August 2024 • four-stringed femme fatales

With summer's end comes weddings, shows, stories, & a pre-fall wave of insecurity.

Picture that one girl in a band of dudes.

In 2005, with very few mainstream exceptions, she was the singer. Paramore, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Evanescence, etc.

At Treefort Music Festival in March 2024, she seemed just as likely to be the bassist.

The Hard Times, a satirical music magazine, dropped these bangers in 2017 and 2019:

• All-Male Band Just Waiting to Meet the Right Girl Bassist

  The three white, cis-gender males met earlier this year at a house party, when they realized they were all wearing the same black “Ally” T-shirt. They all agreed that if they formed a band, they’d need to find a “princess of funk” or “four-string femme fatale.”

  “Our songs are unique, but let’s face it — without a mysterious-looking girl in our rhythm section, we have zero hope of any real exposure,” said vocalist Raymond Cruse. “It’d be great if she wore glasses and owned a few worn-out cardigans, but we’d totally settle for an asymmetrical haircut.”

• New “Female Section” of Guitar Center Filled With Only Basses

  “I found one gal when she walked in, and as a purveyor of perfect customer service, immediately directed her to our ‘Female Section.’ And she made this hilarious joke that she’s actually a sax player! Good stuff,” local assistant manager Tyler Cruz remarked. “A dude actually wandered in there because he was a bass player, but then I explained we have a separate section for real bassists, and he totally got it.”

After watching set after set of Three-ish Dudes and a Lady Bassist at Treefort, I wondered whether every white indie boi had finally read that one 2018 NYT article announcing that rock isn’t dead, it’s ruled by women. Guys with guitars simply aren’t cool anymore! Had they decided to each find a token plausibly-queer white woman for marketing purposes?

Being the Female Bass Player (TM) as a non-founding member of my own band has created a perfect storm of insecurity for a recovering over-ambitious perfectionist.

The thought spiral usually goes something like this:

1. I’m not as good at playing bass as I know I could be.

2. Yet, I’m in a band of musicians I view as talented.

3. Therefore, I was included for reasons other than my musicianship.

4. (That’s fine! Good bands aren’t necessarily comprised of good musicians!)

5. ((But I’m like, really mediocre. I must be a diversity hire.))

6. (((Oh god, every new band is doing it. I’m definitely a diversity hire.)))

7. I should practice more.

8. I don’t have time to practice as much as I should. I have other priorities.

9. Repeat.

I have complicated relationships with music, meritocracy, and navigating male-dominated spaces. I’m still trying to figure out how to balance my desires for flexibility, input, mastery, and joy as a bandmate. (I could write a whole separate newsletter about what a fascinating case study bands make of human connection.)

For now, I’m trying to shush my brain cells and enjoy the experience of playing Rock Band IRL for a little while. Tina Weymouth figured it out — so can I.

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Things I’ve Written:

I published a mix of long-term projects and quickies this month, and have a lot of niche passion projects simmering for the near-ish future. And if you subscribe to the Today, Explained newsletter, I’ll be in your inbox twice today!

The lack of transparent coverage of animal research drives me nuts. Many writers avoid the topic altogether, or mirror messaging from PIOs (“it’s absolutely necessary and totally ethical!”) or PETA (“it’s never necessary and totally evil!”). This deep dive is my attempt at providing a nuanced guide to the current state of animal testing. I hope some PIs from my old neuroscience program find it.

This was my first piece as a ~culture~ writer! I loved having the opportunity to write about something close to home and share it with my pole community. And yes, that’s me (and my pandemic-era training partner, Alexis!) in the featured image.

As a Zillenial who doesn’t want kids, menopause mainly exists as a specter of Being Old. When I heard that an ongoing clinical trial is testing whether the already-approved drug rapamycin could delay menopause, and the cascade of health risks that usually follow, I wanted to write a story about it. Now, I’m crossing my fingers that it actually works.

This was a quick-turnaround assignment that reminded me of the importance of accurate data collection and open data sharing — and that we should never take access to safe drinking water for granted.

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Things I’ve Done:

August brought a lot of the same — typing on a laptop in my living room, watching Charlotte track squirrels out the window — mixed with family visits, shows, and shadow work.

Some miscellaneous highlights:

• Planes put me in a productive mood — something about the refusal to pay for wifi, a desperate craving for stimulation, and my inability to nap sitting up. On Analog Dog’s Pacific Northwest tour, I transferred that plane magic to the van and pre-reported three now-greenlit pitches between San Francisco and Portland. I’m glad we’ve finally admitted that work can happen anywhere.
  

• A bunch of my pole students started coordinating weekly post-class dinners together, and I’ve never felt prouder. I work hard to create an inclusive, meet-you-where-you’re-at space that’s both ass-kicking and playful, and it’s incredibly rewarding to see people who met through my classes form deep connections. ♡
  

• Two of my kindest, most empathetic friends got married in Santa Cruz, and they threw the party of the month. In 24 hours, I managed to eat multiple brunches, ride a roller coaster, sit on the beach, cry over vows, touch starfish, and dance with an old grad school professor who didn’t remember I existed. We love Brooke and Garrett so much.

September promises to be a similar whirlwind: more weddings, more family, maybe even revamping my work-from-home space.

One big thing: Analog Dog is opening for The Script at Oakland’s Fox Theater! They’re a band you think you’ve never heard of, until you hear “Breakeven” and get instantly transported back to a 2008 Publix. My bandmate’s mom recently saw them perform at an arena with P!NK and Sheryl Crow, so we’re just dumbfounded and happy to be here. Tickets are still available!

Sometimes, dreams come true. Other times, wild shit you never thought was an option comes true, and you go with it before the universe realizes it glitched.

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3 More Things I’m Thinking About:

Mad in America’s four-part series on neurodiversity is worth a deep, uncomfortable read. The authors summarize the problem better than I could:

Some align neurodiversity with the critique of diagnosis and see it as offering a new, non-medical and non-pathologising way forward. Others strongly support diagnostic labels, and argue that professional diagnoses of autism, ADHD and so on should be more readily available.

So neurodiversity might be an inspiring new paradigm—a non-stigmatising alternative to psychiatric diagnosis, that encourages people to accept difference and value diversity. Alternatively, it might simply turn out to be the old ideas dressed up in new language about choice and empowerment—thus rehabilitating diagnostic thinking and assumptions and essentially preserving the status quo.

The posts examine the definition of neurodiversity, who identifies with neurodivergence and why, and how the concept intersects with neoliberalism and personal authenticity. Read the series so we can get coffee about it.

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I've been listening to My Love Is Cool on repeat. Chokecherry, a forged-in-SF band I love, released some singles this summer that scratched a shoegaze-grunge itch that's bugged me since Wolf Alice released their debut LP in 2015. I just want floaty, reverb-drenched femme vocals over chugging guitars! And airy verses building towards filthy, heavy breakdowns!

The climax of Chokecherry's "Afterglow" hits like the end of Wolf Alice’s "Giant Peach," a timeless primal scream for your drive home.

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I'm embarrassed by how much I love CrossFit. When I became a pole instructor, the professionalism of it all started to suck joy from the movement. Training became an obligation, and failing publicly no longer seemed like an option.

Joining a queer, body-positive gym where I’m not in charge of anything has reinvigorated me. I get to be a beginner again! I get to joke-complain to coaches and then do the hard thing anyway! I’ve never felt stronger, and the confidence I’ve gained over the past 14 months has translated back to pole in a big way. Everything strength-related feels ten times easier. But more importantly, pole feels fun again. I’m even giving heels another try!

If you live in Oakland and want to move your body (but get the ick from most gyms), I cannot recommend Brightside Barbell enough.

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Charlotte of the Month:

Every morning, she waits for me to bring my coffee to the couch. Then, it’s Leg Time.

Until next time,
Celia