When someone, literally anyone, misunderstands, flippantly criticizes, and/or writes off the work of a female artist that I know is a bona fide genius, yours truly descends into a relative tizzy. But then again, rarely do I myself enjoy a song or album on the first, or even fourth, listen. It took me three tries to get through track #1 of FKA twigs’ MAGDALENE. Lana Del Rey’s Honeymoon? I was out cold within three songs, and when I woke up, the album was over, and so was the plane flight. At this particular moment, I cannot distinguish one song from the next on Phoebe Bridgers’ Stranger in the Alps. So, I’m going to listen to Stranger in the Alps again and again (and again), because I know that, when you hear something new, you’re relatively clueless when it comes to the story behind the song’s creation, the lyrical intricacies (or what the heck they’re saying, period), the potential social or political significance, how it relates (or doesn’t) to the artist’s other work, the clever subtleties that make the song tick… Plus, the territory is new, unfamiliar, devoid of all of that scream-along, reminds-me-of-that-time, comforting energy that accounts for a lot of what we love about music. There’s a learning curve to loving, let alone understanding, a song, album, or artist. And I’m here to flatten that curv––No? Not funny? Keep that out of this? Ok. I digress.
In this blog, I’m digging into songs by female artists that I love and delineating why they slap (hard) and deserve your attention and respect. I’m not asking you to join their fan club (are those still a thing, or did they die with the 20th century?) or download their discography on Spotify. Just give said song a good listen, a bit of thought, and your appreciation. The tracks I plan to spotlight are deep cuts––some artists suck at lead singles (*cough* Taylor Swift *cough*) so too few people hear the real stuff––or radio singles you’ve almost definitely heard but to which you’ve never really listened. Think of it as SparkNotes, but hopefully funnier and definitely more irreverent and centered around badass women as opposed to white guys that are old (and/or dead), stuffy, and sexist.
I’m christening my blog "That’s what she’s saying.” because I’m here to help you understand, well, what she’s saying. Plus, “that’s what she said” is what all the boys in my middle school (and high school, and college, and adult life) spouted off when anyone said anything remotely edgy (wittingly or otherwise) that made everyone giggle awkwardly. Oftentimes what these intrepid superwomen say––technically sing––does push boundaries and challenge the listener, who is rendered momentarily uncomfortable but ultimately enlightened. And that’s a good chunk of the feminist fun, isn’t it?
See you in the next post,
Leah
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