women's march : part 2

I uploaded these songs a few days ago with the intention of writing some kind of a tribute to each of the artists, but I realized that's too big a job for the amount of time that I have, as these are some of my favorite female artists from the 90s whose work I find still immensely relevant to this day. The 90s were a great era for women in music; there was so much diversity in rock alone, from Hole to Mazzy Star to PJ Harvey to Tracy Bonham. These are the ones I listened to the most, and here they are, with whatever comes to my mind. Next up: notable female artists from this decade.

sinéad o'connor : red football
sinéad o'connor : sacrifice
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Did you know that more women aged 15 to 44 suffer death or disability from domestic violence than from war, cancer, malaria and road accidents combined? Sad but true. I grew up in a household full of strong, nurturing women, who selflessly raised, educated, and provided for me and my siblings. It is simply beyond my understanding why women should suffer from violence at home, and biases in the workplace, in politics, in many other facets of society. Not a lot of female pop artists take up these issues in their work, as these women do in one way or the other, and you can't blame them. It's not a light issue, and forms of entertainment, be they music or film, are less likely to have mass appeal when the contents are heavy. Never one for commercial success, Red Football is doubtlessly Sinéad O'Connor's most up-front statement for women's rights, followed closely by No Man's Woman. What this song achieves is it delivers an unequivocal message without being moralistic, because with the kind of statistics I cited earlier, calling an end to violence against women no longer needs to appeal to people's morals and hope for change. It needs to confront. It needs to provoke. It needs to agitate, as the ending of this song does. Of course, Sinéad is not only to be appreciated for her bravery, but also for her vocal uniqueness. Which is why I also have to post Sacrifice, her remake of the Elton John song about infidelity, which Sinéad delivers with unfurling anger – you will notice her tone change when she sings "We lose direction, No stone unturned." Even for a Sinéad song, this song is heavy on reverb at the start, but it only highlights what she can do with her voice.

paula cole : happy home
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If you knew Paula Cole from her breakthrough album This Fire, you would know right away that Happy Home, from her debut album Harbinger, would be anything but happy. In fact, it's a song about the opportunities that women miss and the compromises they make – willingly or otherwise – when they carry the role of wives and mothers. But what's good about this song is it's a story of two people: the mother suffering a crisis of what defines her identity – a problem identified and best described by Betty Friedan in The Feminine Mystique – and the well-meaning daughter trying to figure out what was going on. It reminds me of the relationship between the young Ed Harris and Julianne Moore character in that excellent film, The Hours. Best Line: But everybody could feel the suffocation, Underneath the façade of a happy home. Best Part: The mix of acoustic and electric guitars after the bridge where she sings "Home sweet freedom, flowing in my mind." Oh, and on a side note, Paula Cole is coming up with a new album, Courage, due out on June 12 from her own record label, Decca. It's been a long time since her last album Amen, and I can only expect the kind of brilliance she displayed in This Fire, which earned her only the second-ever female Producer of the Year nomination at the Grammys.

crossroads : tracy chapman
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Yes, I know Crossroads – both the album and the single – came out in 1989 as a follow-up to her hugely successful self-titled debut. Like many, I had ignorantly dismissed Tracy Chapman as a one-hit-album wonder, until she released the song Give Me One Reason in 1995. The album where it's from, New Beginning, renewed my interest in her music. While I listened to the loud spawns of the grunge era, I was also rediscovering and enjoying the quiet acoustic beauty of her sound, which is why I will always associate this song I'm posting with the 90s. If you really think about it, even in songs like The Promise, there's a lot of sorrow in her music, but she never makes them sound hopeless or desperate. Her voice doesn't have the range or versatility that the rest of the artists here have, and that many others use for dramatic effect, but it beats in itself, not with anger, but with willpower. Hers is the voice of quiet defiance, and this is something you will hear in Crossroads, which is about a woman's refusal to make compromises – over what is open to interpretation. It's easy to think she's singing about her creativity as an artist and selling out, but a woman forced into a marriage she didn't want could also probably relate to it. Best Line: Standing at the point, The road it cross you down, What is at your back, Which way do you turn. Best Part: The intro hooked me to the rest of the song.

caught a light sneeze : tori amos
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I'm not a Toriphile, but I did enjoy her music immensely from Under the Pink to Boys for Pele. The albums that came after were just too labored to the point of being ponderous for my taste – save for the couple of cuts she did for the soundtrack to the film Great Expectations in 1998 – until she released Scarlet's Walk in 2002, which was a watered-down version of even her old self. That said, what I liked most about Tori Amos was not so much her lyrics as her voice and her sound, from the piano-and-voice restraint of Merman to the more elaborately arranged Tear In Your Hand. Most of the time, her lyrics are too coded for me to comprehend; I don't think I've ever agreed with anyone about what Silent All These Years meant. Caught A Light Sneeze is no less easy, but there are enough hints to say it's about the meltdown of her relationship with Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails – the reference to Pretty Hate Machine, the Nails album that catapulted them to fame, was a giveaway. Best Line: I need a big loan from a girl zone. I have no idea what it means, but it sure sounds good the way she sings it. Best Part: How she lengthens the words "building tumbling down" at the chorus.

ghost : indigo girls
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I first learned about the Indigo Girls when their album Swamp Ophelia was given to me as a birthday gift by someone I dated. While the relationship didn't last long – it was in fact my shortest ever – the impact of Emily Saliers and Amy Ray's music on me did. I was so impressed with that album that I immediately looked for their prior work and discovered Rites of Passage, where Ghost comes from. Where do I even begin talking about this song? This is a true gem, one of those that immediately capture you with its sound, then with its lyrics bit by bit, and then ultimately its totality. Your appreciation of it just grows the more you hear it. There's just so much natural beauty in this song that whenever you listen to it, you're touched by one aspect of it that's different from the last – from a poetic line or two, to Emily's tearful wail, to Amy's somber backing vocals, to the way their fingers slide on the strings of their guitars. What first struck me was the first line in the chorus – There's not enough room in this world for my pain. It sounds so spontaneous and therefore sincere that it reaches out to your own sense of pain and longing. And when Emily sings I'd walk into the fingers of your fire willingly, you feel your own vulnerability. The literary references – from Helen of Troy to Achilles to the Pied Piper – are cleverly employed. I get goosebumps every time I hear this: And you kiss me like a lover, Then you sting me like a viper, I go follow to the river, Play your memory like a piper. The best line? It's hard to choose, but it would probably be the first line in the final verse: This bitter pill I swallow is the silence that I keep, It poisons me I can't swim free, the river is too deep. The best part? I love the bridge, where Emily delivers an evocative wail, followed by the reversal of the duo's vocal roles.

women's march : part 1

March is all-women month at Alternative Sounds, being that part of the year when we celebrate International Women's Day, which was on the 8th. I thought I'd make a conscious attempt to increase the representation of female artists in my blog. This first installment consists of artists from the 80s. The next one will be those from the 90s, followed by women of folk and women from around the world.

all i want : susanna hoffs
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Before there was Lisa Loeb, before there was Natalie Imbruglia, before there were Frente!, Luscious Jackson and The Corrs, there was Susanna Hoffs. The most prominent one-fourth of The Bangles was the original pop-rock sweetheart, who exuded vulnerable sexuality with her delicately saccharine voice and wistful acoustic guitar. To someone growing up in the 80s and who was just beginning to form his own hormonally influenced notion of an ideal woman, Susanna Hoffs was the definitive girlfriend material. Madonna was too wild. Cyndi Lauper was too weird. Bananarama were just too bleached. With her hoop earrings, tapered jeans and Aqua Net-architectured curls, Hoffs came out of VH1 and MTV like a singing porcelain doll, a small, shapely creature with the face of an angel, graced by a full set of lips that broke into a disarming smile, and wide eyes that charmed every time they half-closed. In other words, Susanna Hoffs was the first female artist that gave me the bone. She came to her peak in 1989 when the band released Eternal Flame – that irresistibly mushy ballad to undying love, the first three words of which provoke a universal sigh. But at age 48 – basking in the acclaim of Under The Covers, her 2006 album of duets with Matthew Sweet – Hoffs is still beguiling as ever, outlasting her 90s facsimiles, while her voice has hardly changed. I'm posting her 1996 cover of the Lightning Seeds classic All I Want, which she manages to make cute and edgy with her trademark rasp at the chorus. She only changes the instrumentation, giving it an minimalist treatment but keeping to the pace and form of the original. Best Line: Confidence, coincidence, call it a sin, it's just like people say. Best Part: I love the drums at the intro and the jangle of acoustic guitar at the first chorus.

soap and water : suzanne vega
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If you're not new to this blog, you might notice that there's a new personality in the header art. Why didn't I think of putting Suzanne Vega up there the first time? I've been a fan since Luka, which I realized even at 13 or 14 was a remarkable song. I had been exposed to pop music that dealt with social and political issues before, or since I cared enough to actually mull over the lyrics – from famine (Do They Know It's Christmas?) to war (State of the Nation) to teen pregnancy (Papa Don't Preach) – but somethig was different about Luka. For one, who thought of writing a song about child abuse from the point of view of the abused child? (If you hear something late at night, Some kind of trouble, some kind of fight, Just don't ask me what it was) The words are haunting enough; the melody couldn't have accompanied them better. The brilliance of the songwriting becomes even sharper when compared to What's The Matter Here?, about the same theme, released on the same year (1987). (I'm tired of the excuses everybody uses, He's your kid, do as you see fit.) Make no mistake – the 10,000 Maniacs song, written by vocalist Natalie Merchant, is equally brilliant, but Luka is more poetic and empathetic. In fact, a poet who happens to sing is what Suzanne Vega is. Her songs are always full of symbolism. They're not always obvious, but they speak to you in ways only you can understand – just listen to Gypsy. Luka is one of the easy ones; Soap And Water is another – a song about a couple's separation and how it ravages the emotions of the child. But see how beautiful she illustrates tragedy – Soap and water, Wash the year from my life, Straighten all that we trampled and tore, Heal the cut we call husband and wife. It's hard to think of another female singer-songwriter who approximates her breed of intelligence. Best Line: The verse I just quoted. Best Part: The six guitar notes that run throughout the song.

circle dream : 10,000 maniacs
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Resolute is one of the words I use to describe Natalie Merchant's voice. It's an amazing instrument she has. You hear her sing, and you know she's out to make a statement – from depression (Like The Weather, which you can listen to right here) to media desensitization (Candy Everybody Wants) to unwanted pregnancy (Eat For Two). Or at least that's what I think the last song is about. Motherhood is a theme that Merchant writes about with emotional acuity, free of clichés and mawkish testimonies. Circle Dream, from the band's 1992 album Our Time In Eden, is a celebration of life – and here you'll see some parallelism between her and Suzanne Vega's songwriting, because it's from the voice of the unborn child itself. Best Line: Her warmth coming near, calling me "sweetness," calling me "dear". Best Part: Natalie's own backing and harmony vocals.