I was randomly perusing Al's Music Rant when I came across an article published in June 2009, How To Lose Your Female Fanbase In 7 Easy Steps. In it, he apologised in advance for evaluating the physical appearance of a bunch of sexy musician-girls. The assessment could have been sexist, but he qualified the process by saying they were as attractive as they were talented. Such a qualification made me reflect upon my own wanton desire for a rather fetching, rather unstable Syd Barrett. Mick Rock's portraits of the kohl-smeared Barrett haunt me still, but I would be the first to admit that I care little for his music. Silly, lustful, shallow ol' me.

I thought of other musical crushes of yesteryear. John Lennon circa 1964, Freddie Mercury circa 1973, Morrissey circa 1986, Per Gessle circa 1991. It is perhaps odd to mention it, as I had once declared that my love of music was completely divorced from any notion of sexual attraction. At the time, I had been greatly influenced by Cheryl Cline's Essays from Bitch: The Rock Newsletter With Bite and I was keen to evolve into a pseudo-secure pop-feminist who engaged with music on a purely cerebral level. That meant relinquishing the gushing, the fanfic and even the very idea of a pop image. It only followed that my obsession with faceless, anonymous mod-revivalist groups meant that my engagement was solely based upon the music itself (and not upon the physical appearance of any musician involved).

Nowadays, I am far more likely to acknowledge the prevalence of sexuality in pop. I audibly applaud the grotesque contortions of Shakira. I feel great unease about the gender roles represented in Jessie's J's Like a Dude. I admit genuine concern when I insist that Ke$ha really needs a shower. It is far cry from the rueful swooning and blood-thumping obsession of a 16 year old girl, but I am compelled to speak frankly of the most profound of musical crushes past. Perhaps it is because I now accept that doing so will not diminish the sincerity of my relationship with music. It will not undermine my authority to speak about it, neither will it reinforce a stereotype that women cannot connect as men can: (cue stock footage of Beatle fangirls at Shea Stadium) they scream, cover their glowing cheeks, then faint...

Simon Day: Cautious
When I speak of the most profound of musical crushes past, I speak of the introductory moments of Ratcat's video for That Ain't Bad. At first, Simon Day's face is obscured by shiny black curls. When he tousles his loose curls from his face, it reveals a flawless, almost iridescent complexion. His cheek bones are sharp and his teeth are straight. I watch the clip again. He is too feminine to be masculine and yet too masculine to be feminine. Even as a 6 year old, I was mesmerised by his beauty. My attraction to him was only exacerbated by the arguably requited lyrics: "Ye-e-e-e-eah, I love you!"

The fascinating thing about That Ain't Bad is that Simon plays the role of the lovelorn. All his friends have warned him not to be with her, after all, she has a bad reputation. Unfortunately, Simon cannot heed to such warnings because he cannot see why she is so "bad". However, the imagery of the video would suggest that Simon is actually a "bad-boy" himself. He dons a leather jacket, manhandles a sizable tomato-soup-coloured Gretsch guitar and climbs through a wire fence with his mates in a dodgy part of town. Following this, I find it a little hard to believe that Simon would ever feel so vulnerable as to protect his heart from a callous femme fatale. Come to think of it, Simon is exactly the kind of boy our friends would warn us about... and much like Simon, I would duly ignore their every word of warning.

It is perhaps ironic that the most significant live recording of That Ain't Bad features not Simon singing, but a crowd of hysterical teenage girls singing over him at Melbourne's Metro. It makes absolute sense when they sing these words, you can hear them smile and shriek and carry on. You cannot help but smile too when you hear their yelps: OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! There is something wonderful about it. To me, it acts as an implicit pledge, en masse, to abandon all sense of caution, to ignore all sensible advice, to lust in vain. I long for a feeling like that again. I long to shriek mindlessly without qualm or qualification, along with a song and a man I really, really loved.

Cassettes & Chocolate Milk: Britpop Podcast #31
mclusky - To Hell With Good Intentions
LR Rockets - Renee Loves Losers
Carl Barat - Je Regrette, Je Regrette
The Good, The Bad and The Queen - History Song
The La's - Liberty Ship
Tim Tin Yen - Girl Number One
The Divine Comedy - The Pop Singer's Fear of the Pollen Count
Frankie & Heartstrings - Hunger
The Holloways - Reinvent Myself
The Vaccines - Wreckin Bar

Download (45.2 MB)

Until recently, I only had a very superficial understanding of what the Yé Yé movement represented. For me, it conjured up images of pretty French teenagers like Françoise Hardy or Sylvie Vartan. They would inevitably sport blunt fringes, baby doll dresses and uncomfortable shoes. Despite my obsession with France Gall's 1966 album Baby Pop, I didn't understand the revolutionary aspect of Yé Yé: it was the first time ever in the history of music where women were at the forefront of a cultural movement. Sure these girls were singing about broken hearts and bruised egos, but it was more than just that. These girls were singing about romantic blackmail and mistreatment and perhaps more pointedly, they were singing about aspirational matters, like how they wish to be treated by men.. and although it was all packaged in a such seemingly innocuous way, I think that's a pretty empowering thing to sing about.


Helpful advice
When you discover that the vast majority of these songs were written, produced and marketed by men, Yé Yé becomes something of a paradox. You begin to notice that these Yé Yé girls shared a deliberately naïve kind of sexual appeal. There was a great amount of emphasis placed upon the youth of these girls, not only in their personal iconography, but also in the "child-like" instrumentation in the music itself. You begin to notice that these songs were underscored with instruments such flutes and xylophones that you would otherwise expect to hear in the songs of children. You have to wonder why there were so many allusions to youth in this genre.

Yé Yé becomes even more perverse when you consider Les Sucettes, performed here by an 18-year old France Gall and Serge Gainsbourg. Gall thought she was singing an innocent song about a girl's love of aniseed lollipops, but as Gainsbourg would have it, Les Sucettes was filled with smarmy puns and double éntendres. When Gall discovered the true meaning of the song, she refused to perform any of his songs and soon broke up the partnership. Gall later said that she had no idea of the true meaning of Les Sucettes, claiming that she was mortified that Gainsbourg would have preyed upon her innocence in such a way.

The story of Les Sucettes has become inextricably linked with the story of Yé Yé. It is a wildly popular tale of manipulation and erotic subtext in song. But even more than that, it reiterates the idea that we often see in romantic literature of the sexually experienced man being matched with the sexually inexperienced girl. In all historical accounts of the Les Sucettes debacle, Gall is always made to account for her lack of knowledge while Gainsbourg is never made to account for his sexually provocative lyrics. It was just a joke at her expense.

It is unfortunate that Yé Yé doesn't really hold the promise of sexual freedom, but it is still fascinating to consider the scope of its influence. But you have to remember that listeners would have aspired to be just like Françoise Hardy, Sylvie Vartan or France Gall. Listeners would have aspired to have their beauty, sophistication, personal strength and independence. Their songs would have provoked thought and reflection and consequently, they would have changed the way teenage girls think and act. If you forget everything I just told you about the insidious underbelly of the Yé Yé movement, you can really begin to embrace something that is exciting and so very liberating in these songs.. and I encourage you to do so with this week's podcast.

Cassettes & Chocolate Milk: Mod Podcast #14
Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass - Carmen
France Gall - Laisse Tomber Les Filles
Maryrene - Cette Fille N'est Rien Pour Lui
Natacha Snitkine - Le Jeu du Téléphone
Marie Laforêt - Marie Douceur, Marie Colère (cover of the Rolling Stone's Paint It Black)
Danielle Denin - Je Lis Dans Tes Yeux (cover of the Beatles' I'm Looking Through You)
Erick Saint Laurent - Eleonor Rigby (cover of the Beatles' Eleanor Rigby)
Karine et Rebecca - Moi, Je Dors Avec Nounours
La Petite Lily - Je N'aime Pas La Choucroute
Jeanette - Porque Te Vas
Cosette - Les Cheveux Dans Les Yeux
Soeur Sourire - Dominique

Download (31.7 MB)

There are moments where I do believe that that "being a girl" is completely divorced from my passion for music and the manner in which others perceive that passion. But for the most part, I can't help but recognise that my musical skills, knowledge and passion have been undermined for that very reason.. and I think I've figured out why.

Think of the footage of the thousands of hysterically sobbing, hormonally charged teenage girls, watching the Beatles perform at Shea Stadium. These images have become so seminal because they've reinforced this very idea - this cliché that a girl's attachment to music is so trivial. That it is purely motivated by sexual attraction. The idea that a girl can become intellectually engaged with music becomes so far-fetched that even the label for a female fan is a derogatory term. We are "groupies" or "fangirls" or "band sluts". You can never just be a girl who loves music.

All of that might seem so distant from what we perceive to be happening now, but I really do believe that this is still such a relevant issue. We don't even realise it's happening anymore. As long as we decide to do this, we will always be asked why we aren't assuming our traditional position. Why we aren't behind the barricades, hysterically sobbing for the real musicians.

NB: China of choir croak them out goodies has written a stunning article in response to this. I suggest you go read, post haste!