| READ ON` (HIGHLY RECOMMEND THAT YOU DO IF YOU ARE A MUSIC
FAN, A MUSICIAN, A JOURNALIST OR OF ANY GENDER SEXUAL PERSUASION WHATSOEVER!) Starstruck and Slavishly Devoted - two views of female fandom Devoted fan-dom is a strange thing indeed -
it laughs in the face of common sense, transcends the need for creature comforts and has
moments of the truly absurd. It can be an all-consuming passion. "It's demeaning to
be a fan!" sneer the cynics. Pardon me while I stifle a yawn. Since being a Manic
Street Preachers fan, I've had years of adventure, excitement, a mixture of delirious
pleasure, sheer hell and some hair-raising, mind-broadening experiences, not to mention
the joy of meeting lots of weird and wonderful people plus the realisation that I'm not
alone in being a 'misfit. So, quite frankly, I couldn't care where it's been demeaning.
It's been an education. And fun.
To me, the problem
lies not in being a fan (what's wrong with seeing worth and beauty in other people, in the
phenomena that they create? This is not blind worship), but in other people's attitudes.
And when it comes to attitudes towards girl fans, sexism is usually added to sneers.
Particularly if the girl is glamorously attired or has a crush on a member of the band...
"Groupie! Slag!
SLUT!!!!" Familiar accusations to these ears, as is the remark: "No-one will
take you seriously looking like that!" Glamour does tend to be misinterpreted - by
the hopeful guy with the 'tart detector' on semi-permanent alert, also by the patronising
dickhead who assumes that all you've got between your ears is hearts, flowers and
candyfloss. It doesn't dawn on anyone that girl-glamour is not necessarily intended as a
man-magnet, that some girls actually find PVC, lacy lingerie, fake fur and fishnets
aesthetically pleasing, that glamour can be a reaction against drabness.
I wish that I could
recall some of the patronising snippets of conversation that some men treat us girls to on
the assumption that we are not only gaggin' for a shaggin', but as thick as a brick. Alas,
these banalities are rarely memorable.
Gaggin' for a
shaggin'? Personally, no, I don't really appreciate sexual advances from moshpit
molesters, journalists or venue security, and I'm not a groupie. If a loveless squelch in
some scummy toilet is someone else's idea of a good time, fine. I hope they enjoy it, but
I'll give that one a miss, thanks.
We're not all after
only one thing - not every girl who goes backstage is after a leg-over with the band.
We're not that one-dimensional. Neither are groupies, but popular mythology reduces them
to little more than pussy-on-legs, a despised and pathetic receptacle of the oh-so-sacred
star's cock. I've not got a downer on sex, merely on the unwanted baggage that goes with
it.
Thick as a brick?
Well, confident girls can dispel this illusion immediately, but it's not so easy for those
of us who are shy, nervous, introverted, or socially inept and prone to come across as a
complete spazz. God are there any other girls out there with this problem, who either clam
up or talk complete gibberish??? And do your hackles rise when people talk to you like
you're a moron?
Having a crush on a
rock star can have it's disadvantages, too. Especially if you admit that this is the case.
"Emotionally/sexually aroused by" can be perceived as "starstruck and
slavishly devoted to". Guilty of the former, NOT of the latter! Unfortunately for the
girl fan, a whiff of hormone can lead to them judging her in a very blinkered fashion. She
can write letters to the band, follow them around on tour, go backstage and talk to them,
give them flowers, send them presents, write a fanzine, express her liking for them, her
understanding of, or interest in what they're doing, want to share her thoughts with
them...and some suspicious bastard somewhere will construe any or all of this as:
"Oh, she just wants to get off with her heartthrob. She wants to sleep with him, be
his girlfriend, be his wife. She wants him to fall in love with her".
Obviously there's an
element of truth in this - I'm sure that a fair few girls fantasise about being 'special'
to their idols', but I suspect most can separate fantasy from reality. I know I'm not
special and I have no desire to be. Being seen as a 'person' rather than 'vermin'
will do me nicely, ta. I just enjoy going to gigs and (when possible) talking to the band,
and it seems natural to express my admiration/affection for them. I could do without this
being seen as "sycophantic" or a "saddo".
Another problem is
that 'drooling female' is sometimes seen as incompatible with "genuine fan". The
hormonally-charged female fan risks having her appreciation of the band's music, lyrics,
style and stance dismissed as fake. Especially lyrics and stance, if the band happen to
have any kind of 'manifesto', ideology, or obvious pet attitude. It's like: "Oh,
you're only taking an interest in what they're about 'cos you fancy him/them, you're being
spoon-fed by them." (Suggested retort to this accusation: "Pardon dearest? Could
you remove your tongue from the band's backside so I can hear what you're saying?")
Like a lot of other
girls, I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions of what matters to me, interest me
or excites me, and I don't need some petty, articulate figurehead to make these decisions
for me. If I'm not into what a band's doing, their physical charms won't change my mind.
As for being
'spoon-fed' - if a band have something to say, or a strong attitude, obviously some of it
will rub off on their fans. Unless you're so wrapped up in your own ego and blinkered
rigid world-view that you're totally unreceptive to other people's ideas, it's hard NOT to
take some ideas from the band. This is not the same as being a complete SHEEP.
...on the art of
giving them what they want and still getting shitted on for it...by Anna Bowles
Yes, it's me, that mythical beastie, the fan who doesn't
"fancy her idols" at all. Dearie me, positively unnatural, aren't I? I must be
one of those nasty feminist people, mustn't I?
In some ways, I'm a saddo journo's
dream. I can be held up as the virtuous opposite to all those horrid groupies. I'm the
'genuine fan' Gill mentioned. Lucky me. But funnily enough, however wondrous the concept
of me may be to the patronising PC brigade, when one of them actually sees me, he treats
me in exactly the same way as he treats girl like Gill (who are of course quite obviously
scum, what, with their filthy dreams of - spit - conversations with the band).
I can well believe that males
assume that any girl who looks glamorous does so for the purpose of attracting them rather
than to please herself. But what surprised even me at first was their attitude to a
girl such as myself who tries not to look scruffy as such, but does not wear make-up (it
takes too much time and effort, if I'm going to be beautiful I try to do it by writing
poems). I thought that since they assume lots of make up =
come-n--shag-give-us-a-shag-then, they would interpret lack of make-up as a sign of lack
of interest - even though avoidance of masculine attention would only be a convenient side
effect of casual dress, I was aware that males will interpret my female action as done
primarily with them in mind.
But no, what happens is that they
assume not that I have made a rational choice about how I look, but that I have tried to
look attractive and have failed - so the bastards patronise me instead. So, girls, if we
look glamorous, we're tarts, and if we don't look glamorous then we're failed tarts. Wow,
what a great choice. (All the above is of course excuses and lies. The real reason why I
pretend not to fancy anyone is of course because I can't get a shag - Believe that if you
are stupid enough. Most men are).
It's a pity Gill's forgotten the
exact drivelling of the lecherous clods and sneers she's met but I have one or two similar
memories; backstage after a gig, I was approached by an inebriated and inanely grinning
support band member. Leering in what he apparently considered to be a knowing fashion, he
enquired whether I was looking for the Manics, and without waiting for an answer, informed
me that I was "out of luck" because they'd gone.
At this point I informed him
politely that if he would care to open his eyes, he would see Richey sat some six feet
away reading a book, but he did not see fit to follow this advice. Instead he proceed with
what I can only assume he considered to be a conversation, eyeing me as he did so.
Presumably, to his way of thinking, if a girl can't get a famous screw, anything with a
backstage pass will do.
Only after I had
stared at him as one does at a particularly pernicious blocked toilet for some minutes did
his feeble and alcohol-fugged brainlet register my lack of enthusiasm and suggest to his
legs that they stumble of in search of more beer. No doubt by morning he's forgotten all
about this and was fully prepared to afflict some other luckless female with his odious
attentions. I suspect that many of the female readers may find themselves recalling
similarly glorious encounters; Pitiful. Quite, quite, pitiful.
Anna Bowles
Sadly, although Whirlpool
1 was written between 1994-1996 MSP and other fan bases to die for, are grouped by the
media "typical camps", while more than one female fan has reported having their
words completely twisted to suite a publication's current dislike of a band. Despair not,
HOORAY FOR US TRUE MUSIC FANS AND FOR THE GREAT MUSICIANS WE HAVE, tough tits to all that
just "don't get it" - they are missing out, not us. |
