for her without completely destroying her spirit. Actress Alison Folland (who I thought was heart-breaking in To Die For) makes Claude both nervous and sedate, on edge but starting to make peace and embrace her lesbianism, recognizing that a life in the closet is far graver than the initial scariness of coming out.
As a result of recognizing her burgeoning sexuality, Claude starts breaking from Ellen, making a few queer friends in the process. A pleasant surprise in the movie is the presence of Wilson Cruz. He plays Jesse, who works with Claude at the neighborhood pizza parlor. As many know, he played Ricky Vasquez on My So-Called Life, one of the first and more fully realized gay teens on television. In some ways, he’s not playing too dissimilar a character here — the gay friend — but, like Ricky, is also a quiet, pensive, damaged but resilient young man. And one key way that he is not just playing the gay friend is that he is the gay friend to a young lesbian, thus promoting the idea that members of the LGBT community can be friends and allies across orientations.
Claude also gets involved with Lucy, a local musician played by Leisha Hailey. While Lucy’s age is never explicitly stated, it is revealed that she lives at home with her dad, who is often away, implying that she’s about Claude age. Claude meets Lucy at her band’s concert, blown away by her talent. Yet, she’s able to play the chivalrous dyke and buy Lucy a drink. She then goes home with her to hang out and listen to records, while Ellen camps out with Mark in Claude’s bedroom. Claude puts on one album (presumably Patti Smith’s Radio Ethiopia), and has the following emotional scene.
While I have ideological problems with Patti Smith’s gender configurations and how essentializing and normativitizing (male) rock historians can be of her work (particularly Horses), I was completely moved by this scene. By my count, there’s two things going on here: Claude is in anguish over Ellen and she is starting to confront her fear and anxiety of being gay (“Should I pursue a path so twisted? Should I crawl defeated and gifted? Should I go the length of a river?”).
Importantly, Claude isn’t galvanized after this scene or by this song (indeed, perhaps some would argue, in this movie, as she never has a big coming-out moment; the closest moments are at the end — one is implied, the other wordless). Through the rest of the movie, she struggles and evolves while learning to own and articulate her feelings for Lucy and confront the impossibly for her and Ellen to be together. Yet, Claude is becoming aware and is learning to develop and assert herself, potentially holding a guitar in one hand and Lucy’s hand in the other. No small feat for a fifteen-year-old lesbian teenager.
X; from left to right: Billy Zoom, DJ Bonebrake, Exene Cervenka, John Doe
Thinking about Debbi in Repo Man, I remembered Exene Cervenka, another West Coast punk lady who scraped around in the 1980s. I saw X: The Unheard Music recently and highly recommend it. Simply put, it’s a documentary about L.A. punk pioneers, X, which was fronted by Cervenka and John Doe. It was released in 1986, Rent it, buy it, steal it, add it to your Netflix queue, whatever.
Despite its straight-forward premise, I really appreciate the documentary’s mixed media approach. Eschewing the standard talking head format, director W.T. Morgan weaves together concert footage, staged material, interviews, band rehearsals and recording sessions, tours of L.A. neighborhoods and venues, and direct-to-the-camera recollections from the band and some of the relevant people in their lives who worked with them. Oh, and Ray Manzerek.
I enjoyed the way in which the various ways in which the band were documented was put together, with clips often dialoging or juxtaposing with one another. For example, at one point, drummer DJ Bonebrake watches pre-recorded clips on a television in a rehearsal space, interrupting the images and sound as he changes the channel.
We also get lots of Exene, who has one of the most commanding presences in rock. We get interviews. Live performances. Recording sessions. Writing sessions with Doe (who she was probably divorced from at the time of filming). Tours through the dilapidated dressing rooms and bathrooms of punk clubs like the Masque. Candid discussions of her sister’s death. Footage of her scrawling in a journal.
But for me, the best part is the silent short in the middle of the film. Filmed in black and white, it tells the story of a ghost, played by Cervenka, and her solitary, ephemeral travels. This segment is a fascinating moment of rupture. But I think it also speaks to the ways in which females are absented in music culture and how they can (and must) manipulate, subvert, and comment on this marginalized status. There’s no doubt to me that this part of Cervenka helps inform the bullshitless banshee poet she was in the 1980s and remains to be today.