”I know a lot of fancy dancers,
People who can glide you on a floor,
They move so smooth but have no answers.”
-Cat Stevens’ “Hard Headed Woman”
I’ve noticed a strange thing as of late. I’m not comfortable with female artists who actually like men. I’m so used to the idea of a strong woman that it seems odd and partially repugnant to me when I hear a woman sing about how much she loves (or even needs) her man.
I first realized I harbored this notion when reading the Rolling Stone cover story about Amy Winehouse. The day of the interview Winehouse had suddenly eloped with her boyfriend and throughout the interview she doted on him, talking about how she wanted to do his laundry and even boldly proceeded to cut his vegetables for him during dinner. The author mentioned that one started to feel “embarrassed for her.” Clearly, this is an extreme case, but reading it I thought only one thing. This was no way for a woman to be acting in 2007.
Winehouse’s album features heroines that run the gambit from assertive (“Addicted”) to wholly co-dependant (“You Know I’m No Good.”). The thing is, “No Good” is my favorite song on the album. Not because I feel it’s a genuine plea from a sympathetic woman madly in love with her man, but unable to control her life. It’s because the narrative is so outrageous. The heroine has a mind for only one man, but is constantly giving herself up to others.
”Upstairs in bed, with my ex boy
He's in the place, but I can't get joy
Thinking of you in the final throes, this is when my buzzer goes.”
She’s a train wreck. I can’t help but listen to her. On “Addicted,” a song about giving up your man before your weed, is much more in line with my conception of the modern woman.
“Don't make no difference if I end up alone
I'd rather have myself and smoke my homegrown
It’s got me addicted, does more than any dick did.”
It’s a sentiment shared by a plurality of popular female artists today. From Lilly Allen’s “Not Big” to Beyonce’s “Irreplaceable,” men are wholly unnecessary to ensure emotional or socioeconomic stability. Woman is an island.
I don’t outright dispute this notion. Ideally, every woman should be independently stable (as should every man, but that’s another story). One of the best comic series out right now is Y: The Last Man, a series by Brian K. Vaughan, about a world where all the males have died save for an English major from the Northeast. It’s a fascinating exploration of how society would function without a single Y chromosome. We all talk about the Peak Oil phenomenon, worried that our society is too dependant on fossil fuels to function when it runs out. Perhaps just as pressing is its dependency on men.
These are the questions I’m asking myself in my internal monologue these days. So when I hear a female singer belt out a number about how she needs a man…It throws my whole worldview out of sorts.
But what does it matter, anyway. I’m not even necessary in this world.
No comments:
Post a Comment