I remember an argument that I had with a somewhat thickheaded friend from high school: He tried to argue that women were inherently unable to rock as hard as their male counterparts. While it is true that notable female figures have been conspicuously absent from the history of rock n' roll, I don't think this is the result of women having an inherent predisposition not to rock, but rather the result of the culture that surrounds the music industry. In order to change my friend's mind, I directed him to check out one Miss Brody Dalle, then of the punk band The Distillers.
The punk scene of the early 2000s looked relatively barren. As plastic-wrapped pop punk conquered the airwaves, many lamented what appeared to be the ultimate commercialization of punk-rock. The war cry of the anti-social underground was lost amid the whine of bratty teenage angst. The Distillers were among a precious few bands that still seemed to embody the true spirit of punk. Lead singer Brody Dalle was a force to be reckoned with. Her biting vocals, delivered with a vicious, Elvis-lipped snarl, defined the hard hitting sound of the band. Dalle was without a doubt one of the most compelling female figures to emerge on the rock scene in years.
Of course, Brody's persona came with its measure of sex-appeal: tattooed and with Statue-of-Liberty-spiked hair, clad in skin-tight leather pants and a leopard print corset, Dalle no doubt played a role in the nighttime fantasies of punk rock boys and girls.
Fast-forward a few years. The Distillers broke up. Dalle married Josh Homme, frontman of Queens of the Stone Age, had a daughter and began work on a new project, Spinnerette, resulting in a June 2009 album.
Dalle's new project unveiled a more spacey, production-heavy sound. Spinnerette's eponymous debut album showcased catchy tracks with Dalle's characteristically biting lyrics. Though somewhat less heavy than her work with Distillers, "Spinnerette" is inventive and well-executed. Despite showcasing artistic growth and garnering positive reviews, Dalle's latest efforts were met with little fanfare. Many wrote off her new sound as being the result of her husband's musical influence. The music industry that had so readily embraced her a few years earlier didn't care to give her the time of day.
I cannot help but wonder how much the lack of enthusiasm for Dalle's new project is due to the fact that she no longer fits so neatly the image of the punk-rock sex kitten that has been ascribed to her. Dalle is no longer a young girl; she looks more like a woman now. Despite this fact, the album cover boasts, on its front and back, the respective sides of a svelte young pelvis clad in transparent lace panties. This body part probably does not belong to Brody, but it is hard to believe that, because it is so consistent with her Distillers-era image, it is not meant to give this impression. One telling review, from Brittan's NME, reflecting on Dalle's earlier work, cited not her prowess as powerhouse front woman, but rather her place in the "forefront of wet dreams."
Dalle and the case of Spinerette reveal an unfortunate double standard in the music industry that I believe to be at the root of why we see so few females playing rock n' roll. While we can easily disassociate the unfortunate mug of Chad Kroeger from multi-platinum Nickelback records, we cannot seem to accept the musical contribution of a woman unless they come with a sexualized image. Hard as it is to recall women who have made waves in the world of rock n' roll, it is harder still to recall those who weren't also sex-symbols. I'd like to hope that we will begin to value female artists' work independently of how they fit into our idea of beauty and sex appeal, but I fear that in our celebrity-obsessed culture of botox and boob jobs it may only get worse.
