Runaways exposes inequality in rock

In last week’s The New York Times review of Dum Dum Girls’ I Will Be, which debuted March 31, the critic could not get through even the first clause of his opening sentence without labeling the shoegaze-y pop-rock outfit an “all-female” band.

Yes, the group’s name does invoke a specific gender and, yes, frontwoman Dee Dee often prefers decadently patterned tights and short shorts over the standard rocker uniform of jeans and a T-shirt for live performances.

But should the group’s fashionable good looks and its feminine name — which, by the way, pays homage to both Iggy Pop’s “Dum Dum Boys” and The Vaselines’ 1989 album Dum-Dum — imply that Dee Dee and her bandmates should be patting themselves on the back for overcoming their handicap of femininity to produce an album that can play in the big leagues alongside their male indie-rock counterparts?

This dropping of a gender distinction when discussing rock music, whether indie or mainstream, is just one of many in a field that has historically been dominated and typified by men.

Last month, the Los Angeles Times published a cover story on L.A.’s lo-fi rock scene currently flourishing at the Downtown all-ages venue The Smell. Unlike previous articles on contemporary L.A. musicians and the unassuming hole-in-the-wall venue that has quickly become an indie-rock sanctuary, the Feb. 7 article, which was sectioned into interviews with Best Coast, Pearl Harbor, Nite Jewel and the aforementioned Dum Dum Girls, was overly preoccupied with a minor quality that each musician biologically had in common.

From the title — “Queens of L.A.’s lo-fi scene” —  to the sub headline — “…a new crop of female rockers…” — to the opening sentence, which referenced nearly every “all-girl punk band” from the Go-Gos to Sleater-Kinney and the most recently defunct Mika Miko, it was apparent the Los Angeles Times believed that what was fascinating about these artists was not the music they were creating, but how they managed to play guitar and keyboards with manicured fingernails.

And even though Angeleno music advocates cannot be anything but giddy for these homegrown artists, the increasing popularity of these women is twofold — just like the ones who rose to fame before them.

The bright spotlight currently shining on these swaggering, musically inclined females converges with last month’s release of the rock ‘n’ roll biopic, The Runaways. The film, which is based off Cherie Currie’s Neon Angel: A Memoir of a Runaway and stars Kristen Stewart and Dakota Fanning, depicts, like every other rock ‘n’ roll biopic, the rise and fall of the hard-rock band that formed in Southern California in the mid 1970s.

But what makes this biopic, even if it is only mediocre at best, a standout among its celluloid peers is the The Runaways’ distinguished legacy as being the first — for lack of a less-exhausted phrase — all-female band.

The brainchild of then-teenagers Joan Jett (guitar), the late Sandy West (percussion) and iconic record producer Kim Fowley, and rounded out by Lita Ford (lead guitar), Jackie Fox (bass) and Cherie Currie (lead vocals), The Runaways catapulted to international acclaim with its self-titled debut record in 1976. But more so than its music, which was grounded in hard-edged beats, punk angst and arena-rock guitar shredding, the short-lived Runaways garnered most of its fame by its provocative image.

The Runaways’ “all-female” foundation inherently possessed a certain kind of kitsch, and Fowley, known for cultivating novelty bands, did not pass up the chance to capitalize on the group’s groundbreaking lineup.

“There’s only two places men want to see women,” Fowley says in the film, “and that’s in the kitchen or on their knees.”

The movie, too, exploits its feminine wiles to its full potential, from the opening frame of menstrual blood splashing onto already-stained concrete to the media hype of Fanning and Stewart’s racy make-out session. Although written and directed by a woman and centering around female protagonists, the film’s marketing seemed to cater to men, highlighting everything a teen male would want to see — scantily clad girls engaging in hypersexual activities.

Unfortunately, more than 30 years after a dolled-up and well-underage Currie thrust her hips into her mic stand à la David Bowie, music’s glass ceiling, though noticeably cracked, is still far from being shattered.

What’s most intriguing, however, is how these gender-specific labels abound in only particular genres of music. With the exception of “diva,”  which typically denotes a woman, rarely does one read about a “female pop star” or “female country singer.” As women remain the chart-toppers and largest money-makers in those genres, their voices will proceed to dominate the airwaves.

Yet rock ‘n’ roll, with an alpha-male image at its core, continues to function as a boys-only club, leaving the girls who would rather strap on an electric guitar than a sweet-tempered acoustic to pave their own paths.

In an early scene in The Runaways, a leather jacket-clad Jett sits in a school classroom opposite an elderly man gently strumming an acoustic guitar. She rolls her eyes as he asks her to model his fingers and play a simple G chord.

“At least teach me ‘Smoke on the Water,’” Jett begs. “I know you know that one.”

“Girls don’t play electric guitar,” he responds.

The man continues to ignore her pleas and move his fingers from a G to a D chord, expecting Jett to follow. Instead, she plugs the amplifier into her guitar, kicks back her chair and wails away, drowning her teacher’s protests in a wave of electric screeches.

To you, Joan Jett, I say — “Rock on.”

Lauren Barbato is a senior majoring in writing for screen and television. Her column “Sound Check” runs Tuesdays.