Look
back in Anger.
Out
they shone, like two silver bullets, irreverent and derisive. Poking
through the see through black shirt that barely covered the torso.
Two small round nipples on Brett Anderson's pasty, lithe body that
announced the arrival of Brit Pop.
Suede's
1993 Brit Awards performance was, apart from Jarvis cocker's mooning
of Michael Jackson, the defining image of Britpop. Forget Liam and
Patsy in a bed sheet. The dangerous, androgynous sexuality of Suede,
gloriously perturbed much of Middle England. Here was a new
generation, confident, sexually ambiguous, and definitely not the
Beatles.
Sadly,
Suede's beautiful revolution was overtaken by the louder, more
obnoxious Oasis, who brought with them a barrel of tedious guitar
bands all with shaggy haired, gobshite, lead singers, that flooded
the pop charts.
Lad
culture was born. Where emasculated males caught in arrested
development prolonged their eventual decline into the morose
responsibilities of adulthood. Instead opting to suck Hooch up
through a straw out of Bozzer's backside. While their mates belted
out 'Wonderwall' and tossed each other off to FHM, or other PG
pornography, claiming 'it's all banter'.
The
great dawn it was not.
I
wasn't old enough to be Mad for it. I just remember wearing a shirt
that nearly reached my ankles, purchasing a bucket hat and doing a
Jimmy Saville impression, before we knew the horror, but looking back
most of the Brit pop music was a great turd sandwich, that left
kernels between the teeth.
So
many dodgy bands, including Dodgy who were dodgy. If you want proof
that it was all ass treacle just think of the last time you actually
pulled out an Ocean colour scene CD, or a Shed Seven, or a Cast. Your
brain knows even if you haven't caught up.
However,
there is a saving grace, and that's the criminally overlooked female
indie groups that were the real heroes of Bripop.
In
the 90's you were spoilt for choice for fantastic girl indie rock
groups from Elastica to Sleeper, Echobelly, PJ Harvey, Catatonia,
Bjork and so many more. All with these ballsy, grungy, punk inspired
lead singers in men's shirts. Singers that weren't made up models
doing pretty dance routines, these were real women with wit and gusto
and 'I couldn't give a fuck', air about them.
Writing
songs that challenged patriarchy with umbrageous self- assurance;
Garbarge's 'Stupid girl', Hole's 'Celebrity Skin', or even Shania
Twain's 'Man I feel like a woman', where the video inverted the
Robert Palmer 'Addicted to love' video by having all the male backing
musicians being fawned over instead.
These
were indignant women re-defining their gender roles. Taking big
doctor martin boot strides towards equality while men cowered.
Trapped in a Lost boys escapism. Looking to Liam Gallacher for
inarticulate yob, guidance.
Unfortunately,
like all subversive movements that look to unsettle the apple cart,
the initial angst driven energy is soon subsumed and mollified by the
mainstream. Just like when they started selling ripped safety pin
t-shirts in BHS and you knew that punk was officially dead; it was
inevitable that this movement would meet a similar end.
So
it was that this new empowerment was cast off as 'Girl power', and
the Spice girls were born, a sugared down form of protest that was
easier to market and less incendiary than the female indie bands.
'Girl
Power', which proudly declared that women could be whatever they
wanted as long as they fitted into a tight British flag dress and an
easily recognisable category that succinctly wrapped up their entire
personalities.
The
rightfully angry female voice became infantilised in the form of Baby
spice, or made a parody of with Scary spice.
All
fitting in line with male fantasies, and we all too quickly returned
back to standard gender roles; Christina Aguilera ass chaps and boys
in leather jackets chugging their guitars, a distant world apart and
utterly dull.
Now
watching X-factor and seeing the lengths that women have to go, or
the items of clothing they have to loose still to have a hit records
you can't help but wonder what could have been.
When
Oasis return to the Brit awards wearing see through tops and
g-strings then I'll no longer look back in anger.
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