The Direction of Female Music: More Musical, More Mature

I’ve never been a chick-music sort of gal. But I’ve listened to my share of Alanis Morrisette way before I’ve ever had my heart broken, and I’m an avid fan of Tori Amos and Fiona Apple. But that’s it. I’m generally much more into male vocalists or instrumentals. Not for any reason (though I’ve had people say it’s because of “conditioning.” Not so much.

But there’s been some really great female music out there now – and though I do understand the argument that it may be inherently sexist to even mention music is “female” or not. We don’t say “guy-music” or “man vocalists,” I know. Still, I think we’re witnessing a great wave of female vocalists – ever greater than the whole Lilith Fair era a decade ago. Remember that whole Sarah McLaughlin-type crowd? Jewel. Natalie Imbruglia. Sherly Crow. Shawn Colvin. Dixie Chicks.

Fiona Apple, she’s still going. Tori Amos – she’s super prolific. Jewel’s even doing some stuff. But this year, we’ve got Feist, Scarlett Johansson’s Anywhere I Lay My Head and She and Him, whose “she” part is comprised of actress Zooey Deschanel. And there are so many others, both mainstream and not.

I think it’s great we have Scarlett and Zooey as role models. Though ScarJo’s taken some flack for having the audacity to put out an album of Tom Waits covers (and being scolded for not being nearly as talented as he is), I think it’s a solid collection of tunes. It’s glittering and interesting and smart. She and Him’s Volume One is an album of partial-covers, too – going back to 50s and 60s era songs. Feist is really Leslie Feist, who was a part of Broken Social Scene. And her 2007 album, The Remainder, is collecting more and more steam now.

What I think is most important is that these collections of music are smart. They offer skilled musicianship, new sounds and music that takes a different route than many female vocalists we hear today. They’re not completely showy, they aren’t contributing to the unhealthily image-obsessed culture we see made worse by many entertainment artists and they’re not singing about how much they need to have a boyfriend/get back at an ex-boyfriend/or are using pseudo-bi-curiosity and “risqué” lyrics to garner shock effect, like Katy Perry.

The change in our musical climate could be attributed to changing times, demanding listeners, the feminist movement or pure coincidence. Every decade offers something new, and every musical time period is a little microcosm of the world in which we live. I usually have little respect for what happens in the music industry –in particular the mainstream side of the coin–but I think I can say that, for now, things are looking up. And if it’s happening sonically, it might just be a result of good things in the world at large.

For more awesome artists, I’m working at a pretty kickass magazine, Death+Taxes, which showcases a lot of great new indie music, so check it.

I may be an old woman compared to the rest of my GHQ sisters, but I am not going to be shy… I will be seeing STP Part Two the minute it hits theatres.

I’m not too proud to admit that when I feel sad and overwhelmed, I am not above reading some STP, some Judy Blume, or some good old Ann M. Martin to remind me of sparkling times in my life.

New York GHQ-ers… I think a field trip to see this could be in order.

Chocolate kisses. xoxxo Jamia

PS. Speaking of pants, I’m saving up for the pants of my dreams right now…The Joe’s Jean Gatsby Wideleg.
Maybe I need a sister to split them with me and we can take turns rocking them. “)

The book follows Kira, a whip-smart, hyper-ambitious girl from Philadelphia who wins an essay contest… and the prize is an internship with Skirt, New York City’s hottest fashion magazine. Kira is faced with lots of challenges at her internship: an uncompromising supervisor, a clique of fake-nice mean girls, and a crush she shouldn’t have. Her work can be fun, too, though: she gets to snoop through the expansive fashion closet and go to romantic photo shoots. However, Kira’s main priority at Skirt is vying for an internship spot with the magazine’s editor-in-chief. Kira is also balancing play with her work–she goes to concerts in Brooklyn with her quirky roommates, she goes to nice parties and independent films, and she has a chivalrous boyfriend… but looks can be deceiving.

There is something in this book for everyone: I was especially interested in it because of the book’s focus on magazine publishing, but it also discusses fashion, music, New York City living, college admissions, and hot clubs/restaurants. Summer Intern is similar to the Devil Wears Prada for a younger set, except that our protagonist Kira proves that the nice girls, who don’t scheme or try to get back at the people who bully them, in the long run are rewarded. Summer Intern also kind of reminds me of Prep and Violet on the Runway… a girl heading to a new, exciting place and is a little out of her element, but uses her smarts and her strong personality to flourish. Actually, what Summer Intern also has in common with Prep and Violet is incredibly well-developed characters, and a heroine who you immediately fall in love with.

I’m not sure whether there is a sequel planned for Summer Intern… but I really, really hope there is!

“It’s Totally A Girl Thing”: Libby Lu and the Marginalization of Tweens
By Casey McNulty

“Go ahead and complain as much as you want about the clothes…but it builds self-confidence for girls.”

“Yes they have make-up and racy clothes there but it is up to us to show our daughters what is appropriate and what is not.”

“It’s pedophile bait, pure and simple. Don’t you wonder who’s looking at your daughter when she’s walking around the mall dressed like that?”

These comments come from mothers embroiled in a debate on a Washington Post blog about the retail and “experience” chain Club Libby Lu, a store (with about 100 locations nationwide) that gives 5-to-11-year-old girls the chance to very publicly live out every little girl’s fantasy: to be a princess.

It is a “fantasy land” where tweens can have their hair and makeup done by the employees of Libby Lu, who call every girl “princess” and grant all of their wishes of fake eyelashes and pink hair extensions. Oh, and they have costumes that would likely infuriate their fathers if they could enter the store without being mistaken for dirty old men. Girls who do not yet have breasts or hips walk around the store in costumes of halter tops and low-slung jeans and are given lots of attention by friends and moms.

I am by no means accusing mothers and fathers who let their daughters go to Libby Lu of poor parenting. It is hard to tell a child she can’t go to her friend’s birthday party because Mom and Dad don’t agree with going to Libby Lu – especially when hugely popular celebrities like Miley Cyrus and the Jonas Brothers are partnered with the store.

Take-home goodies from birthday parties or individual visits can include makeup compacts, picture frames, sashes, temporary tattoos, hair accessories, pink sequin tank tops, feather boas, sequin bracelets, and small stuffed animal dogs. You have probably guessed that pretty much all of these things are pink.

Since when did all little girls want to be – or have to be – princesses? They walk under a huge crown logo just to get into the store, and as writer Sree Roy points out, they are greeted by large mirrors with decals that read “spoiled,” “you’re gorgeous,” and “I love your hair.” Contrary to popular belief, little girls are not programmed to love pink. Or makeup. Or “pretty” things that are forced upon them by a society unwilling to accept girls who deviate from the ultra-”feminine,” Hannah Montana and High School Musical norm.

What about the girls who like to read? Or girls who like soccer better than dressing up? What if the costumes that are supposed to fit the customers just won’t fit? What about girls who can’t afford to go to Libby Lu, or the parents who work two jobs to pay for their daughter’s birthday party but still don’t earn enough for a Libby Lu party?

This is just one more thing to keep little girls from being anything but a princess. Libby Lu is simply following suit behind Barbie and Disney princesses in the race to keep little girls from stepping outside of their gender roles. It keeps girls complacent by making them pink-and-sequin consumers, all the while teaching them that peer validation is contingent upon cool hair extensions, glittery eye makeup and pink gloss.

Libby Lu is a fantasy land. Because while it may be “natural” for little girls to want to dress up and wear makeup, they wouldn’t know how to do those things if their female relatives weren’t so beholden to makeup and “feminine” accessories, or if we grown ups didn’t tell them it was okay to walk around a mall shop with a tube top on at age five.

Girls learn about sexism early on at Libby Lu. Stores like Libby Lu teach girls that it doesn’t matter if you’re a smart girl or a sporty girl on the inside unless you’ve got the halter top and sexy makeup that will make people look at you in the first place. Let’s hope that, in the future, Libby Lu won’t have such an eager audience.

Courtney Macavinta is a writer, non-profit executive, and teen advocate extraordinaire, who I have the pleasure of publishing on GHQ! She’s the author of Respect: A Girl’s Guide to Getting Respect and Dealing When Your Line is Crossed. She’s the founder of Respect Rx, a program designed to empower girls and women and build sisterhood, which happens to have an awesome blog. I’m reposting a fabulous blog post of hers, which originally appeared here. Here’s Courtney… enjoy!

The media has been buzzing about a “let’s get pregnant!” pact apparently made by at least 8 out of the (she says matter-of-factly) 17 pregnant students at Gloucester High School in Massachusetts. Those who made the pact, according to Time magazine, are all under age 16.

I’ll make a confession that only my inner circle of girlfriends from high school has known until now. Eighteen years ago, I too made a sex “pact” when I was 15-years-old. I made the pact the summer before my junior year of high school. It wasn’t a pact to get pregnant. It wasn’t a pact to stay a virgin. But it was a pact to lose my virginity alongside my BFF on a camping weekend.

We went camping with two 18-year-old men. We even made them dinner. We wore our cute Contempo Casual ensembles and then we took leave to our separate tents. At least her partner was her long-time BF. Mine was a guy who’d showed me minimal attention (being rude and dismissive), taken me to a dance (a last-minute invite), and chased after my friends in front of me (and everyone else in school). And the “pact” experience sucked so bad for me that I swear I remember thinking—at the moment it was happening—I’ll never be the same after this.

And I wasn’t. Not because my “precious” virginity was gone. But because I had hit the no-self-respect-aholic’s equivalent of ROCK bottom.

I knew at that moment that I was treating myself like trash and I was getting the same in return. This is easy to do when you basically believe you are trash. I spent almost three more years making it worse for myself.

I was caught in a disrespect spiral that hadn’t started with that pact. Just like we all know this Gloucester H.S. baby boom process started long before those girls pinky-sweared to get knocked up or Juno hit the big screen with her quick whit but slow-thinking when it came to birth control. New mom Jamie Lynn Spears is not to blame either (timing wise these girls aren’t far behind her on the way to the delivery room).

Like I’m sure is true with the Gloucester 17, a sexual choice triggered by having next to no self-respect took me time to cultivate (even with my environment speeding things along). And even from the thin analysis were getting of their environment, it sounds like I have a lot in common with the girls of Gloucester. As do girls everywhere I go. I hear a story like this a week (or dozens when I’m the road speaking)—of a girl wanting to get pregnant or having unprotected sex or abusing drugs and alcohol or dating guys who could give a rat’s ass. Or just hating herself and not really knowing why.

And this all comes from a place in a girl where she hasn’t connected to the truth: that she is valuable no matter what kind of feedback the world is giving her. So she (in this case a gaggle of girls) settle for a senseless pact in which the fine print (that life is about to get even harder) is written in invisible ink.

When you don’t have great expectations for your 15-year-old self, doesn’t a Target registry, baby shower with your BFFs and a little bundle of love start to look good right about now?

My pact didn’t lead to me be becoming a young mother but it did lead to a long, drawn out rock bottom that became a cornerstone of my ultimate turn-around. That camping trip is one of the main reasons I co-wrote RESPECT. And it drives my mission to support girls and women in building their own self-respect and creating change so that all people get the goods. (Even if like me you have to build it back all the way from the bottom of a nasty tent in the woods where you just surrendered your last shred of dignity). Or even if you have to build back from a pact that led to 17 babies being born into the class of 2008-2009.

So this is a “hot” story. Everyone will be asking WHY? And a good number will cast these girls like thoughtless, malicious morons (insert newscaster voice: One girl even had sex with a 24-year-old homeless man to conceive.)

Instead, lets look at the impact of the girls’ situation on all of us (does it really matter which ones made the pact?). And let’s look harder at ourselves. Recent data shows that the teen birth rate is on the rise for the first time in 15 years. Gloucester H.S. you’re not alone. Along with comprehensive sex education, self-respect is a commodity that needs to be nurtured now in every one of our communities, homes and hearts. And in every girl. And in those 17 fathers who will no doubt NOT be the main focus of the national pregnancy pact media frenzy. And in those 17 babies who will be here soon.

Here’s what it comes down to as put so well by one girl quoted in the Time article that first reported the pact:
Ireland, 18, gave birth her freshman year and says some of her now pregnant schoolmates regularly approached her in the hall, remarking how lucky she was to have a baby. “They’re so excited to finally have someone to love them unconditionally.”

And Ireland’s observation also reveals the true solution:
What if every girl knew how to make that “someone” herself?

This is why I get out of bed every morning. To make a different kind of pact—a Respect Pact—the new default setting for all girls and women. And for me.

Leora Tanenbaum is now working with high school students writing their college applications essays. Leora is most well-known as the author of Slut! Growing Up Female with a Bad Reputation, which is taught at universities around the country in courses on women’s studies and sexuality. She is also a popular lecturer on campuses (Stanford, Duke, University of Michigan-Ann Arbor, Columbia, Spelman), a frequent guest on television (Oprah, The Today Show, The O’Reilly Factor, Inside Edition), and is the author of two additional books (Catfight: Rivalries Among Women–From Diets to Dating, From the Boardroom to the Delivery Room, and Taking Back God: American Women Rising Up for Religious Equality, forthcoming in January 2009). Leora has also written for many magazines, newspapers, and blogs including Seventeen, Cosmopolitan, Newsday, and The Huffington Post. Leora is a graduate of Brown University, class of 1991.

Leora does not write or re-write your essay. She guides you to create the best possible essay in your own voice. If you live in Manhattan, Brooklyn, Queens, or the Bronx, Leora will meet with you in person. If you live elsewhere, she will work with you over the phone or via email. If you haven’t created a rough draft, ideally you have an outline written. At the very minimum, you should know what you plan to write about. Leora’s summer rate is $75/hour. In September, her rate will double.

Interested? Email her at leoratan@yahoo.com.

After some thinking, I’ve deduced that the Sex and the City movie was fun. It was cute. It was a good example of product placement and a brilliant franchise. But it was an ideological disappointment.

I don’t call myself a feminist, though I do share most feminist ideals. I like to call myself a Humanist. People say it’s semantics, or a “fear of being female,” but my values are my values. So, I’m not looking at SATC from a “feminist” or “non-feminist” point of view.

Fact: I kind of really like sitting down and having the obligatory SATC evening. While I entertain the notion that SATC is an apparition of the real New York City — from its clear disregard for the subway system (!), its use of rampant sex as a means of self-fulfillment and the personally confusing tidbit that Bradshaw’s column somehow affords her a NYC lifestyle complete with Manolo Blahniks (and yes, I know she has rent control) — I do love watching four friends get dumped and fall in love and have books published. As a New Yorker, I enjoy watching restaurants, bars, neighborhoods and parks that I often visit.

Fact: Breaking up is hard, and I’m the first to understand that. And falling in love is addictive and toxic and romantic and fun, and I can empathize with all the women: Miranda and her excessively dirty-talking lover, Charlotte’s naive desire to fall in love “correctly,” Samantha’s wild and detached ways and most of all, Carrie’s heartbreak over Berger, the ball-less writer, whose incessant self-doubt and depression had him end things via a Post-it note despite the fact that she genuinely cared for him.

Some of these stories are realities. Some of this stuff happens right here, on the streets of New York City. Sometimes. But sometimes enough is enough.

What about — and this just warrants a brief mention — lesbians? Sure, there are plenty of stereotypical Stanfords to help praise Carrie’s love for shoes and overly-priced brunches, but the only real mention of lesbian culture was present in the episode in which Charlotte made friends with a group of them. And she decided to change herself and act unnecessarily squeamish.

And don’t call me a prude, but what about STDs? I can certainly speak on the behalf of many females my age in regards to having had a certain amount of fun, but the only mention of STDs really came when Samantha had her first AIDS test. And fainted. Safe sex doesn’t get much SATC promotion, and in New York City, where the statistics show ONE IN FOUR have red bumps of some sort, you’d think Carrie wouldn’t just sleep with 20-somethings and then Big and then nicknamed-men in between.

I sincerely believe SATC’s major downfall comes in the form of how the writers portray heartbreak and romance. Most of the time, the four women are trying lovers on, working through relationships or living single, but the underlying message seems to scream: We Need To Be In Love. We Need A Husband! It’s real cute and all that each episode ends on some clever, ideological one-liner, but SATC is just a glitzy, pink masquerade regurgitating social “norms” that make society sick with desperation and age/fashion/sex/ obsession.

So while Charlotte is certainly the Connecticut-born poster-child for a linear life of love, marriage and children, the other women bank on what men can give them, too. Their sanity, their shopping sprees, their gossip fodder and constant reason for having a “girls night in” or a “girls night out” is directly associated with a break-up, a break-down or a romantic mishap of some sort. I can assume it’s very difficult to be a single 30 or 40-something, but if SATC is so bent on proving that those same modern-day 30 and 40-year-olds are the new 20-somethings, than it’s also alright to assume the acceptability of being a single women at that age.

This is not a good message to send to females. While, yes, it’s human nature to want to be affectionate and receive affection, a romantic folly or lack thereof does not define who we are. It’s easy to get roped in, to become obsessively infatuated, to think your world is over when a relationship ends, and it’s just as easy to not question why this behavior is allowed to bombard our TVs and silver screens. I may be no one to judge, but I’d say Carrie, Samantha, Miranda and Charlotte could have used Melody Beady’s “Co-Dependent No More” at some point in their lives.

There’s a reason Miranda scolded her pouting friends during a diner run, asserting something to the likes of, “All we ever talk about is men! What about us? What about our needs?” Of course, because America needs someone’s desperation to numb their own voids, Miranda takes it back after hiding from an Ex on the street. Way to go.

This dependency is the fuel on which the movie runs. Charlotte is obsessed with having her own baby. So obsessive, in fact, that the story line is marred by her constant whining. But again, that’s Charlotte for you - fulfilling the only real “role” of the female. And there is Miranda, who is shunned for allowing her pubic hair to grow in, and Carrie, who somewhat honestly portrays an aching depression over her marriage failed before it ever took place. She is seen sleeping, wallowing, and remaining silent. This, to a degree, offers some sense of reality. But the movie takes a jagged turn when she hires a personal assistant (because as a novelist she’s far too busy to check her own email) and she randomly dyes her hair and whines some more over Big. And because the writers couldn’t leave all single women pining for someone to associate with, the writers chose to have Samantha represent the single girl. Funny that the notoriously promiscuous one (by societal standards) should decide to find herself. As if it’s only okay to be single if you plan of having tons of random sex with random people. And if you’re boyfriend sucks. There just has to be an explanation for this madness!

It doesn’t matter. Carrie runs right back to Big during a whimsical, unrealistic ending. Big proposes again. She says yes and doesn’t think twice. By this time, you can almost hear Michael Patrick King say, Just give the viewers what they want. Carrie’s lack of self-respect is mixed with one major dependency on a male figure–and the need for closet space, and more purses and shoes. It’s a giant Cosmopolitan that gets you drunk on the idea that maybe New York City is one big, pulsing co-dependent mess. As for the cherry on top: most people want to live this life, be these women and follow their rules. I am no guru, but experience has finally taught me one real rule about love: it helps when you feel it for yourself first.

Sandra’s parents, members of the racist National Party adamantly supported the apartheid system and the unearned privileges it afforded them at the expense of non-whites. Since both of Laings parents were officially classified as “white”, she enrolled in an all-white boarding school. At boarding school as Sandra aged and her skin became darker and her hair became curlier, she was ostracized by other students, their parents, and school administrators. As a result, Laing was forcibly expelled from her school by police. Outraged, her parents fought a public legal battle to publically classify her as white because of their white status. Her parents also took blood tests to confirm that indeed she was their biological child.
Throughout childhood Laing’s only friends were the children of her father’s black employees. Her friendships with them led her to meet the man she would later elope with and move to Swaziland in exile. As a result, her father threatened to end her and her partner’s life and disowned her. For the rest of the life she was estranged from her parents, however she met her mother who also sent her gifts and some financial support secretly. Last night I found a short documentary online about Laing. It is a sad yet powerful piece that is worth taking the time to view. I also discovered some articles about Mirimax possibly producing a film about her story titled Skin.

Laing’s story points to the absurdity of grouping people based on their phenotypical traits. It leads me to think about the truths brought forth in one of my favorite songs “Africa’s Inside Me” from the musical group Arrested Development:
“Why in the world can’t everybody
Recognize that Africa’s in everybody?
We all ask why can’t we be sista’s and brothers
But first we gotta accept who is our mother”.

NBC Studios

Newsweek had a great article on Russert in their last issue. It spoke about his unending thirst for information, passion for politics and love of his faith and family. It was so funny, because the more I read, the more I saw how easily it was to relate to him. Raised with Jesuit beliefs, Roman Catholic Russert worked at his Church rectory in high school, just like I did and he grew up loving his Buffalo Bills, much like me and my Pittsburgh Steelers. One of my best friends frequently saw him at Chef Geoff’s, the neighborhood burger joint (NBC’s offices are right near American University), having his signature Rolling Rock and a burger, just like a normal guy.

Although I only saw few full episodes of Meet the Press, the rest I saw as snippets as I got ready to go to Church Sunday mornings during college or perhaps saw as clips on the next day’s evening news. Russert’s enthusiasm was admirable and his passion was evident.

Perhaps what I plan to remember from Russert’s legacy was how being a major news bureau chief in a crazy world, he never left his faith. His Catholicism was something he never tried to push on anyone, it was just a big part of who he is. He never forgot where he came from; he always remembered his roots. So as I continue to pursue a journalism career, I can only hope that I can achieve the greatness that Tim emanated, through that infectious smile.

For those of you interested, here’s a link from our local NBC station here in D.C. about the funeral and memorial service that took place today in Georgetown: http://www.nbc4.com/news/16640489/detail.html?dl=mainclick
It was crazy to see Barack Obama and John McCain sitting together in Holy Trinity Church. His son Luke, who’s my age, gave a wonderful speech at the Kennedy Center. It was admirable for someone who’s only 22 to remain as composed as he did.

To all of you journalists out there, honor Tim’s memory this weekend. Go to your respective church, have a beer, or just hug your family.

With the second installation of the “trilogy” (I feel silly saying “trilogy” when talking about YA fiction–I feel like “trilogy” is much more Lord of the Rings than a fancy, contemporary YA book, but whatevs)–readers will fall even more in love with Violet… I know I did. Also, I also feel inclined to give a huge kudos to Melissa Walker for not underestimating her readers’ intelligence–Violet by Design has characters with depth, a wide usage of “SAT words,” and even a reference to the book Beloved! But don’t take my word for it… discover Violet for yourself!