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The timing of this new series has been held up mostly in the hope that one of the respected music publications I’ve pitched it to would eagerly see the value in telling these stories. I understand that they are rightfully busy (and let’s be honest, it’s not like I’m reinventing the wheel here) but much like a petulant child-I’ve grown tired of waiting.

So, similar to when someone spots the semblance of Christ himself on an Oreo I received my sign, that it was time to move forward.

Shirley Manson; Scottish singer, songwriter, musician, actress, celestial being shared on social media Friday a cover of a music publication from 2001 (I’m not sharing the cover it’s not worth additional attention).  Within the caption, she shared just one example of “the manner in which the music press chose to write about female musicians in 2001” She describes these headlines and articles as belittling, hurtful and embarrassing.

In my last newsletter, I touched on this very thing, pointing to my disappointment in Rolling Stones: The 90’s compilation which included about five female artists. I am far from the first of many writers who have unearthed or dissected similar articles. Rob Harvilla and Katie Baker expanded upon unfortunate examples of this in the 60 Songs That Explain The 90s podcast episode exploring Fiona Apple’s “Criminal”.

I started revisiting 90s era articles awhile back (most are exclusively written by men) where female artists were limited to unimaginative and boring adjectives like “fuck-toy” (I’ll never forget reading that-description? Expression? Awfulness referencing Gwen Stefani in No Doubt’s first interview with Spin in 96’. Please read my footnote in its entirety for context.) I remember my 13-year-old self sitting up and being like WHOA.

Other Shakespearian-like depictions of female artists in the 90s included gems such as “bee-stung” “bitch” “tart” or “waif”. Sweet right?

Thank God even as a young teen I could recognize journalism in its short-sighted and misguided interpretation of who these women really were.

I want to be clear; there were some great journalists in this era, individuals I’d consider true storytellers and I promise to include them in this series where appropriate. But back then, reading article after article about these women I often wondered:

What album were they listening to?

Why wasn’t someone describing these women’s vocals, that made me feel like my extremities were on fire?

Where was the nod to the lyrics that detailed each woman’s intrinsic almost psychic ability to articulate pain lodged within me, that I never had the words to describe but they did.

Yes, yes I saw the details about what Hard Candy nail polish she was wearing, (which don’t get me wrong-I appreciated! I was forever trying to emulate someone other than myself.)

But….where was the part in the article where they ask about her lived experience, how she accessed her pain? Like that part in the album, you know, where you felt your chest cavity rip wide open; feeling exposed and seen all at once.

Or how about the important details like how the band decided on that opening acoustic strum (you know the one). The kind that would hum through your parent’s car radio and send your insides a flutter like a shaken snow globe.

None of these journalists were describing anything close to the magic all of us were experiencing firsthand.

Do I make being a teenage girl ( or a teenager in general) sound dramatic? Well, it fucking is.

Leave it to Shirley to show those lackluster journalists what we wanted. She launched her own podcast in 2019 The Jump

And damn, is she good. She’s asking every question we want when she talks to Courtney Love she’s asking about her first music memory when “music first ignited her”

My long-winded point? I know you (yes you dear reader) and millions of other adolescents experienced the very same exhilarating, and crippling emotions being emitted through your stereo.

These phenoms were extending; a lifeline it often felt like; to us through our radios.

This column is created to talk about THAT.

So, when I saw Shirley Manson’s post I knew-I had to get on with it. It was kismet because she was the first female rockstar I planned on profiling for this series.

These mini-tributes to Rock Goddess won’t serve as meticulous historical accounts but rather snapshots of female artists that took me outside myself when listening to their music and songwriting. If you find areas for improvement or important details I’ve missed or potentially misquoted please don’t hesitate to let me know! ♡

Nostalgia has the ability to seduce. Confuse, manipulate memory (even with the best of intentions of course). For me, the music I clung to had that kind of visceral pull that tugs not so gently when you are young.

Professors of Nostalgia (yup it’s very much a thing) have concluded that regardless of generation or gender we feel differently about the music we listened to during those formative years. Simply because of the world, all of the newnesses that just seemed to be swirling around us was happening to us for the first time.

You know how the music during this time felt; like the world outside your bedroom didn’t fully exist or was of no consequence at that very moment. All that mattered was the voice coming through that dented boom box that you and your best friend decorated with glitter.

I think the reason I love nostalgia, why I lean so far into it as my “brand” is because it’s the ultimate unreliable narrator.

And truth be told-I love an unreliable narrator.

Nostalgia can distort a memory depending on what type of mood we want to illicit. I liken nostalgia to sorcery. It has the ability to cast a spell, like all of these female artists did in our childhood bedrooms, or through walkmans while we tuned out the world.

I knew early on women were far more powerful than men could ever be.

Before the noun fever dream became aggressively overused for undeserving things like reality tv personas or burritos. It was reserved for individuals and lived experiences that conjured up otherwordly things; like the bewitching artist Shirley Manson from Garbage.

These days there seems to be a rabid obsession with tapping into your divine feminine energy-and believe me. I get it. Women have always been much more interesting to me.

I’d watch a friend swoon over a high-school boy.

“That guy?” I’d ask pointing at (what appeared to be) a very regular human.

Don’t get me wrong-there’s a long list of infatuations I had whose appeal I could never define to this day. It just seemed more often than not most boys at that age were unworthy adversaries.

Shirley Manson is best known as the lead singer of the American alternative rock band Garbage. But before then there was Goodbye Mr.McKenzie where Shirley performed background vocals and played keyboard. What I’ve always dug about Shirley is that she genuinely enjoys being a part of a band. Though she would ultimately become front and center on and off stage she always expressed immense respect and love for her talented bandmates over the years.

She would extend that same loving respect to female musicians that shared the trenches with her. I liked that there was and continues to be no parts of her that wanted to diminish anyone’s success male or female. I mean she’s fantastic for a great and well-deserving call-out. A woman after my own heart.

Anyway; after Goodbye Mr.McKenzie there was interest in having Shirley embark on a solo project and thus; Angelfish (cue my cartoon heart eyes) was born. Let me tell you Angelfish, the whole album still slaps:

Ok, but before my middle school self was to learn about Shirley Manson’s musical background; I was introduced to her like many through the “Stupid Girl” and “Only Happy When It Rains” music video’s.

The first time I saw “Stupid Girl” was on MuchMusic. I’m not Canadian (I wish, Degrassi for life!) but for whatever reason, our cable company afforded us this “much cooler” version of MTV. People at school thought I was lying about this music TV station that “Plays music videos non-stop? “ 8th graders would snarl;

“That doesn’t exist!”

At this point in my limited lens, I had decided I couldn’t like Gwen Stefani at the time because Gavin Rossdale had a crush on her. I was an asshole. I had my own version of yucky misogyny rearing its ugly head, that would take years later to identify and unravel.

Ok, TO BE CONTINUED I’m running out of designated writing space ♡

Can I ask a favor? If you enjoyed the start of this new column please share, comment (express what you loved or loathed) If you feel inclined tag Shirley, Garbage, and any music publication you think might find value in exploring this more ♡

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XO April

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