“If you think it’s alright to support someone who believes it’s OK to grab a woman by the pussy just because he’s famous-then you need an intervention as much as he does.” As a musician who’d always incorporated rap rhythms and ideas into her dreamy soundscape, she hit out at Kanye West for his support of the Trump administration: “I can only assume you relate to his personality on some level,” she said. Aligning herself with the poetry of American identity – the Walt Whitman line about containing multitudes is her Twitter bio – she spoke out against a president who was shutting down the freedoms that had thrilled her. It was 2014 when Del Rey said it didn’t interest her.ĭel Rey also shifted her position.
(Think of Ryan Adams’: “Come pick me up/ F**k me up/ Steal my records…”, although Adams is another musical hero I’m being forced to re-evaluate.) And it was a time when many women of Del Rey’s privilege and generation – perhaps understandably – didn’t know what to make of, or take from feminism. In retrospect, maybe it was a time when women felt safe enough to explore their totally normal masochistic fantasies the way men could. She died three months before the release of “Video Games”.īetween them, they created the perfect soundtrack for a confusing period during which women were buying into Cath Kidston’s retro “pinny porn” and devouring EL James’ BDSM bestseller, Fifty Shades of Grey (2011). A few years earlier, on the other side of the Atlantic, Britain’s Amy Winehouse had done something similar, channelling the man-mad melodrama of the Sixties, falling out of bars without her shoes while telling the press all she wanted to do was become a good wife and mother. On her breakthrough single, “Video Games” (2011), she wallowed in surrender to a man who ignored her. She was sharp and unflinchingly funny about how our sexuality was marketed back at us: “My pussy tastes like Pepsi Cola…” she sang. Her songs laid bare the dangerous seductions of either option. Although she said feminism didn’t interest her, she provoked an uncomfortable debate about the ways in which society still divides us into Madonnas and whores – on Twitter as on vintage celluloid. Meditating on them in the 21st century, Del Ray created a pop persona who looked and sounded like a dangerous noir heroine, but embraced the submissive attitude of the Forties housewife. (Photo credit should read GUILLAUME SOUVANT/AFP/Getty Images) It sounds like The Cranberries found some kind of closure in this last record. On it, O’Riordan, who recorded demos for the album’s 11 tracks before her death in January last year, sings: “Fighting’s not the answer/ Fighting’s not the cure/ It’s eating you like cancer/ It’s killing you for sure.” The band have spoken about how O’Riordan was singing about leaving many of the negative things in her life behind. “Wake Me When it’s Over”, the third track on In the End, could be “Zombie”’s twin. She was deeply affected by the deaths, and would no doubt have been devastated by recent events in Northern Ireland as well. “Zombie” was a protest song written by the band’s late frontwoman Dolores O’Riordan after two children were killed by IRA bombs – was released. There’s a cruel irony that the release of The Cranberries’ final album should come just a week after journalist Lyra McKee was shot dead by the New IRA during a riot in Londonderry. On the new album she still sighs that: “Spilling my guts with the Bowery bums/ Is the only love I’ve ever known/ Except for the stage, which I also call home.” She’s not just a rich kid imagining the self-destructive characters in her songs: she spent five years listening to them before bringing their voices out of the shadows. She was signed by an independent label in 2007 but her debut album was shelved, and she threw herself into working with the homeless and on drug and alcohol outreach projects. Just an inner indecisiveness that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean.” Her childhood included singing in church and being packed off to boarding school, aged 14, to recover from alcohol addiction.Īt 18, she picked up the guitar and began playing in nightclubs as Lizzy Grant and the Phenomena, and other characters. No moral compass pointing due north, no fixed personality. “My mother told me I had a chameleon soul. “I was always an unusual girl,” runs the song.
USHER THERE GOES MY BABY CRUSADER TRIAL
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