talk to me
By Julene Snyder
There's a certain irony in penning an essay on a huge box set celebrating a century of women in music on the very day that my two-year-old daughter starts preschool. By one measure, this day means freedom for me: For the first time in two years there'll be time, or at least a few hours, a few times a week. Freedom to write, freedom to do the necessary not writing, freedom to actually have a thought – ideally, several thoughts, all cogently assembled below for your reading pleasure.
But there's also the part of this day that finds me alternately blinking back a tear and feeling anxious about my little girl. Will she be OK away from me for a whole half a day? Is this the right thing to do? For her? For me? And why does all this soul-searching and guilt feel so uniquely female?
Because it is.
This is what women do; we struggle to balance our lives between work and family, between love and independence, and only a lucky few do so without agonizing over choices along the way. So we deal, hopefully with grace and humor. This is part what I want my little girl to know about what it means to be a woman. But there's a lot more than sacrifice involved: As a teaching aid, I couldn't do much better than sitting down with her and listening to every song on Rhino Records' exhaustive new box set, "R-E-S-P-E-C-T: A Century of Women in Music."
Listening to the whole thing is necessarily a vast undertaking, given the breadth and scope of the project. The premise of the 104-song collection as stated by producer Julie D'Angelo is to "document the artists and music that made it largely possible for Madonna, Whitney, Alanis, Lauryn, et al to exist." She explains that by necessity not all are included, partly because some artists "see women-only collections as separatist constructs that laud women simply because they are women, rather than seeing such collections as representing unique perspectives and achievements."
But there's enough history and heartache and celebration here to satisfy just about anyone, male or female. The discs are divided into time frames, grouping artists with their contemporaries. Disc One, "Broadway, Blues, and Truth" ranges from the early part of the century (Alma Gluck's 1915 recording of "Carry Me Back to Old Virginny") all the way up to Ethel Merman's exuberant "You're the Top." Disc Two, "Torch, Twang, and Swing" starts off in the mid-'30s, hitting historical landmarks along with way (Billie Holiday's "Strange Fruit," the Andrews Sisters' "Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy") without neglected the more vapid offerings (Debbie Reynolds' "Tammy" and Dinah Shore's "Buttons and Bows") that swamped the airwaves.
"Shoop-Shoop, Motown, Get Down, Sister" is the title of the rollicking third disc. What with Peggy Lee's immortal "Fever," Martha & The Vandellas' "Heat Wave" and Dusty Springfield's "Son of a Preacher Man," it's hard to keep from dancing all around the house. (I confess that Lesley Gore's "You Don't Own Me" got me boogaloo-ing all over the living room, much to the aforementioned two-year-old's delight. ) But the ruminative offerings are represented as well, with Judy Collins' "Both Sides Now" and Nina Simone's "To Be Young, Gifted and Black" offering respite from infectious dance beats.
You can tell that change is moving faster than a gale-force hurricane by the time we get to the early '70s on Disc Four, "Rock to Electric Shock." It opens with a bang as Janis Joplin belts out "Move Over." Slightly hindered by wild mood swings, we find women bemoaning the perfidy of men (Linda Ronstadt's "You're No Good"), looking at past loves with sentimental eyes (Joan Baez's "Diamonds and Rust"), scoffing at girly-girls (The Slits' "Typical Girls") and asserting themselves with a sneer (see Chrissie Hynde's throwaway "fuck off" on "Precious").
Things get downright schizophrenic by the final volume, "Hip-Hop, Pop and Passion," perhaps reflecting the myriad views of women once they've achieved a measure of parity. Some choices may seem a bit baffling (The Bangles' "Hero Takes a Fall"?), but on the whole this disc does a good job of showcasing powerful voices of women who take guff from no one. It's easy to quibble over choices – why pick the solid but uninspiring "People Have the Power" of all of Patti Smith's work? -- but the mix overall is varied and hits most of the high notes square on.
It's really a treat to let your mind rove through the century while letting "R-E-S-P-E-C-T" play. Scattered among the songs are soundbites from women on the "issues, events and achievements surrounding the artists and their music in specific eras." These range from women's suffrage (Carrie Chapman Catt) to contraception (Margaret Sanger) to songwriting (Yoko Ono) to having songs banned (Loretta Lynn) to sexual harassment (Anita Hill).
We'd like to think that things have changed dramatically since the mid-1920s when The Carter Family recorded the plaintive lament, "Single Girl, Married Girl" ("single girl can go anywhere she please/ married girl's got a baby on her knee"), and of course they have. But being a woman still means being responsible for bearing the children, even if we have the option of choosing when and whether to have them. On the brink of the new millennium, it's clear that "having it all" is a myth. Yes, women have proved we can handle hard stuff like high-pressure careers, wielding political influence, fighting for reproductive freedom and earning respect from men in every aspect of society. But when it comes to the eternal balance between making sure the kids are all right and making a name for yourself in the world, the choices get more difficult.
On my desk I have a dog-eared quote I scribbled down from a book whose name has long since been forgotten: "Kids benefit from learning that their mothers are 'separate others' who have many things to attend to, including their own selves." It seems such a simple concept -- yet somehow I find myself reading it daily, just to remind myself that it's right not to totally subsume my ambitions and self while being a mother. I need reminding – me, a woman who was taught from birth that I could do and be whoever I wanted.
In the end, women know we can have it all – just not all at the same time. We can give thanks for that to all our role models over the last 100 years, singing it loud, singing it proud, singing it sisters.