Archive for February, 2012

Women have come a long, long way since the Women’s Lib first emerged, especially in the West. The general perception these days is that the West – let’s say the US and the UK – is where one goes to be ‘liberated’ from cultural/social restrictions common to the East, especially the restrictions placed on women. A woman can wear what she wants and do what she wants, without society saying ‘no, this is how a woman should behave’ – a common line used by Asian conservatives of the older generation, especially concerning a woman’s sexuality. But in the pursuit of female sexual liberty in a world of MTV videos and image-is-everything – have female musicians in the West just gotten entrapped in a new set of restrictions? A set of restrictions as deadly as those rung round their foremothers centuries ago because the women themselves perpetuate these restrictions by consenting?

Pictures speak a thousand words, like they say, and I Googled some images of mainstream female musicians from the 60s, 80s, 90s and then the ones from 2005 onwards; hover over the pictures below with your cursor if you want the names of the artists. I believe music, like any art, is a reflection of the environment it is created in – and so mainstream music is a reflection of the society that buys the albums.

Concert/album shots of mainstream female musicians 60s-90s:

Concert/album shots of mainstream female musicians today: 

Mainstream Girl-band and Album cover (The Bangles) 80s:

Mainstream Girl-band and Album cover (Pussycat Dolls) today:

Madonna, Beyonce, Nelly Furtado 80s-90s:

Madonna, Beyonce, Nelly Furtado today:

The most obvious observation is that clearly, mainstream female musicians just don’t like wearing clothes anymore. But this isn’t just about clothes – below, 60s musicians Julie London and Peggy Lee are dolled up in a typically feminine way that accentuates their physical assets as women – but there’s a difference between these images and the ones above.

Here are the observations I’ve made (scroll up and look for yourself):
1. The looks on the faces of the today musicians – are vacant and expressionless, mechanical. They all look at the camera either in an innocent stupid way or with an empty come-hither glare. If you enlarge the Pussycat Dolls pic you’ll notice the looks on their faces have expressions – but very staged, varying between innocent, coy and sexually inviting. The looks on the 60s-90s women hold very natural spontaneous human emotions.
2. The today postures compliment the looks on their faces — they’re all in very purposefully posed positions that say ‘look at my body’/ ‘look at my chest and ass’ – if you look at Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears, their postures are exactly the same and are often imitated by other female celebrities, hinting that celeb photographers give the same direction to women they want to portray sexually: the posture puts the focus on their chest and crotch, selling the female body. Whereas the postures of the 60s-90s women are ordinary, natural.
3. The 60s-90s women actually look in total control – of their bodies, of themselves. The other women are not, like somebody had given them strict instructions and placed them in that position – hence the vacant looks, because the postures are meaningless to themselves. This is ironic since at the start of the millennium there was the rising notion of female self-empowerment via self-sexualization.
4. If women today dressed like some of the 60s-90s women (particularly look at Christie Hynde), they’re often speculated for being ‘dykes’ – the slur for lesbians. Ergo there is not as much freedom today for female musicians to dress as they please – the media and the viewers consequently relate everything to their sexuality.
5. The images of the 60s-90s women – if you look again – will remind you of modern-day indie-musicians – you know, those obscure musicians that most people have never heard of, on the sidelines of the industry, not making as much money as they should since people don’t want to buy meaningful music, they want to buy sex.

You can see an identical degradation and a consequent lack of art in a general sense – in the following artists when comparing their music videos in the 90s to the ones they’ve made today: Nelly Furtado in the 90s – I’m like a bird & Nelly Furtado today – Promiscuous; Mariah Carey in the 90s – Always be my baby & Mariah Carey today – Touch my body. The change is profound, as though they were different people entirely; and it’s not about aging either, as you find female musicians today as young as 17 and 18 mimicking the same.

Is it a crime for women to sell their bodies with their music? Like they say, sex sells, it’s what the public wants from them; it’s why almost all mainstream songs today are about sex or something that leads up to sex. And some say, what’s the big deal – it’s the woman’s body, she can do with it what she wants. But does it stop with the woman in the video itself? And even if it does – is it healthy for your self-worth to base the success of your career on the basis of your body parts? Do women being portrayed in videos and pictures as feelingless things who want to only have sex – affect the way men in general perceive women, and the way in which young impressionable women themselves perceive their bodies?

Yes, it does. And I think visually sexualizing women in this way is only taking a huge, huge backstep in the course of female empowerment, especially since it’s in Western music which is so widely circulated worldover – I’m sure it even serves as inspiration for mainstream musicians in other countries. I hope it’s just a phase and we all grow out of it; I get that it’s a woman’s prerogative to wear what she wants and do what she wants, but even though it may look like that is what these women are doing, in truth they are only slaves to a commercial industry, one which facilitates the sale of themselves in return for fame and success, propagating under the disguise of ‘girl power’ the degradation of female value; an industry that has lately been churning out confused, insecure, completely powerless disasters:

   

Look at these two album covers below and answer me, judging purely from the images as if you were being introduced to these artists for the first time:
Which woman of the two are you more prone to consider with respect as an intelligent talented musical artist?

 

Alice’s Box

Posted: February 8, 2012 in Uncategorized

Alice liked her little box
Cosy, comfy, cushions, quaint
She sat up there in dress and socks
And all day sit and paint
Her thoughts would spill onto the walls
In shades and shapes and sound
People, animals, birds and bees
And all sorts of things profound
Outside the box was dangerous things
She’d seen in her picture-books
Brown buildings made of Routine
Pain and Compromise filled the brook
Dog-eared Regrets in the Library
Well-dressed Boredom in the mall
The fruits laden on the trees, repulsed
Towards the clouds, would fall
Alice would never ever leave her box
She’d swear to herself each night
But what to do, the growing child
Was growing too big, despite
Her feet were getting bigger
Too big for her little socks
Her limbs were growing longer
Too long for Alice’s box
I don’t want to leave my little box
She’d cry to no one there
Here it’s cosy, comfy, cushions, quaint
There it’s ugly and unfair
‘Don’t be a stupid baby’
Her paintings taunted one desperate day
‘It’s not so bad outside your box
Now it’s time to go, I say’
‘It’s not that outside aint so bad’
Yelled Alice with a pout
‘It’s that it aint great like my box’
– Before she was pushed out!

In lieu of these being the last few hours of my 21st year! Instead of whining about growing old this year I thought I’d write a metaphorical poem (been eons since I wrote one that rhymed). See what I did there?

Why I couldn’t leave Facebook

Posted: February 4, 2012 in Uncategorized

Remember this self-righteous little post I made about leaving Facebook and its trivialities behind in a huff to do bigger and better things with my time? Well I meant every word of it OK. At the time. But after my vacation in Sri Lanka last December – during which I returned to FB shortly to easily get in touch with the peeps on the island – I thought I’d leave again when I flew back to Delhi, to – ya know – focus on my studies and be dorky like that.

But then Winter happened. When I landed here it was close to 10 degrees. I was in five layers of clothing inside my apartment, and still my knees trembled. Times like these I envied the obese for their natural insulation. I was literally miserable. And honestly speaking, though I’ve made some friends here, I haven’t really bonded with anyone to the extent as I have with my friends back home, which didn’t really help matters.

One day, I was going to take a bath, so I have to fill this bucket up with hot water from the tap (tres-archaic, I know). So I did this and meanwhile soaped and shampooed myself up — then grabbed a bowlful of water and — AAARGH — the water was ice cold; the gas used to heat the water was apparently all gone so the heater obviously wasn’t working. Had to still take a bath in cold water in some 15 degree weather to get rid of all the soap.

Some days I would wake up at 8.30AM for college, but it was torture to climb out of the nice, warm quilt into the cold air around it, let alone the general problem of my innate hatred for mornings. When I finally dragged myself out of bed and got out of the apartment, and rushed to class two minutes away, the cold air would sneak its way up my nose into my lungs and make my head and breathing feel weird, till I’d have to stop and breathe into my palms to feel normal again. I sat on my hands a lot in class, a trick my mum taught me when I was in a room that was too cold to keep your fingers from dying, made it a bit hard to take down notes though.

There were a few cool things about Winter however, like being able to wear some mad stylish winter jackets you can never wear on a tropical island, and breathing into the air to see a hazy white ghost escape from my mouth, and the taxi-ride to the train station at 6AM when the streets and everything were hidden behind thick milky mist and you literally couldn’t see beyond 5 feet in front of the car, and the feeling of having a steaming hot plate of Maggi noodles on a frigid afternoon. But mostly it was just crappy. There’s just something sinister about the sun refusing to show; maybe it’s just my islander tendencies talking, but it’s like the energy, the colour, the.. yay-ness.. out of everything has been ironed out. The cold just creeps up into your world, wraps one icy arm around you and paints everything grey with the other. It made me cranky too. Several times did I vent my frustrations on poor Monkey – my monkey-on-a-tricycle – by calling him all sorts of hurtful names making him silently cry on the inside (which in the eyes of the roomies was no improvement from my having ordinary conversations with him).

What does all this have to do with Facebook? Well, it was my happy place. When Monkey wouldn’t listen, when I sat on my hands too long and couldn’t feel them properly anymore, when I ran to college at 9AM with only two layers on and freezing half to death only to find the class had been cancelled, when I accidentally spilled half my delicious hot Maggi noodles on the floor, when some days were so cold and dreary that I literally wouldn’t emerge from the covers for more than 15 hours, when everyone got on my nerves without making much effort — I logged onto FB to spend some virtual time for some virtual comfort from the friends and family back home. Sharing pictures and notes with each other from miles away, all the lols and the lmaos, the random wallposts about fat cats in paintings and all – really helped.

Sounds cheesy I know, but it’s true, what can I do.
And in no way am I using this as an excuse to cover up for something else, like say, an unnatural procrastination-induced addiction to social networking.
Of course not, that would be ludicrous. Ludicrous, I say.

Now I will distract you with a portrait of Monkey.