“This is a man’s world”.
James Brown sung it. Music breathes it. Have I got the masses groaning yet?
I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t been an ongoing aspiration of mine to write a non-fiction book on the status of women in the music industry.
How revealing then, that whenever I’ve expressed this particular interest to colleagues and friends, the statement has been ritually met with a raised eyebrow or a knowing smirk.
“Are you a feminist?” is the usual response. It’s even more revealing that this response is not just concentrated to a strictly male camp. Whisper the word “feminism” and the term evokes a shudder from most people. My relayed response used to be this: “I’m not a feminist, I’m all for equal rights”. But was this just a defensive reaction to divert people away from picturing me as some kind of greasy-haired lesbian in DM boots and dungarees, burning my bra against a chorus of “votes for women!”?
Does championing against the blatant sexism in the music industry (of which I have personally experienced at first hand) make me a feminist? More importantly: should feminism really be something to shy away from?
When did “feminism” become a dirty word?
Getting back on track with my interest in writing this book: Sure, I’ve dabbled around the outskirts of the subject on a few occasions, writing two features on my frustrations at the portrayal and treatment of women within the industry. With both features I always had the sneaking suspicion that my editors were “indulging” me in a flight of fancy, un-convinced at my belief that women are still denied equal footing. They’re entitled to their opinion - but lets face it. Most rock the Y chromosome themselves. Is it any wonder?
Let me back this rant up with a small anecdote: having decided that this was something I wished to write more about, I set about sending out proposals and synopsis to various book publishers. A few got back to me: a polite “thanks but no thanks” was all that was required.
But wait…One well known publishing house surprisingly got back to me with a shocking “maybe”. My ears pricked up as I read through his email. And then my heart sank at his investigative questions in response:
“We already have two female writers on our books already. Both of whom have written musical biogs. My question to you is: what makes you so different to the women we already represent?”
Now, for many of you, this may seem a fairly inoffensive question to ask. For me, it highlighted the obvious:
“The fact that you are even asking me what makes me different from the minimal two female writers you already represent exactly proves why I want to write this book in the first place” I bluntly responded back.
“If you can honestly tell me that you would ask a male writer what made him different from the twenty male writers you already have on your burgeoning books, then I’ll happily explain to you why I should be considered as an individual journalist as opposed to a gender that needs to be minimised.”
Of course I never heard from that particular editor ever again. I’m sure he blamed it on my hormones.
So it is with great interest that I have been reading various reviews for Sheila Weller’s latest non-fiction book ‘Girls Like Us’ (a book which aims to dissect and compare the musical careers of Joni Mitchell, Carole King and Carly Simon).
My first grievance is as follows…Actually, it’s concentrated in the one word: Girls. This book title sounds like the kind of Mills & Boon romance trash you find free with your August edition of Glamour. These artists weren’t girls, they were women. And should be celebrated as such. Is the term “girls” supposed to make them non-offensive acoustic guitar-strumming hippies? Would you ever call a novel comparing the careers of Neil Young, Bob Dylan and Leonard Cohen “Boys Like Us”?
The next grievance is not so much with the book itself (I’m yet to pick up a copy in Waterstones - I’m sure there will be more de-constructions to follow…I’m polishing my Doc Martins as I write) but with the reviews that have commented on it. I find it incredibly telling that each review centres around the men they shagged as opposed to the songs they wrote.
And I quote: “…how the bedsit singer/songwriter princesses of the early 1970s became rock royalty and feminist role models, a leap that saw everyone from James Taylor and Mick Jagger to Warren Beatty and Jack Nicholson leaping between their songsheets. Although not, sadly at the same time.”
That’s Metro Lite. The reviewer in question is, of course, a man (by the name of Keith Watson).
Keith, Keith, Keith. Where do I start? For one thing, did you seriously just use the phrase “between their songsheets”? Secondly, did you really just identify them as feminist role models in the same sentence that you role-called their various sexual conquests? Is this your clumsy and simpleton view of feminist role models? Do the men that they slept with personally validate the music that they made in your professional opinion?
It may seem like I’m ganging up on poor Keith. But actually, he only represents the majority of reviews which have stereotyped the book in the same way. Maybe the book is a stereotype itself, who knows. What I do know is that I’m sick and tired of reading some mis-guided feature on the nature of female musicianship by ageing male journalists who haven’t the foggiest idea on what it’s about and how it should be explored.
Having “personally” experienced an editor’s hand up my skirt as he suggested I might sleep with him in return for him “perusing” my written portfolio, forgive me if I’m a little prickly about this subject…
Surely this is a side to the music industry that truly needs to be exposed: a side that still continues to un-repently indulge in its own dated brand of over-bloated and blatant sexism?