It really pains me to start an article like this, but here goes anyway: recently I posted something on Facebook that caused a bit of a stir.
I’m gonna publish a book called tastes of Melbourne women underground. So tired of male back-patting and exclusion of anything vaguely ‘feminine’ in subculture. We get it. You think you’re all awesome and we’re all just kinda average. Unless we sound like you. Ladies of Melbourne… Let’s please reject this culture.
The torrent of comments in response was overwhelming; it got up to 650 or so. (Probably at least 100 of those were mine, though… I got excited.) I wrote that post thinking that people would have a quick eye-roll and move on. Instead, I came to realise that I was not alone in feeling this way. That many of us, up to that point, had felt we needn’t even attempt to talk about it, because it seemed that no one would listen.
Out of this realisation I’ve embarked on the task of putting together an alternative, subjective musical history. The project is called ‘LISTEN’ and it’ll be written by many and varied feminists about the music they love and the musical experiences they’ve had. It’ll be published in book form and also as a website, so that as many voices as possible can be heard. The over-arching narrative of the publication will be formed by piecing together the material we’re presented with. So it’ll be a book written out of the act of listening.
But I’m writing this article to present my subjective opinion of the book that sparked the post, which I wrote having just read James Kritzler’s Noise in My Head. However, the discussion moved very quickly away from the book itself and onto broader discussions about feminism in music.
I have too many feelings about this to really go into any detail on here but let me just say that it is strange to see characters you’ve known over a decade portrayed and torn down and held-up and propped against each other. This entire debate of sorts is fascinating but also feels like its gone on inside my head for a long while…
Take up more space as a woman. Take up more time. Take your time. Take your space. You’re taught to hide, censor, move about without messing up decorum for a man’s comfort. Whether it’s said or not, you’re taught balance. Fuck that. Displease. Disappoint. Destroy. Be loud, be…
dear sally, I fell in love with a boy, and he fell in love with me, and then it fell apart in such a sad way. I still have this huge amount of love for him in my heart but I don't know how to be friends with someone I thought I'd love for a really really long time... do you think being friends with someone you love to a vaguely unbearable extent is viable? I'm scared to think I'd lose someone simply because it's hard... he's really special, we just didn't work the way we wanted to, in the end.
They shriek, they rage, they cheer, they despair, they exult, they scream, they laugh, they cry! There’s never a non-emotional moment in the lives of Australia’s left-wing ladies’ auxiliary, whose psychosocial behavioural disorders are becoming ever more dramatic following Tony Abbott’s election.
Only one of them, however, can reign as our solitary monarch of madness. Only one can stand above all others, wailing and howling, while the rest look on and ask: “Where’s the Ritalin?” In the search for this nation’s most unhinged hysteric, let the BlairPoll decide!
“I like her. She makes life interesting. She, herself, is interesting, I suppose. She talks right from the heart. I appreciate her frankness and I like the fact that she doesn’t force the natural flow of a conversation. There’s personality in her words. She thus gets to the core of things and that’s important because with her — I can talk knowing that the talk is real! Oh believe me, it’s amazingly real! And she also gives me the oportunity to listen as fully and completely as possible. And I can’t seem to get her out of my head […]”—Virginia Woolf, from Selected Letters (via violentwavesofemotion)
CRUDE FOYER #04 - MAY 29 2014
*SHIMMERING SUMMER SPECIAL*
DIÄT - SCHADENFREUDE
TOTAL CONTROL - S.I.B.
GOOSEBUMPS - I’M A WOMAN
GOOSEBUMPS - SHOOT UP
THE FLOOR ABOVE - MORGUE
THE FLOOR ABOVE - GLASS POISONING
WARTHOG - EXTERMINATE ME
S.H.I.T. - FEEDING TIME
CAGED ANIMAL - REGRET
SEXDROME - INSECTS IN EVERY HOLE
GAS RAG - CHERNOBYL
GAS RAG - ABORT THEM
IRON CROSS - WARGAMES
CORTEX - JESUS I BETONG
CRISIS - LAUGHING
GLUE - INTRO
NESTS - FLOATING
NESTS - HARDCORE IS GAY AND I COULD CARE LESS
EINSTÜRZENDE NEUBAUTEN - TANZ DEBIL
FEJHED - DRINKING SPIT
GUTTER GODS - STREETWALKER
THE FLEX - VIRTUAL REALITY
AVON LADIES - CYANIDE LACTATER
SEX VID - ALWAYS HOME
RUDIMENTARY PENI - THE GARDENER
DEATH IN JUNE - BLACK RADIO
PAN SONIC - VAHENTAJA
People keep unexpectedly saying the most beautiful, heartfelt things to me lately out of the blue (well, it seems like they’ve been thinking on them for some time) and it’s breaking my heart but I suppose it’s nice to have people care so much about you.
Oh hey Tumblr, what’s up it’s been a long time, huh. On Friday I got so drunk from sad that apparently I forgot the things I said and did for the first time and apparently I told people some things I’ve never told anyone before for a damn good reason and I kind of want to just turn invisible now?
Speaking of invisible, let me tell you a story about my first day at this internship today:
You will only not spend an entire day being ignored and not having your mind put to work if you are the 15-year-old nephew of a high-up. The end.
I’m on my way to pick up some cash for selling my body to science. I’m listening to Alligator. The sun feels good. I’ve put my shoulder out because my last romance was put on hold just after I forgot how to sleep on my own. Maybe I can sell them my shoulder, too. I had to answer the desperate call from work this morning because I didn’t answer their calls on Monday. My shoulder really hurts.