This month’s Headbangers Book Club Official Selection is a special one, as it’s the first book we’ve read that’s not a total sausage party! Pamela Des Barres may not have been a rock star in her own right (unless you count her brief stint in the Zappa-sponsored girl group the GTO’s), but her memoir I’m with the Band is a vital counterpoint to the male-dominated hijinks of ’60s and ’70s rock; plus there’s a couple of real questionable relationships with preteen boys, so it fits right in with our previous selection in even more ways than expected! We’ll be back in a few weeks with Part 2. Thanks for listening!
September is kind of our unofficial Marc Bolan month at Dystopian Dance Party; so for this installment of our Dystopian Book Club podcast series, we thought we’d read the excellent 2006 biography Bolan: The Rise and Fall of a 20th Century Superstar by music journalist Mark Paytress. This one goes a little bit long (sorry ’bout that), but there’s plenty of music to keep you entertained!
Well, here we are: for the second consecutive year, we’re turning Memorial Day weekend into a time of remembrance for the many great artists we lost since last May. But because this is still Dystopian Dance Party, and we’re constitutionally incapable of being reverent for more than a few minutes at a time, please be aware that the resulting podcast is about 70% wake, 30% roast (well, maybe 60/40). Just believe us when we tell you it’s all coming from a place of love. Hopefully, while everyone good continues to die and leave us trapped on this smoldering husk of a planet, we can at least entertain you (and ourselves) with our impressions of “The Force M.D.’s Meet the Fat Boys”… R.I.P. to Trisco Pearson. Show notes below.
The last installment of our Dystopian Book Club miniseries on the memoirs of KISS is finally here, and we’re going out in a big way. Paul Stanley’s Face the Music: A Life Exposedisn’t the best KISS biography we’ve read (or the second best…or even the third), but it’s certainly fertile ground for discussion. Join us for almost two hours on the man, the myth, and the chest hair; and remember, while Dystopian Book Club is done with KISS (for now), WE! ARE JUST! GETTING! STAAAAAAAAHHHTEEED! We’ll be back in June with a special Jheri Curl June episode on the memoir(s) of Rick James. And don’t forget, next month is our annual Memorial Daypodcast, when we commemorate the many musical icons we lost in the last 12 months. Show notes, as always, are below.
Wanda Lavonne Jackson was not the first woman to sing rock and roll music; but she very likely was the first white woman to release a rock and roll single, and that was an achievement in and of itself. One barely needs to scratch the surface of 1950s moral panic to recognize that the “danger” of rock and roll was its perceived threat to the moral sanctity of white womanhood. But there was Wanda, in her red fringed dresses and high heels, tearing through racy–and “race-y”–rockabilly songs with the kind of blitzkrieg energy a punk rocker would envy.
Given the time and place in which she originated–Oklahoma City in the mid-’50s–it’s unlikely that Jackson explicitly thought of herself as a feminist trailblazer, much less a transgressor of racial lines. But she didn’t need to: she broke those boundaries simply by existing. Take, for example, her 1961 version of “Hard Headed Woman.” Written by Black Rhythm & Blues songwriter Claude Demetrius and recorded, most famously, by her ex-boyfriend Elvis Presley for the King Creolesoundtrack, it’s frankly a sexist song in its original incarnation: little more than a light-hearted rundown of Biblical stories (Adam and Eve, Samson and Delilah) presented as evidence that “a hard-headed woman is a thorn in the side of a man.” But Wanda clearly takes a defiant pleasure in identifying with “that evil Jezebel”; and her hellion vocals sound just as raw today as they did 55 years ago.