More bookish dilemma, dammit: Bought Lives of The Muses yesterday and manged to get half way through, despite it being discomforting reading. The Victorian-era Yokos and Courtneys and Brodey Dalles had it no easier. The muse is always doomed. Doomed to give up your own art for him , then wind dead from comsumption or die in childbirth, none of your own etchings or lithographs in mueseums or collection. Doomed to be slotted as official biographer, forever in a conjoined spotlight. Hated by the apologists and the family, belittled, second-guessed or omitted in the academic biographies or liner notes after you are dead.
Please lets say fuck this bunk history and tragic tale-e-ternal.
Please, girl: start your band. Start your band now.
Every book on women in rock in the used book store are always- ALWAYS titled to indictae the against-the odds, that the history and place of women in rock is virtually secret. Let's not be doomed to footnote or index-mention in the story of some genius-man's life. No more secret history, or untold story or quiet-reissues years after our deaths. No more relegation to ANTHOLOGIES, a chapter on each. We need entire books on dedicated subjects - ourselves, other women musicians and artists. Long investigative tomes and volumes. Please Please Please.
Please start your band now, girl.Posted by Jessica at September 16, 2004 06:27 PM | TrackBack