The “Are you a feminist?” test is most often administered to young, female celebrities who have dared to challenge stereotypes or allude to their beliefs in gender equality. Interviewers never ask this question of male celebrities, and they rarely ask it of older women. And in the context of mainstream media, “Are you a feminist?” is not movement-building. It’s a trap. If young women say yes, tabloids and conservative pundits are quick to decry their perceived radicalism. And if they say no, they’ve got the feminist police to deal with. Usually, they take a middle ground: They decline the label but say a bunch of other smart things that make clear they’re quite aware of gender inequality and the need to remedy it.
Iceage, Copenhagen February 2013.
Photo by David Edwards, NME
Iceage - The Lord’s Favorite (2014)
Apparently Iceage have been spending a little too much time befriending dairy cows instead of skulking in abandoned warehouses.
Roy Lichtenstein, Interior with Waterlilies, 1991
it’s not what you are, it’s just what you did / don’t hang up the phone, I love you to death
The iPod, like the Walkman cassette player before it, allows us to listen to our music wherever we want. Previously, recording technology had unlinked music from the concert hall, the café, and the saloon, but now music can always be carried with us. Michael Bull, who has written frequently about the impact of the Walkman and the iPod, points out that we often use devices to ‘aestheticize urban space.’ We carry our own soundtrack with us wherever we go, and the world around us is overlaid with our music. Our whole life becomes a movie, and we can alter the score for it over and over again: one minute it’s a tragedy, and the next it’s an action film. Energetic, dreamy, or ominous and dark: everyone has their own private movie going on in their heads, and no two are the same….Theodor Adorno… called this situation ‘accompanied solitude,’ a situation where we might be alone, but we have the ability via music to create the illusion that we are not.
from How Music Works, by David Byrne (via girlfromtralfamadore)