Women in Rock: We Will Be Invincible
By: Janna Mock-Lopez
The ultimate celebration of women in rock, the Lilith Fair, is in town early July. Though it’s awesome that, in addition to old favorites, this year’s tour offers some fresh faces, there’s no denying the impact of rock ‘n’ roll’s earliest pioneer-esses.
True, that when I was a young girl, it was the rock ‘n’ roll front men that had it going on. Bitten by the groupie bug at a young age, my unborn children’s last names were given—Cassidy, Manilow (I had NO idea he was gay even until my 30s), and Jagger—according to my progression of age and tastes.
As I matured, posters of pop-dom no longer got yanked from the centers of Tiger Beat, but rather from Hit Parade and Circus. Every square inch of my bedroom walls were plastered with images of Robert Plant, David lee Roth and Steven Tyler. Their smiles and sex appeal emanating from tiles of posters and glossy 8x10s became my imagined audience in the concert hall of my room. My bed, was the stage and hangers or broomsticks functioned perfectly well as microphones. Alone or with friends, I rocked it. I spent hours upon endless hours doing nothing but jamming out to music.
It’s been a long time since I rock and rolled,
It’s been a long time since I did the Stroll.
Ooh, let me get it back, let me get it back,
Let me get it back, baby, where I come from.
It’s been a long time, been a long time,
Been a long lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely time. Yes it has.
As an adolescent girl it was one thing to want to be with those who yelped, shrieked and gyrated, to pine for unrequited love in return and imagine those passionate, raunchy lyrics were written for me. It was a whole other level to imagine that it WAS me who was screaming them. Now there was power. There was attraction. To be considered an equal, to capture the hearts of the elusive rock stars who didn’t yet realize they loved me. That was the ultimate bait. Enter Pat Benetar. Lita Ford. Ann and Nancy Wilson. Though there were only a handful, these women rocked just as hard, if not harder, than the Plants and Pages of the world.
God, how I wanted to BE them—to command that control, appeal and confidence. Pat Benetar was one of the first women in rock who had more than just the look or moves; she had a voice which screamed, “I own you,” no matter what she sang:
We can’t afford to be innocent
stand up and face the enemy.
It’s a do or die situation – we will be invincible.
And with the power of conviction, there is no sacrifice.
It’s a do or die situation – we will be invincible….
I’d lip synch/karoke-out to every crackle, note and shriek, over and over again, from a vinyl record collection I spent more on than a college education. Though I felt her pain over being burned, because Pat was SO rockin’, I also experienced her certainty that days of being submissive were over.
This was an empowering message to hear as a teenager seeking acceptance and love, especially from adolescent boys (a.k.a. creeps) who had nothing but testosterone coursing through their veins. Gloria Gaynor may have survived, but Pat most assuredly proclaimed, “You’re a heartbreaker, dream maker, love taker, don’t you mess around with me!”
When I survey the female pop “talent” or icons of today’s music world—Brittney Spears, Lady Gaga or Christina Aguilera—I probably sound like an old lady. When I was a kid, my heroines walked ten miles in the snow to get to town and pick up their guitars which were handmade out of fine wood from trees they chopped down themselves; none of this instant press-of-a-button download techno-pop crap they sing to now….(though I’ll give it up for Beyonce who seems to have it all).
Today’s women in music hardly hold a candle to Pat Benetar, Heart, Joan Jett, Chrissie Hynde, and sure, even the Go-Go’s. (Maybe the Go-Go’s weren’t all that talented, but they were a first for sisters doing the all-girl rock band thing for themselves). It’s hard to imagine what my life would have been like without those endless hours spent in my room, flipping records on the turntable, strutting on my bed and screaming to an audience of posters.
The only way Robert Plant would ever marry me was to first notice me which meant speaking his language by being dressed in leather pants, holding a hanger, ‘er, I mean microphone in my hand, and shouting songs at him about how I didn’t want or need him. Thankfully, in my time of girlhood, there were some kick-a$% women in rock with authentic poise, power and confidence to show me how to do it.
