"Well behaved women seldom make history." -- Laurel Thatcher Ulrich
So here it is, the inevitable of all inevitables -- the everlasting mystery that has stumped reporters, perplexed the experts, and mystified journalists of all shapes and sizes. Yes, I will boldly attempt to solve this paralyzing puzzle of powerful paradoxes, ridiculous riddles, crusty conundrums and queasy quandaries once and for all. Stay with me friends, for this is the question that snares the ages and tears at the minds of all those who perceive it. It is, by far, the question most asked of me since I began this band so many moons ago.
And what, you may wonder, is this quarrelsome question of untold perpetuity? I will give you a moment to prepare your minds to take it in. It's big, like a religious experience, and could wound the meek in ways only a true sadist would know. Besides, I am sure the fine folks at Headbangersblog.com would not want blood on their hands at my expense. And neither would I (*wink*).
Now I know, it seems I am taking all of this a bit lightly and poking fun. And I am. But I either fabricate a bit of self-amusement out of this or one day I might just snap and find myself using a finely polished spoon to carve out the eye of the next person that asks me this question. A bit excessive? Sure. But that's just how my head works. I am fan of excess, and, in the end, I think this jovial diversion is best for everyone involved, including me. But I will keep this spoon handy (just in case).
Okay, I am assuming you are as prepared as you will ever be, so let's get to the meat of this thing. The question of utmost importance that I am always asked is, "What's it like being a woman in a metal band."
Trumpets sound, the heavens part, legions of cherubs sing
Yes, an astonishing display of journalistic drudgery. I sometimes wonder why this is so important to so many people. Why not ask a palm tree what it's like to grow next to a bunch of elms? (Yes, I live in Los Angeles. But I digress). In truth, I doubt the palm is even aware of the elms. All the palm tree knows is something is crowding its roots and stealing its light. So, yes, it might have to work a little harder for sustenance. It might have to dig deeper for its roots to find water, fight harder for its leaves to find the light, but essentially, this is about survival, nothing more.
It is no secret that I am a feminist and detest sexism in any form from either gender. Indeed, some of the most violent offenders of sexist behaviors are, in fact, women (but that is another story). I believe (strongly) in equality and reject (unequivocally) the limits
and archaic social customs alive and well in our society today. Women are a permanent underclass in this country and have been since the pilgrims first fell off the boat. In 1870, just after the Civil War, the 15th Amendment to the Constitution gave African-American men the right to vote. It was a beautiful (yet small) act of atonement for a disgusting tract in our collective history. However, it wasn't until August 26, 1920 (some 50 years later) that all American women were given the same right to cast their vote in U.S. elections.
Now, I know we have it better here than anywhere else. But is that good enough? Not for me. America is a promise that has been broken many, many times. So it is up to us, the bold and strange, to make sure this vow is fulfilled. And when I am asked this staggering question about being a women in a male dominated field, it is natural for me to be perplexed by the answer because I never factor it in. Indeed, obstacles have always been present in my life; being poor, being sapphic, being a girl, being artistic in a world where violence mattered more, etc, etc. I just follow my dreams wherever they may lead regardless of the obstructions or impediments.
The senselessness of sexism has always been a mystery to me. Why are women deemed inferior? Our first universe is the microcosm of our mother's bodies and all fetuses begin female. Point of fact, if testes are present, testosterone, the male hormone, is secreted beginning at about eight weeks, and those fetuses become male. The rest remain female. After we are nourished and enough time passes, we are pushed, pulled, and squeezed from the mighty vagina, and then most of us spend the rest of our days trying to get back in. (But I digress). Simply put, every man on this planet began as a woman!
But even our language is riddled with sexism. We still (men and women) call weaklings "pussies" even though a penis could never do what a vagina does. Boys, try pushing a seven pound melon out of your anus, or more appropriately, down the shaft of your urethra. Strength is measured by endurance. You guys flinch if the wind blows too close to your nether regions. But, still, everything female or feminine is deemed secondary to what is considered strong and male.
Am I confronted by degenerate, mongrel mentalities on the road? Absolutely. I have been barraged with the usual bulls--t like, "show us your tits" or "can I f--- you in the ass?" or "come sit on my face" from all varieties of the male species. Sometimes, I will respond and unleash a triumphant tirade of intelligent insults upon these ninnies, embarrassing them so much so that it causes shrinkage on their manly parts and forces them to flee like the diseased rats they are. Most times, however, it is the more passionate folk in our audience that handle these mooks, quickly and effectively. On our second season of Ozzfest, one such heckler was pummeled in the pit by screaming mass of progressive-thinking males who were more offended by his insult than I. On our last tour, a group of women (in Los Angeles) successfully beat another one of these sexist devils to a bloody pulp after he vomited a slew of disjointed phrases and abuses at me and the other women around him. And what happens when women fight back? They are condemned for anti-social behavior instead of being heralded as the heroes they are. Do I condone violence? Sometimes. But my point is this kind of butchery should be expected now that we have cast off our invisible veils and are demanding and expanding the ownership of our identities and our rights as taxpaying, law abiding, citizens of this grand Republic. Call it cultural manifest destiny, call it freedom fighting, but this is the way it has been. Tigers among cheetahs, stripes versus spots, we are wolves costumed as sheep. But I have no interest in playing by the rules or bending to an acceptable, yet outdated, morality. I am I.
To the point, being a women in a metal band is like being a woman everywhere else. So why not ask the teacher, the police officer, the infantry soldier, the secretary, the news reporter, the waitress, the writer, the photographer, the editor, the presidential candidate, the call center operator (et cetera) what it's like being a woman in a world dominated by men? It's the same all over. So, listen to them, take it in and remember. Res ipsa loquitur. It is what is it.
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