By Everett True
Do I need to spoon-feed you everything? Put down that new Florence And The Machine album for a second, and fucking LISTEN, you mocktard.
I was having this great dream that at some point soon – maybe even in 2011 – folk, I say ‘folk’ but in particular I mean females creating music, will bloody stop listening to the dullard tradition of Animal Collective and Steps and American Idol and Jeff Ament altogether. Wait. A ground rule first. Remember this post of Scott’s? Rock as a safe male romper room was created in the early 60s and for at least two decades the men clung on vainly to the belief that only men alone could be creative, women just aren’t interested. (Similar to the argument used against female music critics in 2011.) (Kind of like the entire world of art pre-2oth Century in a microcosm.) And where women were interested, they could just be ignored because all the folk (and by folk, I mean men in their mid-late 20s and 30s looking like a less memorable Elvis Costello) couldn’t be bothered to relate and could only relate when women encroached so far onto male territory that they could just go, “Why not just be a man?” My point being that of course the new wave of the new wave of the new wave of feminist rock bands (and by feminist, I don’t mean you have to woman the barricades, just be yourself) are going to reference cheesy pop music from the 80s because at least the cheesy pop music of the 80s was female. And it wasn’t all cheesy either.
I refuse to acknowledge anyone as an authority who takes a Consumer Guide Approach to Rock even though I’m just like you. I only like music that reminds me of music that I know, music that went before. The main difference being: a) I have two red dancing shoes, one for the left foot and one for the right, b) I know how great Timi Yuro is, c) my range of reference is pretty fucking wide, d) I admit to my flaws all the fucking time, and e) I welcome the revolution, the point in time when I cease to be relevant. (It’s happened already, but not here. It’ll never happen here. Why would it?) The first concerts I went to in London were Essential Logic, The Barracudas and Throbbing Gristle.
So what do I want? A fucking medal?
I like two-pieces. It’s a partnership, a conviction, a confederation without the dunces. Is The Gay a drum machine, like Echo? Is Maria named after Maria? Why is their album so timepiece? I mean, timeless. This dream I was having … it’s one where I mainline Starbursts, but through my mouth because that’s where the thousands of taste-buds lie. Why take drugs any other way? (I never injected class A drugs when my mouth was so close.) This dream I was having … Everything is Brighton. I am the weirdo because I’m so commonplace. Everything is Brighton. Everything is, specifically, a certain underground venue along the seafront towards Hove, where female musicians rock and female musicians roll and bicycles sprawl disused in the back alley. This dream … I’ve long dreamt of the day when everything isn’t Rolling Stone, isn’t NME, isn’t patriarchal tradition. It’s happened! It’s fucking happening. It’s happened! I swear to fucking Bangs that this debut album from Maria And The Gay – Greatest Hits Volume I, read the Big Print here, because Brigette Adair Herron is a poet and she uses WORDS to express her love, and also it saves me the embarrassment of trying to appropriate her magic – is everything I dreamt non-male rock could be like and by non-male, I mean no-male. I mean music reared on Petticoats, Ill Ease, Erase Errata, Humpe Humpe, Spider And The Webs, Danielle Dax, Julie Ruin, Micachu and a thousand other names that aren’t famous because they aren’t male pure and simple there is no other reason …
And Billy Idol, of course. Because we all need our eye candy.
Do you know how to scream? You should go do it now. Go to your bed and grab your pillow. Take a deep breath and hold the pillow to your face. Now scream.
Now concentrate on the hollow crevice that remains where the scream left your throat. It won’t be in your throat exactly, but somewhere further down, just behind your heart. There is emptiness, but also a feeling of accomplishment. Is it the feeling of being alive? Maybe it is panic. Maria And The Gay are now replicating the sound of your heartbeat as you are recovering.
Brigette Adair Herron, Collapse Board, 05.11.11
Here is the first interview I’ve conducted this year, and I swear to Tunabunny that if Maria And The Gay haven’t sold 25 copies of this album by week’s end I am closing this website down because what the fuck is the point of writing anything if you can’t influence even fucking 25 people to buy GREAT FUCKEN MUSIC? Here’s the link.
Think I’m joking? Try me.