Last year, when One Direction released “One Way or Another (Teenage Kicks),” a combination Blondie/Undertones cover they recorded for charity, the Guardian’s Adam Boult was prompted to start a list of songs that “must never be covered.” Never mind that 1D’s medley got a seal of approval from Blondie’s Debbie Harry herself; Mr. Boult said it was an “abomination” that somehow “tarnished” the original versions. So it’s not about the gender of the artist doing the cover—it’s about the gender (and age) of their fans. Think about it: Young, poppy acts, have largely young, female fan bases. I believe the reason rockist dudes feel so dang uncomfortable watching these artists cover songs by bands they love is that it points out that they might have something in common with fans of Miley, Lorde, 1D, etc. They might actually have something in common with teenage girls. And what could be worse than that?
Here’s what I want to tell these people: You could do a lot worse than sharing a teenage girl’s taste in music. The pantheon of acts who couldn’t have gotten famous without the support of teenage girls includes a lot of people and bands you probably respect a lot: Michael Jackson. Elvis Presley. The fricking BEATLES. When Nirvana were around, most of their fans weren’t 50-year-old rock critics; they were kids.
trying not to get prematurely sad
I finished all the smaller squares for my Welcome to Night Vale quilt! I only have two big squares to work on then I’ll be done embroidering and having to figure out how to lay out the quilt. My friend came up with the idea to make this quilt and designed all the patters because she’s freaking awesome like that. Her main blog is Ranebowstitches and her craft blog is questionablestitchery.
i’ll take down nations. i’ll destroy men. I’ll fucking become the next president. I’ll make the next sistine chapel. I’ll find a cure for cancer, all while being the biggest fucking fangirl of a boyband in the entire world. because guess what??? being aware and socially concious and having big dreams does not correlate to how many times i dance in my underwear to what makes you beautiful
WOO VANCE JOY IS COMING TO MY SCHOOOOL
the worst kind of misogyny
is the kind that seeps out of your uncle’s mouth at christmas dinner
or from your favorite movie you’ve watched 500 times
or that snide comment your cousin makes on vacation
from the people you trust
and so quick
so slickly spoken
you barely catch it