Martians, Venusians and Other Figments of the Popular Imagination (3/4) by The Silver Fox

(1/4), (2/4), (3/4), (4/4).

These examples too can be dismissed, of course: 'it's the media' that does it, just as it is Big Business that keeps the jailbait jugs a-jiggling on MTV. But what of the musical coalfaces that I imagine most of you reading this will be familiar with? What of the grass-roots level, the world of bands and artists untainted by both commerciality and excessive hype - the bottom of the rock'n'roll food-chain, if you will - we're too wise to fall for that shit, right? I'm glad you asked, cats and kittens; damned glad. Tragically, and inevitably, I'm bound to say that things really aren't any better.

While most bands object to being pigeonholed (and you can't blame them: a local music reviewer said that they have 'fresh and original' sounds, after all), the appearance of a female artist - or female fronted band (yes; there is such a thing) generally results in greasy asymmetric fringes coming together in a huddle from which emerge, in hoarse, derisive tones, phrases like 'KT Tunstall or some shit' (if there's an acoustic guitar in sight); 'fucking Courtney Love' (should the material dare to take in subjects other than an abject love of The Cock); or, for want of any specific genre-stereotyping, and if the singer's most distinguishing feature is being able to keep a note for more than two seconds, patronizing smiles will be exchanged amidst whispers of 'The Cranberries'.

This happens far more often than when a new male (or male-fronted) act hits the circuit - although I suppose this could be due to the Cold War-era principle of Mutual Assured Destruction; if a band comes out and says of another band: 'You sound like the fucking Hoosiers', then nine times out of ten, the accused party can retort 'so do you, you cunts' with pretty much total accuracy, and thus the whole house of cards that is the illusion of creativity is rendered naught but dust and wind.

Worse still is when 'the chaps' overly defer to female artists, and speak of 'the lovely ladies on before us' or something, a salacious servility that smacks rather of Terry-Thomas at his most unpleasant, suavely helping a 'popsy' out of her coat and taking the opportunity to cop a feel at the same time.

And sadly, this sort of double standard isn't confined to the artists and bands - it seems endemic to many reviewers too; while His Rodent Highness and I are occasionally described as 'savage' and 'ranting' for our on-stage lambasting of august institutions, the venues we play, and the audience alike, a female artist who might say exactly the same sort of thing runs the risk of being described as 'feisty' or 'spunky'. These words may be suitable for describing a Jack Russell attacking a mastiff, but can hardly be applied to an artist expressing valid views on issues of cultural, political, or ethical significance: it's dismissive, is what it is.

Similarly, while many bands spend an outrageous amount of time tweaking their sound - as though some alchemic mixture of gain, reverb, etc, will turn their tawdry ditties into rock anthems of symphonic brilliance - and nobody thinks twice, they'll write off a female performer as a 'diva' should she be so impertinent as to request that her guitar be audible through the monitor.

These attitudes then, can be seen to be pretty widespread, as well as deeply entrenched in the minds of many - even CrackTown have been guilty of such testosterone-driven idiocy on occasion, and we're quite a bit better than most people - but once identified, anyone can surely see them for the crap they are. If not, we have nothing to look forward to except a scene even more lost to prejudice, crassness, and bland, homogenized sensibilities. Plus, gentlemen, it'll make you look like you're scared of chicks. Is that what you want?

Continued ......next page (4/4)

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