Womyn in Punk

I often wonder what makes the sound of my voice so different from that of my three sisters. The way I pronounce short vowels and grumble, how my laugh sometimes sounds violent, why I swear so often and cringe when I hear the word “like” too much. I used to attribute my sarcastic, matter-of-fact tone to a younger, subconscious need to stand out from my hyper-feminine sisters—the youngest in a family of six, I was always seeking small ways to rebel, to get attention, to be heard. But now I have to wonder if the way I talk and laugh and write is a direct result of growing up in the punk scene, and because of it. I feel certain that spending all of my free time in crowds of mohawked girls and men in tight pants taught me more about gender—and rebellion—than I could have understood at the time. The lyrics of my favorite songs, the way brusque, angry women would scream from their stomachs when they sang, the humor of their pseudonyms and song titles, and the brash attitudes they donned in interviews were speaking directly to the norms and standards against which I was also trying to rebel. Today, with a greater understanding of gender norms, subcultures, linguistic use, and of course, myself, I see that an analysis of women within the punk movement can be a valuable place to look for manifestations of social and political resistance through self-expression.

Kyla, a self-proclaimed punk rocker, writer, and activist, opens her 2008 zine, Ladders & Hips: An Open Letter to the Boys in My Life, in bold print: “This is about punk rock: me, my body, and the music.” This union in the life of a punk, between her body, her identity, and the music she loves is a recurring theme in the writings of women within the punk scene. The flow of emotion and power from a stereo speaker, into the mind of a young misfit woman, and out again from her mouth in the form of lyrics, a general “fuck you” attitude, and even her everyday speech not only makes punk music extraordinarily empowering for listeners, but also forms a fascinating and enlightening subculture to examine for linguistic trends—specifically, linguistic resistance. Where Deborah Cameron and Don Kulick have analyzed the speech of frat boys to find a perpetuation of male status-seeking, and Jennifer Coates has discovered the makings of “proper young ladies” in the talk of little girls, female punk singers and community members offer a new view. They reinterpret the link between society and language, simultaneously rejecting the reality that societal norms inform our language use, and insisting that language can be used to genuinely subvert those norms. By focusing on the linguistic habits of “women in punk,” and specifically, on what those habits are in contrast to what others have described as “women’s language,” punk becomes an important example of how to reject female subordination.

Although the origins and definition of what it means to “be punk” has been contested for the last fifty years, the one un-debated fact about the movement as a whole, is that it was formed, and remains, in opposition to the establishment. Chris Duncan, editor of My First Time: a collection of first punk show stories, calls punk, “an umbrella from the status quo,” and writes, “The ability to participate and build [within the community], rather than just plainly observe and accept without question, is what’s key” (2007: 2). To consider any aspect of punk—styles of dress, the music at its core, the scene’s political values—is to explore this need to both confront the sources of discontent, and to re-invent them. For females in the early punk scene, this most clearly meant reinventing sexual stereotypes and ideals.

Because of this mentality, punk emerged in the seventies and eighties as a liberating social space for women, a place to go to shrug off the confines of the stereotyped female identity—in attitude, modes of dress, hierarchical roles, and importantly, in speech. In her autobiography-ethnography, Pretty in Punk: Girls’ Gender Resistance in a Boy’s Subculture, Lauraine Leblanc reports that many of the punk girls she interviewed cited the punk community as having “a profoundly liberating effect, allowing them not only the means to express themselves aesthetically, but the freedom and strength to do so in the face of cultural proscriptions against creating rebellions to gender norms” (1999:164). And in Ladders & Hips, Kyla affirms this power by defining what it means to be a woman in punk, “Being a punk rocker to me means that I have as much right to shave my head, wear a short skirt, crowd surf, fuck, cry, spin, smell, and close my eyes as I do a right to demand to be respected for my intelligence, and sincerity, and sense of self at each of these moments” (2008:37).

To examine how this liberation manifests in language use, I studied several interviews with iconic punk women, scoured lists of band names, stage names, and song titles, and analyzed both the lyrics of punk songs written by women over the last four decades, and the ways those lyrics are delivered. In video interviews with Siouxsie Sioux, (Siouxsie and the Banshees, 1976-1996), Ari Up (The Slits, 1976-1982), Poly Styrene (X-Ray Spex 1976-79, 1991-96), Brody Dalle (The Distillers, 1998-2006), Agent M (Tsunami Bomb, 1998-2005), and Nico de Gaillo (Another Dying Democracy, 2002-present), I noticed the same speech habits and linguistic trends, despite the obvious range in time period and cultural background. On both levels of syntax and content, all six women were alike in the contrast of their speech to established norms of female language use.

In order to describe these trends that characterize punk women’s talk, it is necessary to point to their distinction from what Robin Lakoff describes in her breakthrough 1973 essay “Language and Woman’s Place.” "So-called women’s language," she wrote, "is distinguished by its tentativeness. Women qualify their statements and attach tags to their questions, they sound weak and passive, wordy and repetitive." Similarly, in a 1977 book called The Way Women Write, author Mary Hiatt outlines the verboseness, lack of conclusiveness, and emotional description that she claims characterizes women’s writing. Both of these writers point to (but don’t explicitly cite) women’s lack of power and agency. Where a male might confidently assert his opinion, a female will use hedges to dance around the issue, always falling back on politeness and timidity. And likewise, where a woman knows to use appropriate language and colorful expressions of emotion, men are free to use expletives at will, and tend to avoid hyper-emotional statements (Hiatt 1977, Lakoff 1973).

Siouxsie, Poly, Ari, Brody, Agent M, Nico, and other punk women however, reject nearly every one of these standards. In interviews, they do not appear timid or reserved, but open, honest, and confident. Littering her answers with the word “fuck,” for instance, Siouxsie Sioux speaks of the empowerment she felt in creating punk music, “Being able to look people in the eye and say ‘Fuck you, I don’t care what you think, I’m doing what I wanna do. To have that to hold onto is really important to move forward.” Accordingly, the women avoid all of the traditional female markers in their speech. They do not hedge their responses or use politeness strategies, nor do they end sentences with rising intonation or speak with sentimentality and emotion. Rather they are assertive and abrupt and fond of excessive profanity. Also rejecting Lakoff’s claim that the content of women’s is based on “feminine topics,” I found no evidence of stereotypical conversations. Although many of the women interviewed are wives and mothers, and although they are in a sense, celebrities, they do not speak about motherhood, domestic life, or their body image. In short, these women completely resist all modes of feminine language.

In contrast, punk women’s language is characterized by creative wordplay that usually combines humor and politics to achieve a particular subversive end. In band and stage names and lyrics, they mock or distort notions of sexuality (by re-defining both what is sexy and how to embody one’s own sexuality), and play on traditional words and names, and therefore, on traditional norms.

Band names for example, usually either serve to self-objectify, or to mock gender norms. Choosing names like The Slits, Vagiant, Sourpuss, Penetration, and Naked Aggression, women overtly draw attention to their identification as sexual beings in order to reclaim their own sexuality and re-establish power over their own bodies. This is one (ironic) way to talk back to oppressive gender norms that posit women as powerless sex objects. Likewise, band names like Bikini Kill, The Butchies, Dollyrots, Bratmobile, The Au Pairs and Anorexia directly point to the gender of their members. By playing up their “femininity” in title but continuing to reject notions of femininity in speech and song (discussed below), these groups simply mock the identities they are told they should embody. The stage names of these women also play with stereotypes of female identity. Often, punk women will create fake names based on conventional “girly” names, to achieve the same mocking effect as their band names. Once the woman is on stage, or her voice is heard blaring from a stereo, however, the insincerity of these names becomes quite clear. Siouxsie Sioux and Poly Styrene are examples of this, along with Eve Libertine (who dons the quintessential identity of Woman) and Joy de Vivre. Other women simply create silly names for a humorous effect, perhaps subverting the emphasis we place on identity itself. Ari Up and Nico de Gaillo are famous for this. Meanwhile Palmolive of The Slits chose to name herself after a brand of dish soap—perhaps making a statement about domestic life?

In the same way, song lyrics and the various ways they are delivered produce similar effects of subversion. Through variations in vocal technique—screaming, singing in a high-pitch, feminized voice—volume, lyrical content, syntax, values being communicated, and the use of profanity and confrontation of taboo subjects, punk songs can signal a wide range of rebellion. Categorically, they can serve to achieve a rejection of femininity by the singer, a mockery of femininity, a call for female solidarity with the audience, or just pure politics.

Songs that reject notions of the feminine do so by, again, resisting all elements of “women’s language.” The Distillers’ song, “Sick of it All,” for instance, is not only growled and screamed by singer Brody Dalle, but is also filled with swear words and focused on violence, disease, nihilism, and “fighting back." The Poison Girls’ song “Old Tart” also rejects any sense of femininity. Sung in an alternating high and low voice, it contextually emphasizes a crossing of the gender binary, as well as a critique of “woman’s place” as Vi Subversa sings, “If I had my time again/ I’d like to come back as a man/ If I had my time again/ A cock and not a hen/ I don’t want to be like my mother/ Hang behind, fall behind/ Wait on all the others/ If I had my time again.”

Band like Crass, on the other hand, are fond of mocking these very gender norms by intentionally using elements of “women’s language” to point to its inherent oppression. In the now classic feminist critique, “Bata Motel,” Eve Libertine sings in a high voice with sharp tonal variation about beauty standards and abuse, from the perspective of an oppressed woman:

“Well today I look so good/ Just like I know I should/ My breasts to tempt inside my bra/ My face is painted like a movie star/ I've studied my flaws in your reflection/ And put them to rights with savage correction/ I've turned my statuesque perfection/ And shone it over in your direction/ So come on darling, make me yours/ Trip me over, show me the floor/ Tease me, tease me, make me stay/ In my red high-heels I can't get away.”

Meanwhile Bikini Kill, also famous for feminist critiques of patriarchy don’t waste time explaining specific oppressions, but instead seek to establish solidarity with their fem audiences. Stressing a pre-Spice Girls girl power and hoping to create a community of empowered females through common desires, Kathleen Hannah sings, “Hey girlfriend!/ I got a proposition goes something like this/ Dare ya to do what you want/ Dare ya to be who you will/ Dare ya to cry right out loud/ ‘You get so emotional baby’”—using the last line to again mock stereotypes of the hyper-emotional female.

Other bands, particularly more contemporary ones, choose to avoid issues of gender altogether, and instead focus on pressing political and social problems. This conscious decision not to emphasize their gender, allows women to sing and gain power as intelligent individuals, not simply as rebellious women. It also serves to reject the traditional idea that women belong in the domestic sphere and away from public politics. Often, these songs continue to use the sarcasm and humor employed by other female punks to send messages of subversion and opposition. The Au Pairs for example used irony and sardonicism to critique the Reagan administration in the song “America,” while Naked Aggression, a present-day band do not mask their political sentiments in any way, singing “The rich will stop at nothing to control the world and keep their power/ They all live like royalty, at the expense of you and me/ Right now in this new world order/ Right now no one is free.”

Although punk women have, for decades, found creative means to resist patriarchy in the mainstream culture, and continue to defy gender norms in their songs and everyday speech, their liberation is not as simple as singing songs, and saying “fuck off.” While racism, classism, and ageism are other tenets the authentic punk scene has historically fought to resist, and while women are, for the most part, as much a part of the subculture as men—writing their own songs, playing the same instruments, becoming just as influential—the fact remains that punk is still dominated by men.

When it comes to the scene as a whole, the way women are treated proves that the one “system” punks tend to forget to rebel against is their own patriarchy. Thus, women find that in order to be taken seriously they have to completely suppress their femininity (which is both liberating and oppressive) and sometimes just “act like one of the guys.” So while women in punk are able to literally voice resistance to overarching sexism within the larger culture, they are unable to change sexism within the subculture where they have come so close to total liberation. In the end, punk becomes a space of both liberation and continued oppression, and the issue of gender is further complicated—the scene is, at once, a place of liberation for women, and a place where gender roles are reinforced. Today, when terms of resistance are co-opted by the mainstream, "punk style" is just another fashion trend, and anyone with a social media account can don the identity of whomever they choose, the lines have become increasingly blurry.

Because punk was formed out of general opposition to the status quo, the defining characteristic of punk songs to this day is the overtly anti-establishment message. In this sense, the subculture of punk exists in contrast to everything around it, and offers refuge to those disillusioned, abused, scarred, or embattled with the rest of society. For women experiencing trauma, and the chronic oppression of a patriarchal state, punk songs can deliver personal messages of strength and solidarity. In the teenage anthem “Sick of it All,” Brody Dalle, speaks to this power as she sings, “We are different fucking kids with the same heartbeat/We got one pulse running through the streets/They are our arteries… I am a part of this/We are kids/We think life is a scam/We come from a wasted land/We are kids we play punk rock and roll/If we didn't we got no soul.” As a survivor of childhood abuse, drug addiction, anorexia, and several suicide attempts throughout her life, Brody can attest to the healing potential present in punk songs, and the particularly fierce community that forms around them.

Through songs like Brody’s, the female punk songs that inspired them, and the female punk songs that will be inspired by them, young women can take the first steps into social, political, and personal resistance. Kyla concludes her zine with words that confirm both the power of this transformation offered in the punk movement, and the power of one’s voice: “Being a punk rocker to me means that my music has life, and that someone made it because they had something to put in words, and if you hate that raspy voice then you’ve never wanted to leave where you are enough that its torn up your throat” (2008: 37).

Works Cited

Cameron, Deborah, and Don Kulick. 2003. Language & Sexuality. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press.

Duncan, Chris. 2007. My First Time: a collection of first punk show stories. Oakland, CA: AK Press.

Hiatt, Mary. 1977. The Way Women Write. New York: Teachers College Press, Columbia University.

Henry, Tricia. 1990. Break All Rules!: Punk Rock and the Making of a Style. Ann Arbor, MI: University Microfilms International.

Kyla. 2008. Ladders & Hips: An open letter to the boys in my life. Ohio.

Lakoff. Robin. 1973. “Language and Woman’s Place.” Language and Society (2):45-80.

Leblanc, Lauraine. 1999. Pretty in Punk: Girls’ Gender Resistance in a Boy’s Subculture. Piscataway, NJ: Rutgers University Press.

Letts, Don. 2005. Punk: Attitude. Freemantlemedia 3DD Metropolis.

Raha, Maria. 2004. Cinderella's Big Score: Women of the Punk and Indie Underground. Berkeley, CA: Seal Press.

Saville-Troike, Muriel. 2003. “Linguistic Resistance and Rebellion.” The Ethnography of Communication: an introduction. Oxford, UK: Wiley-Blackwell.