Put Another Dime in the Jukebox, Baby: Music Reviews

Lily Allen's Debut CD Alright Still

Slassy Pop Music That You Won't be Embarassed to Put on Your Ipod
(well...not too embarassed)

The first time I encountered Lily Allen it was through an ad on myspace. That's not a great start. I listened to a couple of songs and at the time really didn't think she was doing anything special. But I decided to give her another try because there has been so much buzz surrounding her new full-length album. I must admit that she has really grown on me over time. Its like putting on Fergie's The Dutchess but with some actual indie cred...and when she writes a song about London it makes sense because she actually lives there. The highlights are definitely the post-breakup anthem "Smile" and "LDN", a biting tribute to the dirty city she loves so dearly. Unfortunately there are times when she tries a little too hard and misses the mark. Seriously, why must everyone try to put their own spin on the "reggae" genre? No matter what you do its gonna be sucky. But I digress.

I love how outspoken this album is and how she's not afraid to present herself as a drunken emotional wreck. Its a nice change from the uber-image-conscious ladies of American pop. Allen has gotten herself thrown out of bars for fighting, flashes her tits at the paparazzi and all that other good stuff that keeps celebrity bloggers in business. You might be saying to yourself, "Haven't I seen LLo thrown out of a bar or two? And for that matter, how many times have I seen Paris Hilton's titties?" What I like about the Lily Allens of the world as opposed to these typical American barsluts is that she's so honest about it. She doesn't go on Oprah two days after she's been in the hospital for "exhaustion" claiming she parties just as much as the rest of the 20 year olds in North America. Umm...I'm 20. And I've been known to go out dancing with my friends and yeah things get a little crazy sometimes. But you don't see me checked into a hospital because of it.

When to listen to this album?
While primping for a night out on the town or to lighten things up when you're cleaning the dirty clothes off of your bedroom floor.

Spit on a Stranger

I've been buried under a pile of books doing research all week and on top of that the weather has been dreadful. So when the sun shone today I decided to put the serious stuff aside and make the most of things by heading downtown for an afternoon of excrutiatingly early christmas shopping. Unfortunately as soon as I hit the heart of the city I experienced a most unfortunate turn of events.

Someone spit on me....
I was spat upon.

Although I do not believe this action was in any way premeditated, I certainly do feel as if it could have been prevented if the man in the red flannel shirt had simply glanced a few feet to his left and noticed that there was someone within the firing range. I didn't exactly notice until a few seconds after the fact when my partner jokingly commented on how close the man was to spitting on me. Only then did I glance at my sleeve and realize that he actually had (and it was bright red...gross!!).

I can't help but wonder why this happened to me in particular. I speak loudly, dress in vintage clothes that are often a little conspicuous and generally don't tend to "blend in" to a crowd. Yet I find that I am often shoved or stumbled over when I am walking in the street. I usually attribute this behaviour to my relatively small stature, but when I really think about it this explanation does not make a whole lot of sense. I am only a few inches shorter than most and am far from waifish.

After a little consideration it became clear that in all likelihood the man did see me there. He saw me and based on the combination of my age, gender AND size did not think twice about spitting in my direction. Again I doubt he actually intended to hit me, but on some level he recognized that there would be no reprocussions for him if he did. Whereas I believe that had I been larger than him, older than him or male he would have known to consciously avoid me because of what I would do to him if he had.

Which brings me to another aspect of this, which is my reaction to what happened. My partner immediately wanted to go after the man but I calmly asked what the point of this would be and attempted to regain my sunny day cheer. SERIOUSLY? Thinking back I can't believe I was not more confrontational. It was as if I felt that because this man had not done this on purpose, he was somehow exempt from the consequences of his actions (ie. getting flipped off, told off, spat on or fought). When in reality he deserved all this and more for ignoring me and assuming that I would simply take it. I hate to think about the fact that he was right...

I don't quite know how to feel about this whole situation now. All I can do is suggest that if any Red Flannel man ever approaches you chewing cinammon gum with an expression of distaste on his face...cross the street. I implore you.

About Beatrice...

A few weeks ago I turned 20 and found myself in, what I like to call, a mid-mid-life crisis.

One day I was walking home from campus and there was a group of 8 or 9 year olds ahead of me. They were deeply involved in a boisterous conversation about their secret club. It seems there was some confusion about precisely who could and could not recieve membership. First on the agenda, was an age requirement. One of the boys boldly asserted that no one above the age of 16 may be granted entry. Another one quickly countered with the more inclusive age of 19. His argument was that as long as you are still a teen you are not technically an adult and therefore you should not be excluded from the top-secret club. The whole group nodded in agreement and moved onto the next order of business.

It was at this moment that I realized I am no longer in "The Club". I am now one of those big (figuratively, as I stand at the towering height of 5'2"), bossy, boring grow-ups that takes everything too seriously and never has any fun. This was part 1 of the crisis.

Part 2 struck me when I realized that I have become an angry feminist. Recognized worldwide for being the least fun group of people ever to walk the planet (except for maybe the Huns, I don't think they'd be able to take a joke either). I have always been a feminist. When I was in 9 I spelled women "womyn" even though I lost marks on every spelling test I wrote. I attended a conference entitled "The Power of Women" featuring Jane Goodall and Lynda Carter when I was 13. And when I was 18 I decided I wanted to major in Gender and Women's Studies at university. However, despite all of this, I never thought of myself as "one of those" angry feminists. But it struck me that I am, in fact, angry and frustrated on a daily basis. When I bear witness to our culture's blatent disregard for the violence being perpetrated against women and the systematic oppression that they (we) must overcome I am filled with a growling rage.

SO HERE IS MY MISSION:

I am 20 years old and I just wanna have fun. I like movies and dancing and girls and comic books and music and tv (box set or otherwise) and fashion and boys and politics and youtube and celebrity blogs. But I want to be able to participate in all of this without feeling alienated because I am also a feminist and an activist. My mini crisis forced me to take a little more responsibility for the pop culture I so ravenously consume and my new approach is this: I refuse to compartmentalize the things I like and things I believe any longer. I have created this simple blog to sort out all the complicated issues that people like me face as gender-conscious individuals just trying to tap dance through this crazy world.

Here is where its all going to go down. The big clash between my values as a feminist and my infatuation with Paris Hilton.

Watch out...cause it ain't gonna be pretty.