The first Corin Tucker Band album, 2010’s 1,000 Years, was dominated by moody, thoughtful songcraft—quite a left-turn coming after Tucker’s last album (to date) with groundbreaking trio Sleater-Kinney, 2005’s furiously distortion-heavy The Woods. But now, 1,000 Years’ follow-up, Kill My Blues (Kill Rock Stars), is another sonic shift. The guitars are louder, the textures more extreme, and Tucker’s lyrics on the album cover an amazing gamut—from clarion calls to teenage memories to more elliptical pieces. At times, the LP brings to mind S-K’s post-September 11 album, 2002’s One Beat, a collection of rock anthems for troubled times. Throughout Kill My Blues, Tucker writes—and the band plays—like something important is truly at stake on every song. The Corin Tucker Band—which also includes drummer Sara Lund, guitarist Seth Lorinczi and bassist Mike Clark (as well as touring bassist Dave Depper)—will be guest editing magnetmagazine.com all week. Read our brand new feature on the group.
Lorincz: I want to begin with a disclaimer: I do not hate music stores, music store clerks or men in general. But I’ve lost count of how many women I know, many of them far more talented than myself, who’ve gone to a music store for a specific piece of gear—a guitar, a microphone; hell, a pair of drumsticks—and been treated to the “let me demo this for you” treatment. Are the (overwhelmingly male) store clerks actually practicing an enlightened form of compassion, sparing their (female) customers the potential humiliation of holding the drumsticks incorrectly or singing a bum note? Possibly. Probably not.
One such encounter occurred when I was trying to secure an (admittedly specious) “pro discount” at an unnamed giant chain music store. (Let’s call it “Sitar Mentor.”) The Music Dude was unable to proffer said discount, but expressed his admiration at “getting my dick in the door” in a “touring rock act.” Music Dude was perhaps unaware of the two (justifiably stupefied) ladies standing next to me at the time; they were standing a full foot or two away from him. “Did he just say that? Yes, I believe he did!”
The fact that we actually comprised a “touring rock act” (or the potential ramifications of actually getting one’s penis in an open door, or anywhere near one) notwithstanding, the experience underlined a sad fact of music-making: That for many, women in rock remain ornamental. Some cultural critics argue that one can’t remain passive on the issue of gender integration; you can’t beg off, saying, “I’m a musician, I just want to play!” and not take a stand. But for me, the issue is pretty simple. When I’m playing music with others, I am just a musician, and while I have an opinion on the matter, I don’t have the power (or the desire) to force the “unenlightened” to change their stance. But it’s been too many years that I’ve longed for women in rock—and larger society—to be, well, normal. Just: normal. And judged, if at all, solely on their talent and dedication.
Back at Sitar Mentor, part of me wished that the women I happened to be with had decided to “demo some gear” and played for a moment. I doubt Music Dude would have ignored them then; they’re both fierce musicians and major influences on my life. In fact, I’m pretty sure Dude would have done the gentlemanly thing, and politely invited them to stick their dicks in the door.
For inspiration, here’s a video of a young gentleman “shredding” at a popular guitar store. Judging from the title, he’s been playing for 18 days straight. Wow!
Video after the jump.
