It’s a common misconception, especially for those ill-acquainted with alternative music. People like to slap the label “goth” on anything even tangentially dark or edgy, even when it’s far from what goth actually is.
And while I don’t consider myself a purist by any means, nor find myself particularly bothered by the misattribution of “goth” by subcultural outsiders, I do think it’s interesting to explore what separates “goth” from “non goth” in terms of music.
Goth, like many others, is a music-based subculture. While the distinctive stylistics of goths are widely-known — all-black clothing, dramatic eye makeup, back-combed hair and intricate accessories — the music that inspired these looks is not.
“Goth” actually encompasses multiple genres of music. Several major genres are goth rock, death rock, post-punk and darkwave.
This week, I’ll be focusing on defining darkwave and recommending some excellent darkwave artists.
The Sound
Darkwave music is melancholic and gloomy.
With heavily synth-based sounds and a slow to moderate tempo, darkwave tracks put a depressive spin on the ebullient tones of mainstream new wave while maintaining the high energy of post-punk music.
At the time of its development, “goth” referred exclusively to the realm of gothic rock. While contemporary circles generally accept darkwave as “goth,” the subculture of the 80s necessitated a distinction.
Cover for “A Kiss in the Dreamhouse” by Siouxsie and the Banshees
As darkwave spread across the globe, it disseminated into various substyles such as ethereal wave, neoclassical darkwave and dark cabaret.
In the 90s, a second wave of darkwave artists emerged.
Artists from this period include Corpus Delicti, Lycia, Black Tape for a Blue Girl and The Frozen Autumn. Some of these bands drew inspiration from the otherworldly style of Cocteau Twins while others delved further into cultivating cold, deeply atmospheric sensations.
In the 2010s, bands like Drab Majesty, Boy Harsher, Void Vision and Kontravoid spearheaded another darkwave revival, building their respective sounds around the many substyles living under the darkwave umbrella.
I’ve discussed the exclusivity of alternative scenes before.
It seems an inevitability that a subculture hinging on nonconformity and countercultural stylistics and beliefs would eventually grow into something of a monolith itself. We’ve seen this in most alternative scenes, and I’ve specifically discussed its manifestation in the realms of the metal and goth scenes.
Punk is no exception. Though it constitutes one of my all-time favorite genres, I can’t ignore that both historical and contemporary punk spaces tend to be something of a “boy’s club.”
“The punk/riot grrrl band Bratmobile at The Charlotte in Leicester, England in 1994,” uploaded to Wikimedia Commons by Greg Neate, licensed CC BY 2.0
Especially in the scene’s earliest iterations, misogynistic convictions abounded. The unhinged vigor and brazenly bellicose slant of the punk subculture seemed to preclude female involvement. Male anger was “cool” and “hardcore,” but female anger was rarely taken seriously.
Female-fronted punk bands, such as The Slits, faced significant difficulty in garnering the critial acclaim of their male-fronted counterparts during the 70s and 80s.
As frontwoman Ari Up said in an interview with Rolling Stone, being punk was “hard enough for the boys, but for the girls it was a witch hunt.”
It was becoming increasingly clear that the prospect of solidifying women-safe spaces in the punk scene was a punishing task. For groups like The Slits, existing in the punk scene meant existing in a constant battle against misogyny and patriarchy.
A Girl Riot
In the early 90s, a group of women from Olympia, Washington assembled to discuss the pervasion of sexism within their local punk scene.
The idea of the “Riot Girl” blossomed from these talks, with “girl” used to invoke the freedom of a child’s self-expression and “riot” to encompass the movement’s goal of lashing out against a patriarchal society.
While the original punk movement existed in opposition to the oppressive institutions of contemporary society, Riot Grrrl picked up the slack with staunch pro-trans, anti-racist and feminist credo.
“Bikini Kill performing live at Sylvester Park in Olympia, Washington on May 1, 1991,” uploaded to Wikimedia Commons by johnathancharles, licensed CC BY-SA 2.0
The Foundations
Riot Girls carved out their own subculture, producing original music and fanzines to disseminate and network their ideas within a distinct cultural space.
These zines discussed domestic violence, incest and rape and covered themes relating to sexuality and the exploration of identity in relation to femininity.
“Sleater Kinney,” uploaded to Wikimedia Commons by Pat Castaldo, licensed CC BY 2.0
Zines served to affirm women’s experiences, disseminate praxis and strengthen the unity of the movement.
Riot girl bands, such as Bikini Kill, Bratmobile and Sleater-Kinney radicalized the masses with evocative and irreverent performances that both centered and destigmatized the female body. Clothing and bodies and language became tools for orchestrating the “girl riot.”
The Significance
Riot grrl’s combination of fashion and performance became an art form in of itself, both a subversion and solidifier of conventions of femininity.
Feminism, a concept previously localized to feminist circles, was projected outwards in a staggering display.
Not only were the women in riot grrrl bands projecting their innermost struggles, desires and beliefs, but they did so in a way that empowered other women and girls.
I can still remember going to my first hardcore show and feeling smaller than I’d ever felt before, walled in on all sides by towering men who hardly seemed to recognize that I was even there.
I hated feeling that way, like I was in a place I shouldn’t be.
Evidently, the women behind the riot grrrl subculture felt the same way. The feeling of alienation that often comes with one’s womanhood, both in the hardcore scene and in general society, is an agony that never dulls.
Riot girls responded to this agony with boldness. No longer content with waiting, they made their own spaces in the scene and defended them with animalistic fervor.
They took their bodies, perpetually objectified and minimized by the male gaze, and created something dynamic and frightening and decidedly hardcore.
“Girl power,” a phrase often derided in contemporary circles for its hollow nature, was once the clarion call of the riot girls. Before its co-opting by mainstream pop artists, “girl power” really meant something. It meant seizing — literally or figuratively — what was owed.
It’s not really called “girl power” anymore, but it still exists.
I’ve seen it when girls at shows huddle together, pulling their friends out of the path of crowdkillers. I’ve seen it when female vocalists wail into the mic, their voices frayed with lifetimes of rage. I’ve felt it within myself at shows when I would shove aside men who invaded my personal space.
While some may argue that the “girl riot” ended when “girl power” lost its kick, I don’t think that’s true. I think the “girl riot” is ongoing, and in the wake of the overturn of Roe v. Wade, soon apt to reach a new intensity.
Additional Reading
Zine-Making as Feminist Pedagogy
Just a Girl? Rock Music, Feminism, and the Cultural Construction of Female Youth
Judas Priest formed in Birmingham, England in 1969. In its early years, the band underwent numerous lineup changes.
In 1972, the band recruited Rob Halford as a vocalist. In May of the following year, Halford had his first show with Judas Priest at The Townhouse in Wellington.
Halford’s success would eventually earn him the title “Metal God” by his fans as Judas Priest moved on to become one of the most influential heavy metal groups of all time.
Drawing influence from Black Sabbath, Led Zeppelin and Queen, Judas Priest distinguished itself with a unique musical and aesthetic style.
When imagining frontman Rob Halford, one may see him clad in leather, draped in chains and donning a muir cap.
Perhaps a testament to his distinct stylistics, many fans were unsurprised when Halford came out as gay in an MTV interview in 1998.
As Halford explained, he feared the destruction of his identity and career. For much of his involvement with Judas Priest, he did not see a place for himself as a gay man within the metal scene.
And while the aftermath of Halford’s MTV interview demonstrated that Judas Priest’s success did not hinge upon its frontman’s sexuality, Halford’s story is an important staple in metal history.
Namely, it stands to affirm the necessity of representing queerness in metal.
Metal’s Issue with Queerness
While Judas Priest is far from what could be considered an iconic queer band, Halford’s openness with his sexuality is important.
In a subculture placing a heavy value on traditional masculinity, queerness often begets hostility.
While subcultures like the metal scene, the punk scene and others formed in part as countercultural movements, it’s undeniable that they themselves foster a sort of hegemony.
Cover for Judas Priest’s “Turbo”
These spaces are often saturated with specific demographics who, purposefully or not, exclude individuals existing outside of these spheres.
For queer people, the metal scene specifically can be particularly hostile. For a movement not rooted in leftist politics but rather anti-establishment ideology, this does not always mean that certain differences are tolerated.
The Veneration of Heterosexuality
Often, patriarchy and heteronormativity underscore the metal scene.
While Steele argued that the song was purely humorous and ironic, its homophobic themes were undeniable.
You can drool, beg me and hope There’s no damn way I’m playing drop the soap Ok, I know I’m strange but I ain’t no q– So take your rage and disappear But I’m proud not to be PC
Cause
I like goils
Type O Negative, “I Like Goils”
In Steele’s song, he portrays homosexuality — and gay sex — as disgusting and strange.
His reference to “political correctness” smacks of classic boomerisms decrying inclusivity and progressive language.
While it’s fully possible given Steele’s track record that he was simply “being edgy,” this doesn’t excuse the harmful ideology his song presents, nor does it mean his audience is capable of critically receiving the alleged irony outlined in his song.
Edginess only works when everyone is in on it.
The Relevance
For much of Steele’s career, his persona hinged on his sexuality. Specifically, the ways in which he desired — and was desired by — women.
There’s nothing inherently wrong with this, and I’ll be the first to admit that I am a fan of most of Type O Negative’s discography.
I also don’t deign to imply that Peter Steele had any influence on Rob Halford of Judas Priest, or that the two men are somehow connected beyond their simple association within the genre of metal.
Rather, what I aim to focus on are how the dynamics surrounding Peter Steele are indicative of larger discourses that affect queer individuals, specifically queer men, within the metal community (we won’t get into how the metal scene treats women, lest this post become a multi-chapter dissertation).
Cover for Judas Priest’s “Ram it Down”
Queer men pose a subversion of archetypal male roles. In the often hypermasculine metal scene, male queerness can be seen as weakness, fragility or inadequate manhood.
The veneration of a very specific, often regressive ideal of masculinity makes the metal scene inaccessible — and perhaps dangerous — to many individuals.
This was likely a factor in Halford’s decision to be private about his sexuality for so long, the idea that there wasn’t a “place” for his identity in the metal subculture.
That is why recognizing Rob Halford’s sexuality is so important. To know that Halford, named “Metal God” by his fans, is happily married to another man solidifies a place for queerness in the scene.
Halford’s signature leather and studs, evocative of the style of “leather daddies” and emulated by millions of straight male fans of Judas Priest, blurs the hard-set line between heterosexuality and homosexuality.
The band’s continued success following Halford’s entrance from the closet demonstrates that identity cannot obfuscate talent and performance.
It brings us back to the roots of metal’s purpose as a force rallying against oppressive institutions and conformity.
Ultimately, a place where queerness deserves to exist.
Last week, we learned about the proliferation of queercore within the hardcore punk scene.
To briefly recap, queercore emerged as a subculture in the mid-1980s. It started from punk’s DIY scene, with purveyors of handmade magazines and other forms of media serving as the movement’s basis.
Queercore, also known as homocore, reflected the experiences of LGBT individuals in a society that was often hostile towards open displays of queerness.
“homocore block in 1994 chicago pride parade.” Image published to Wikimedia Commons by QZAP.org, licensed CC BY-SA 2.0
While I primarily focused on Limp Wrist’s influence on the scene, there are numerous other bands that defined the genre.
As we move farther into pride month, I encourage both members of the LGBT community and allies to reflect on the convictions outlined by the queercore scene.
To help with this, I’ve composed a short “field guide” of various tracks and artists — some punk, some not — classified under the “queercore” umbrella.
Pansy Division
This band has a classic summertime driving-down-the-road-with-the-windows-down style.
Closer to the sound of blink-182 than Limp Wrist, Pansy Division is edgy but light enough for casual listening. With upbeat guitar riffs and a sardonic lead vocalist, the band produces tracks to be enjoyed both ironically and in earnest.
Album cover for “More Lovin’ From Our Oven” by Pansy Divison
Based out of San Francisco, the band formed in 1991 and solidified itself as one of the only openly gay rock bands in the contemporary scene.
Touring with Green Day in 1994, Pansy Divison was one of the most commercially successful queercore bands to exist. The band’s pop-punk style and often-comical songs about queerness garnered significant acclaim.
A flagrantly ironic cover of a Nirvana classic, this track cleverly queers one of the most well-known songs by one of the most gatekept bands. Play this track for your favorite straight white man and watch his blood pressure surge.
Against all odds, we appear Grew up brainwashed, But turned out queer Bunsplitters, rugmunchers too We screw just how we want to screw Hello, hello, hello, homo
Pansy Division, “Smells Like Queer Spirit” (Nirvana cover)
He looks as good in a skirt as he does in jeans He is a most notorious queen His personality, I’m not impressed But I can’t wait to get him undressed
Pansy Division, “Fem in a Black Leather Jacket”
G.L.O.S.S. (Girls Living Outside Society’s S–)
Based in Olympia, Washington, G.L.O.S.S was an openly trans-feminist hardcore punk band.
Formed in 2014 and dissolved in 2016, the band’s existence was tragically brief. While G.L.O.S.S. had the opportunity to “make it big” with a $50,000 deal by Epitaph Records, the band ultimately decided to remain unaligned with a large corporation.
Shortly after turning down Epitaph’s deal, G.L.O.S.S. announced its breakup in an issue of the punk zine Maximum Rocknroll.
Cover for G.L.O.S.S. album “Trans Day of Revenge”
The band members explained that the growing “cult of personality” surrounding the group, as well as the obligations of touring and performing, were taking a toll on their mental and emotional health.
The band’s sound blended classic hardcore with trans-affirming themes to create raucous, angsty riffs striking back against heterosexual hegemony and anti-transness. Their songs are undeniably iconic.
They told us we were girls How we talk, dress, look, and cry They told us we were girls So we claimed our female lives Now they tell us we aren’t girls Our femininity doesn’t fit We’re f– future girls living outside Society’s s–!
They told us to die, we chose to live They told us to die, we chose to live Straight America, you won’t ruin me Sick American dream
G.L.O.S.S., “Lined Lips and Spiked Bats”
Los Crudos
As I mentioned in last week’s post, Limp Wrist’s predecessor was a Chicago-based band called Los Crudos.
Active from 1991 to 1998 and comprised of all Latin American members, Los Crudos helped to make a place for Latine punks in a predominately white subculture.
Album cover for “Doble LP Discografia” by Los Crudos
The band tackled themes related to imperialism, xenophobia and immigration. All songs were sung completely in Spanish.
In addition, they openly called out homophobia — the band’s lead vocalist, Martin Sorrondeguy, was openly gay — and thus Los Crudos solidified themselves as adjacent to the queercore movement.
With a career spanning between 1998 and 2005, The Butchies started in Durham, North Carolina as an all-female punk band.
Though their style was far from hardcore, they were a distinct force within the queercore movement.
Their songs were imbued with staunch political messages, focusing on themes relating to lesbianism, gay romance and misogyny.
Album cover for “Are We Not Femme?” by The Butchies
In a 1999 issue of The Advocate, singer-guitarist Kaia Wilson said of the band’s reputation for its leftist politics:
“I say, maybe it’s because we’re so openly hated every day, maybe because one in three teens who commits suicide is gay. I say that the people who come to our shows are glad that we are [political].”
Well it’s not supposed to bring you madness And it’s not too far too cold forgiveness When we hold to truths so false like bibles Won’t you come and meet me here
Who are you anyway and how did you get inside II heard you’re from the gay galaxy and now you’ve got to hide Sure wish you would have gone here Wish just the same you’d stay next year
House music began in the underground clubs of 1980s-era Chicago.
Defined by its signature four-on-the-floor beat and classical tempo of 120 beats per minute, house served as the foundation for contemporary pop and dance music.
Despite house music’s significant cultural impact, its history is rarely addressed in discourse.
Not only was house music instrumental in the development of many contemporary music genres, but it was rooted in unequivocal Black queerness.
Emerging in the 1970s, disco formed with influences from the LGBT community, Italian Americans, Hispanic and Latine Americans and Black Americans.
The genre was known for its four-on-the-floor beats, syncopated basslines, string sections, brass and horns, electric pianos, synths and electric rhythm guitars.
Though its elevaton to the mainstream distanced the genre from its roots, disco’s inception was starkly countercultural: a response to the aggression (and subcultural hypermasculinity) of rock and the social stigma surrounding dance music.
Derived from within marginalized communities, disco represented a richness in history and culture far removed from the straight white hegemony of the twentieth century.
Disco centered on vivid, unapologetic self-expression rooted in the era’s overarching sexual revolution. Groups like Earth Wind & Fire and Kool and the Gang emerged, bringing disco — and its message — to a broader audience.
However, such popularity also garnered enmity.
Disco Demolition Night, an event often marked as the death of disco, occured July 12, 1979 at Chicago’s Comiskey Park.
During the event, originally marketed as a Major League Baseball promotion, a crate of disco records was blown up on the field. Chaos ensued as thousands of audience members rushed out after the explosion in a riot.
This brazen display of hatred for disco music riveted the nation, inflaming the stigma already surrounding the genre. In the years following the event, disco’s popularity nosedived.
The once-bustling scene faded into virtual obscurity.
The Birth of House
In the decade proceeding the death of disco, queer Black DJs in Chicago’s underground club scene began developing something new, something that expanded upon the danceability and expressivity of disco.
Among these DJs was the openly-gay Frankie Knuckles, whose impact on the genre’s development earned him the moniker “Godfather of House.”
Knuckles defined himself in the scene by playing unique mixes, blending together tracks and experimenting with different sounds and speeds. He also pioneered the practice of adding a drum machine and reel-to-reel tape player to create new tracks.
In the background of Knuckles’ musical innovations, a darkness was brewing. In June 1981, the first cases of the illness now known as AIDS were identified in five young gay men in Los Angeles.
House as a Home
While some argue that Knuckles was not the founder of house (in fact, the source of the name “house” is even contested) as a genre, it’s undeniable that his passion for the craft helped transform house into an international phenomenon.
Like disco, house was born from the creative influences of queer people of color. Its vibrance reflected a desire for freedom, autonomy and actualization.
Dance halls were unifying spaces in which patrons could exist without fear. They became sanctuaries for individuals cast out of their broader communities on the basis of their sexual and/or gender identities.
Additionally, house reflected a bold response to the “murder” of disco at the hands of (majority white and heterosexual) detractors.
House rose from disco’s ashes a stronger, more sensational being. And it still goes strong today.
Cover for "First Two Seven Inches" by Minor Threat
I love record stores.
There’s something unparalleled about walking into a brick-and-mortar shop and seeing rows upon rows of crates and shelves, the walls papered with posters and zine covers and collages. It’s the best kind of liminal space.
The EP was a primary contributor to the soundtrack of my late teens. At the time, I lived in a beach town still recovering from the previous year’s hurricane.
A primier vacation spot for many middle-class families, the town fell to ruin in the off season. Homelessness, drug addiction and violent crime underscored the area’s stark wealth disparity.
The “clean” coastline was peppered with million-dollar beach homes and luxury condos. Ten miles inland, average citizens struggled to make ends meet amid a stifling job market.
Many turned to drugs and alcohol as a means of making life bearable. Among these individuals were friends, coworkers and bosses.
It was during this time that I became first acquainted with Minor Threat. The band’s jilting, ragged strains mirrored my own consternation with the building chaos in my inner circle.
Cap'n Jazz at a 2010 performance. Photo courtesy of Nicole Kibert, under Creative Commons License CC BY-ND 2.0
I heard people nitpick the definition of midwest emo long before I began listening to the twinkly, mathy indie-emo that most consider to be actual midwest emo.
For every pretentious boyfriend I’ve had who’s corrected me when I slipped up and put Mom Jeans into the midwest emo category, there are 100 other people on Reddit telling a well-meaning user that no, Joyce Manor is not real emo.
I’ve been listening back to Will Toledo’s original release of “Twin Fantasy” from 2011 as of late. I wanted to try to figure out why I keep coming back to this amateurish, messy project as opposed to its more polished re-release.
Where 2018’s “Twin Fantasy” (subtitled “Face to Face” for distinction) flows between its softer and more aggressive moments cleanly, there is often very little distinction between these tones on “Mirror to Mirror”. Toledo’s guitar work here is often frantic and uncertain. His backup guitar on tracks like “Beach Life-In-Death” plays like static noise for most of the song. His drumming is almost imperceptible under that static, and his voice often sinks into all the other instrumentation.
A Case Study
And yet, the older recording of “Beach Life-In-Death” is often the one I come back to. As a song that largely grapples with Toledo’s experiences as a young gay man (while homophobic rhetoric was still commonplace in the U.S.), that blurring of sounds seems to capture his anxieties on the matter better than the newer recording. In the last portion of the song, for instance, fragmented vocal clips attack listeners from all sides like they’re being yelled at. Even though the language becomes indecipherable, the stress from being attacked like that again and again accumulates through the song’s cutoff.
That portion of the song is replaced in the “Face to Face” version with a shorter, less human-sounding stutter. The replacement seems to reflect that Toledo has lost some of those fears from 2011. He’s dampened those voices attacking him as he’s matured.
When I listen to 2011’s “Beach Life-In-Death”, I can feel myself in the same position as Toledo was. As someone facing the onslaught of transphobic rhetoric throughout the U.S. now, I feel a stronger connection to his younger self dealing with people who despise him for a harmless part of his identity. Despite the song remaining mostly the same over 7 years, the message relayed to audiences changes with small tweaks in production.
Concluding Thoughts
Even though songs on “Mirror to Mirror” sound more shallow and low-quality, that essence also creates a better impression of what it’s like to be young, queer, and full of both anxieties and hope. The album feels like it was created purely out of self-expression and a need to put his voice out into the world.
“Face to Face”, meanwhile, reflects Toledo’s growth over the ears. He’s reinterpreting what his music used to be into something more confident. He’s no longer singing until his voice cracks, resulting in a lesser sense of urgency to get this music out into the world.
Just because you don’t have access to a studio or the best equipment in the world doesn’t mean you can’t make good music. That lower quality, though, will impact how your music is received. It might be childish, or it could have a youthful innocence and hope. It might sound cheap, or it could sound honest and unscathed by the need to profit off of your music.
“Oh, I only listen to real music. You wouldn’t get it. I’m so individualistic and nobody else shares my taste in music.”
At all points in history has there been some form of elitism in music. Often, it is fueled by racism, classism, and other forms of discrimination, especially by the dominant forces in the music industry. However, there has also been a counter-elitism among people who listen to less mainstream artists for the past few decades that has seemed to become more prevalent since the 2000s.
Since I’m centering this discussion around music in the US, which is predominantly English-speaking, I will refrain from discussing music in other languages. It’s cool to see latin music and K-pop becoming popular in the English-speaking US over the past decade, however.
Racism in the Music Industry
Black artists have consistently been the ones to bring innovations to music in the US, from rock to hip-hop to jazz. Even pop music (considering pop as a genre) has its foundations in music created and innovated on by Black artists. As a result, Black artists are often somewhat overrepresented on music charts, and rightfully so.
Famous jazz musician Charles Mingus. Photo Courtesy of Tom Marcello, under Creative Commons.
From 2012 to 2020, they represented 38% of all artists on the Billboard top 200. However, they are consistently overlooked for awards like the Grammys, receiving only 26.7% of nominations over the same period. Much of this discrimination comes from the overwhelming lack of people of color as executives in the music industry: only 4.2% are Black.
Additionally, many of the most notable “snubs” in the Grammys over the past decade or so have been against Black artists. Despite now having the most Grammy wins of any artist, Beyoncé has only one win in the Big Four categories. So, why do programs like the Grammys continue to be so popular, even though discrimination continues to be so prevalent?
I believe there are two predominant reasons: hope for better and ignorance of these issues in the first place. There are many people who likely hold onto the hope that this year will be the year that the music industry reverses course on its racist tendencies. I think there are even more who don’t notice these issues at all–or don’t care–since they aren’t affected.
How Music Bros Shape the Conversation
However, this lack of representation extends beyond institutional practices. Fans of independent music online tend to be white, financially comfortable men. Some of these listeners tend to obsess over classical music, especially the music that has overwhlemingly shaped the contemporary, western understanding of music theory, though that is worthy of its own discussion.
Logo of rateyourmusic.com
Most of the rest of these indie music fans tend to congregate on platforms like Rate Your Music and music-related social media groups. These are the places where I see the most elitism in music among people who hold no actual power over record labels or other parts of the music industry. Here, elitism comes through in the form of gatekeeping of up-and-coming artists as well as discriminatory biases.
On the all-time best album chart on Rate Your Music, Black artists comprise about 25% of the 50 top albums. Again, this percentage is well below the representation of Black artists on the Billboard top 200. More striking, though, is the lack of women and queer artists in these communities. On that same chart, only three of the top 50 albums have female vocalists (where gender is most noticeable), and the first, Björk, is only 31st. There are only three openly queer artists in the top 100 albums, and only two in the top 50.
Why is the Non-Mainstream Music Discussion Like This?
I bring these numbers up, because I think elitism in these types of music circles is largely predicated on the belief that mainstream listeners, especially women, will “ruin” the music. These listeners also tend to have a suspiciously high overlap with “incel” groups. The resulting misogyny (and queerphobia) leads to generally less respect for women and queer artists. Unless these artists are accepted into the “canon” of great artists they are largely neglected. As a side note, no female queer artists or trans artists until Big Thief at no.398.
There tends to be a lot of talk among these types of music listeners, especially over the past few years, about how Tiktok and other platforms are “ruining” music. When a song by an artist commonly accepted amongst these listeners as a “great” goes viral, they lament about how they can’t enjoy the music anymore. These listeners think that their interpretation of good music is the best interpretation, and any attempt to break the gatekeeping of these artists is a tragedy.
Likewise, these listeners often disdain music that gets especially popular for similar reasons. Artists like Taylor Swift, Harry Styles, or Bad Bunny have been seen as “trashy pop” only liked by teenage girls and people who don’t really “get” music like these white men in their mid-20s.
It’s okay to not like popular artists because you don’t vibe with their sound or genre. As for myself, I don’t typically listen to any of the three artists I just listed, but I still enjoy Swift’s music. I listen to a lot of Beyonce or The Weeknd. That doesn’t mean I don’t also love music by lesser known artists.
Closing Thoughts
WKNC is a radio station that prides itself on playing music by less popular artists, especially those whose voices are often left out of discussions of what “the best” music is. I hope that this mindset is able to spread farther than the idea that men (especially white, cisgender, heterosexual men) overwhlemingly make better music. And this should extend to what the music industry chooses to become popular as well.
Melt-Banana live at Trier Exhaus in 2014. Photo courtesy of Random_Alex, under Creative Commons. Original photo has been edited.
Since World War II, US and Japanese cultures have intermingled significantly, resulting in a large American market for Japanese media. While anime might be the most prevalent example, Japanese music has also gained a significant following among listeners in the US.
Personally, I’ve been drawn to Japanese rock (J-rock) as a rock style that sounds distinctly unlike anything I’ve heard from English-speaking artists. Several artists have impressive catalogs of work that deserve more widespread recognition. Now, I don’t speak Japanese, so I can’t say anything regarding the lyrical quality of most of these artists. However, the music itself is stellar enough to enjoy on its own merits.
POLKADOT STINGRAY
POLKADOT STINGRAY was my first introduction into J-rock, and I think they provide a good jumping off point for deeper exploration into the genre. Their music primarily features a high-pitched, snappy electric guitar leading their songs and a very active bass guitar that’s just satisfying to focus in on. Much of J-rock also utilizes this type of guitar playing rarely found in the US, especially in popular, contemporary rock artists. Additionally, vocalist Shizuku’s rich, breathy singing allows the more intense instrumentals to shine through A significant funk influence also permeates their discography, like on the album “Nanimono (何者)”, which is my personal favorite.
Odottebakarinokuni
If you’re looking for a more laid-back band, then Odottebakarinokuni (踊ってばかりの国) is up your alley. The band has a much softer sound than POLKADOT STINGRAY and features a more familiar, US indie rock style compared to other J-rock artists. Tracks like “EDEN” highlight the lead vocalist’s drawn out singing and a guitar with an almost overwhelming, yet quiet, overdrive.
Melt-Banana
Noise rock has also thrived in Japan as evidenced by bands like Melt-Banana. The punk band’s work has become especially popular in the US and UK, where punk often favors pure noise over the groove found in Melt-Banana’s music. Yasuko O.’s shrieking singing on tracks like “Lie Lied Lies” gets drowned out by a guitar that blows out speakers and drums that leave your head pounding in the best possible way.
CHAI
CHAI is an uncommon example of a J-rock artist who frequently uses both English and Japanese lyrics and collaborates with English-speaking artists like Gorillaz and Duran Duran. While their music can be profoundly different to most other J-rock artists, they also hold a unique sound among US and UK artists. CHAI incorporates electronica and dance into their rock that makes their sound incredibly fun. When their groove is paired with that same snappy guitar popular in J-rock music, the result is catchy, experimental, and perfect to jam out to. I highly recommend “PUNK”, which captures their style perfectly.
