Musical Musings: Songs In the Key of Abuse

Abuse--whether it's sexual, physical, or emotional--is a serious, serious topic. (And also a huge money-maker for the estate of V.C. Andrews.) I had a few ear worms in my head so I decided I'd make a blog post out of the most annoyingly pervasive ones.

Push by Matchbox 20

Remember when Push wasn't this generation's The Color Purple? At one point, it was a song by Matchbox 20. Feminists criticized "Push" for its chorus. You 90s kids all know it. C'mon, sing along with Rob Thomas. I wanna push you around, yeah I will, yeah I will, I wanna push you down, well I will, well, I will. Because this was the age of Title IX and the decade where at least one women's studies prof viewed Bill Clinton not wanting to sit through a women's basketball game after seeing a men's game as an act of gender violence, you had to know this song wouldn't go over well.

The lady Bic razor burning crew backed off quick when lead singer Rob Thomas explained the song's true meaning: it's sung from the perspective of an abusive girlfriend saying damaging things to her boyfriend. After that, the song was just fine to the Lilith Fair gals and the song's protagonist became a feminist heroine along with Lorena Bobbitt and Medea.

He Hit Me (And It Felt Like a Kiss) by the Crystals

This early 60s pop song was written by Gerry Goffin and Carole King and produced by Phil Spector. Its dirge like beat was interpreted as a ringing endorsement, and not an ironic condemnation of, domestic abuse.

With lyrics like He hit me and I knew he loved me / 'Cause if he didn't care for me / I could have never made him mad, how could anyone have been surprised when Phil's gifts to his lovers were things like "a glass coffin for your bullet ridden corpse if you ever leave me" and "a .44 Magnum cartridge"?

Criminal by Fiona Apple

I know this song isn't actually about abuse. But MTV played up Fiona's rape in their press kit and this video basically had the same effect that looking at the American Apparel ads has on me now--I want to hug all the models, feed them sandwiches...and then give them hot showers and some pubic lice medication. It's worse than those manipulative animal shelter ads with Sarah MacLachlan's Angel playing in the background that bring me to tears faster than Lady PMS.

Between the spandex shorts, the stuffed animals, and the disembodied feet, a part of me feels like I'm exploiting someone by just watching the video. Like maybe I need to now make a donation to my local N.O.W. chapter.

Prison Sex by Tool

This is actually a song about how child abuse is cyclical in nature. You can be forgiven for thinking it's a song about weird little alien guys running around. That's kind of what I thought every Tool song was about. Even the one about L.A. dropping off into the ocean.

Despite the fairly deep content of their lyrics, I think the most abusive thing Tool ever did was creating Undertow, a concept album with about seventy two second long tracks in a day and age when people used the shuffle feature on their stereos. In the time before MP3s, that was cold treatment of their fans.

Janie's Got a Gun by Aerosmith

Apparently this one was originally called Danny's Got a Gun but was changed to Janie. (I guess a chick wielding a gun because of sexual abuse was enough to defuse Tipper Gore and her anti-violence entourage.) Writing a song about a Serious Issue like child abuse also lets Steven Tyler get away with wearing pants in the music video that make Olivia Newton John's in Grease look like harem pants by comparison.

Fun fact: in the video, Lesley Ann Warren plays Janie's mom. (Maybe the song should have been called Miss Scarlett's got a lead pipe in the billiards room.)

For all the snark, I loved this one growing up. I have to love any song that was used in evidence as defense for Lyle and Erik Menendez.

Run For Your Life by the Beatles

This John Lennon composition featured lyrics like I'd rather see you dead than in another man's arms, little girl. It somehow escaped banning (until the early 90s in Toronto) over the years. Why did "The Feminists" protest He Hit Me and Push while overlooking this one? Because Beatles can do no wrong!

It makes me think that maybe even the most ardent of feminist would react to an ass cheek pinch from John, Paul, George or Ringo with an, "Oh, you!" and a giggle. (Especially Ringo--I kind of doubt the Shining Time Station has an extensive sexual harassment policy written out.)

As Retold by Sadako: The Giving Tree

Once upon a time, there was a tree. And she loved a little boy. Everyday the boy's parents would send him alone, unaccompanied, into the forest. The boy would play hide and seek with the tree, and make a crown from the her leaves. He'd swing in her branches.

When he was hungry he would eat from her apples. When he was tired he would sleep in the shade. And the tree was grateful to finally have a human companion whose parents and friends didn't throw around words like "Delusional" or "Schizophrenic" when he spent all his time in the woods alone talking to a tree.

The boy got older. The tree watched him fraternize with other, female friends. She seethed when she saw his and his lover's initials written on the tree over "M.E. + T." She wept leaves onto his lover's head as they smiled together under her branches.

One day, the boy came to the tree.

"You never write," she said. "You never call."

"I'm older now. I want to buy things and have fun."

"With that whore of yours?"

"Tree, I told you, she's not a whore, she's a pole dancer. Anyway, I need money."

"Oh, poor you! Go on. Take all my apples and sell them--

"I can make do with half--

"No, no. What do I need with apples now that no lonely psychologically disturbed children come to visit me? Take them all."

The boy took the apples. And the tree had a reason to kvetch when she met with the other trees that week. And she was happy.

The boy came back later. The tree said, "Come play in my branches."

The boy said, "I'm too old for climbing branches. I'm sad. I need a house so I can have a wife and 2.5 kids. But I can't afford one yet."

"Your fleshy parents never taught you about the concept of renting?"

"Hey, why throw money down the hatch every month when I can live inside the body parts of my best girl, eh?"

"Well..."

"You know there's no fleshy girl I'd prefer to slaughter and then climb inside."

"Oh, you," said the tree. "Go on, then. Ignore my screams of pain as you amputate my limbs."

"Speak up, hon, my earphones are on."

The boy took the branches and left. And the tree was happy.

The Lorax came by and left pamphlets for the environmental league meeting. "Tree, you are the poster child for self hating wildlife. Get yourself some self-respect, woman."

Soon, the boy came back.

"I'm old and sad, and my wife left me. I want a mid-life mobile and a toupee."

"I told you that tramp was no good. Well, cut down my trunk and fashion a really cool, swinging hot rod."

The boy did so. He cut down the trunk, taking off the initials of himself and his first girlfriend and leaving those of himself and the tree. And the tree was vindictive with glee.

The boy stayed away for even longer. The tree wished she could remember the addressees on the mailing list of Dendrophiliacs Unite. She waited for the boy.

The boy came back. He was an old man.

The tree said, "My apples are gone. My branches are gone. My trunk is gone. I'm terrible, I look a mess. I have nothing else for you. You know, since you took it all and never call me. All I have is a stump."

The boy replied, "I'm too weak to chew apples. I'm too old to swing on branches. I'm too tired to climb you. I just want to rest."

"Really?" The tree trembled with joy. "You don't want to leave? Even to hang out with your cool, mobile friends? Even to use indoor plumbing? You promise? Well! Sit down and rest."

The boy sat down. He massaged his arthritic knees. He adjusted his colostomy bag. "I'm so tired I don't ever want to get up," he sighed, exhausted. And the tree was finally happy.

Consensus? Tree, take up a hobby. Submitting stuff to cake wrecks and playing canasta are good ones. Boy, would it kill you to pretend to have fun on her branches for a few minutes before commencing the violation of the natural world?

If These Websites Could Talk

What if the websites we know, love, and obsess over like a junkie extra on The Wire could speak their minds? What would Jezebel, Wiki, Twitter, Amazon (and the rest!) say?

Jezebel: "The airbrushing, Duke, the celebrity airbrushing!"

"Uh, years of exposure to Maxim, Esquire, and Parade magazine have left me blind to it, kid."



Craigslist: "You won't get herpes from looking at our site. You'll just feel like you have it."

Amazon: "Customers who bought what you looked at also went on to buy a propeller beanie, pajamas featuring dogs playing poker, and the bobble headed demon thing that was running Shatner's life in that Twilight Zone episode. No, really. We swear. 78% of them. Totally not messing with you."

MySpace: "Want to come to my cousin's boyfriend's band practice? They're called Alien Autopsy. Frozen Embryos are going to be there, too. It's supposed to be really cool--nah, man, it's fine if you can't make it. We're going to be in the garage at Tino's place if you want to come."

Feministing: "Trigger warning. The following posts may include depictions of rape, incest, anorexia/bulimia, sizeism, sexism, racism, people who are more attractive than you are, sanitary napkins without adhesive wings, polysyllable words, high fructose corn syrup, and other things and people whose backs will be up against the wall when the Revolution happens."

Wikipedia: "I heard you're a pyromaniac who was incontinent till you were six--woah, don't get pissy at me. I was about to say, cite needed. You know I'm allowed to say whatever I want if I put that little note there, right?"

xkcd: "No, boy who does crossword puzzle for fun and girl who made it through college on a boggle scholarship, your endearing quirkiness won't make understanding this site any easier. We've prepared study guides for those of you willing to learn. For the rest, back to Big Bang Theory for cuddly, free range nerds."

Salon.com Broadsheet: "Do you have a women's studies degree from a liberal arts east coast school? Does it bother you that no one can see institutional racism, sexism, and otherism in something as simple as a rubber houseplant sold in a bodega? Do you still wake up in a cold sweat from the Dolce & Gabbana gang rape ad? Would you rather analyze Perez Hilton's sexist commentary on Lindsay Lohan than the rates of female genital mutilation? Come write for us!"



Questionable Content:
Dora: "It's always Faye, Faye, Faye! Faye with her square framed glasses, short boyish hairdo, and zaftig figure! I just can't compete."

Twitter: "Want to hear Perez Hilton trying to win a Darwin award, or Billy Corgan and Courtney Love working out their sexual tension? Neither do I. Kill me now."

Google: "Hey, how's it going? Got your mail okay? That's awesome. See you around." [Time lapse.] "Heyyyyy, I noticed you checking out some cool videos. I can recommend you some really good ones if you're interested. No? Okay." [Time lapse.] "Oh, it's you again! According to the buzz, two of your friends are having a really cool party--hey, I see you're looking a bit scared. Gavin de Becker's The Gift of Fear is great for people who are worried about being stalked--want me to find it for you?"

NYTimes: "We still feel you should get newsprint all over your hands and pay for the privilege, but we'll condescend to venture into the morass that is the Interwebs. And fine. We'll even add a 'web-log'--no we won't call it a 'blog'--dammit! Arianna, why do we have to do this again?"

Pandora: "Free music! Free music! All you have to do is sit through this advertising session, and then free music whenever and however you want it--any time, any place. We promise."

Sadako: "Don't do it! It's like musical time share!"

Netflix: "We brought the movies right to your house. Now we bring the movies right to your computer. Soon we'll bring the movies right to your brain."

Twitter: "...I'm not kidding. R.L. Stine just tweeted about his back hair. Please, put me out of my misery. One wet hairdryer should do it."

eHarmony: "A diverse singles community for the keen on Jesus crowd! Just last week we matched up two singles living all the way across the street from each other in Birmingham, the only two members of the Westboro Baptist Church's San Francisco chapter, and two distantly related Duggars."

Movies in a Minute: The Devil Wears Prada

Editor in Chief, Miranda Priestly: "Why should I hire you to work at a fashion magazine as my assistant?"

Andy: "I went to an east coast liberal arts college. I was editor in chief of my college paper. Aaand, I don't mean to toot my own horn, but I know who Susan Sontag is. I'm kind of a big deal. Leather bound books, mahogany, etc."

Miranda: "You don't read Runway. You've never heard of such a thing as foundation garments. And until today you'd never heard of me. But you know what, I'll give you the job. It might make a cute fish out of water article this winter. Hmm. Yes. I'll call it Fat Girl in Little Givenchy Bolero Jacket."

Emily: "I'm Emily, the first assistant. I'm a size two, and I do not need a governess. Or a second assistant. You'll be doing whatever I tell you. Get that phone."

Andy: "Hello? Calvin Klein calling for Miranda Priestly? Ooh, Mr. Klein, I've loved you since the day I saw Michael J. Fox wearing your underwear. Do you think I could get an autographed pair--hello?"

Nigel: "Token gay guy here. Have some shoes. Size thirteen, right, Cankles?"

Sadako: "Standford Blatch, I presume? Or is it evil Tim Gunn?"

Andy: "Miranda, I'm sorry I offered to take Karl Lagerfeld's cape--I didn't know it was the post weight loss excess skin!"

Miranda: "I took a chance. I hired you. Why? Because I figured my son wouldn't be as tempted to sleep with his assistant if she were a zaftig Hispanic girl from Queens."

Andy: "..."

Miranda: "Sorry, wrong script. Because I wanted a smart girl with a work ethic. So I said hire the fat smart girl. She can use the money to get lap band surgery."

Andy: "Sniff. She hates me, Nigel! I'm trying my best, and she hates me!"

Nigel: "Andy, be serious. You are not trying anything but my patience. Where others dream to work, you only deign. This is more than a magazine. It's a shining beacon of hope for...oh, let's say a young boy in Rhode Island pretending to go to soccer practice when he was really at sewing camp. For the boy pretending his ball gag and butt plugs were a mouthguard and jockstrap. Pretending that his brief forays into cosmetics were adulation of KISS with an S, not Liza with a z. Reading Runway under the covers late at night."

Sadako: "Forget Obama. The Nobel Peace Prize should have gone to Runway."

Nigel: "You have no idea how many legends have walked this hall, and you don't even care."

Andy: "I just wish I knew what I could do to...Nigel. Nigel, Nigel."

Nigel: "No...no! Well, all right. Despite my awesome career, I did kind of feel my life was empty till a free spirited straight girl looking for love and success in the big city entered it."

Andy: *squeal*

Nigel: "We're doing Dolce for you, and Narciso Rodriguez, possibly Lepore, but mostly Jimmy Choo, Manolo Blahnik and other names that'll make the Top Model watching army wife mother of four in her mumu feel like she's fashion forward for recognizing."

Andy: "I love it! My own fairy godmother! Do you come in black? My friend Lily could so use one!"

Gisele: "The other day, in the beauty department we were looking at the new Shu Uemura eyelash curler and she starts combing her hair with it."

Emily: "It's like they've decided they can get affirmative action points for hiring the fat."

Gisele: "And ze other day, she looks at the Birken bag and she says, what is zis, a bidet?"

Emily: "Really?"

Gisele: "No, but that story made ze funny with ze boys in accounting."

Gisele: "Whoa."

Emily: "I want an I crapped asparagus and put it on a stick bag, too!"

Sadako: "Meet Andy's friends! Tousled hipster boyfriend Nate, Doug the effeminate one, and Lily, the black girl."

Nate: "Hey Andy. We're just waiting for Turtle to get here. How's the working girl?"

Andy: "Oh, you guys! Runway does some legit work, too. They published a Norman Mailer whining about his waning libido piece. And here's a photo layout of Jim Carrey in black and white mooning the camera but looking sorrowful--it's by Annie Leibowitz so you know it's good. And I have presents for everyone."

Lily: "Nice blackberry! Ooh, incoming call from the Dragon Lady--let's play keep away!"

Andy: "Give me that! You smudged the eyeshadow palette! And the compact mirror is broken. You guys are such assholes."

Nate: "Aw, come on, Andy."

Andy: "No, I'm going. I have to go deliver some papers for Miranda and meet the rival interest who will inflame me intellectually and sexually but ultimately hurt me, teaching me that there's no place like home."

Christian Thompson: "Hello, gorgeous! Do you know who I am?"

Andy: "I reviewed your books for my college paper! I was even president of the Christian Thompson fan club. We love you, Christian, oh yes we do...And I want to be a writer. Except I work for Miranda Priestly..."

Christian: "You as an assistant? You can't work for her! You're nice, smart, and tight as a never been opened bottle of marmalade! Woof!"

Emily: "Miranda's decided you're to deliver the Book to her house today. Don't mess it up. LEAVE THE BOOK ON THE TABLE WITH THE WHITE ORCHIDS. While you're waiting for the book to be assembled, you can alphabetize her suppository collection."

Andy: "Hmm, where do I leave the book?"



Miranda's twin daughters: "Teehee. Emily always brought it upstairs to Mommy. Heehee."

Andy: "Okay!"

Emily: "You have no idea how stupid you are, do you?"

Miranda: "I want the new Harry Potter book for my twins. Or you're fired."

Andy: "Oh. Well, I bet if I call someone and look real alluring, it'll work. After all, there are only angry editors at fashion magazines, not publishing houses!"

Christian: "Hey gorgeous lady. Want the new Harry Potter book? I somehow scored it despite not doing much besides having sex and writing the occasional poem."

Andy: "Oh, god, how can I thank you?"

Christian: "I can think of a few ways. WOOF!"

Andy: "Here you go, Miranda. I got the book and managed to read an article on how to slim down my upper body and elongate my torso. Is there anything I can't do?"

Miranda: "What are my twins gonna do with that? Share? Who do you think they are? Michael Kors' kids?"

Andy: "Oh no, I made two copies--covered, reset, bound. They're with the twins on their way to grandma's. This is just an extra to have on file. You know, just in case!"

Miranda Priestly: "That'll do, pig. That'll do."



J.K. Rowling: "You destroy all copies of that and lobotomize everyone who's read that book or I'll make Nuclear Wintour look like a lolcat. And I was a single mother on the dole. I know hell--it's filling out twenty pages of the Jobseekers' Allowance Form."

Andy: "Uh, Nate, you know how I said I'd quit my job, well it turns out I still have a paycheck and benefits, sorry."

Nate: "Andy, you've changed. What happened to the girl who used to hate Runway and made fun of all those girls? Now you take calls from your boss outside of working hours. And on Secretary's Day you joined in the fun instead of throwing Miranda's cruller on the floor and pissing on it. I just don't know who you are anymore."

Andy: "Ugh, my personal life is hanging by a thread."

Nigel: "Join the club. That's what happens when you start doing well at work, darling. Let me know when your whole life goes up in smoke--that means it's time for a promotion."

Andy: "Oh...Nigel, do you have an HIV test you need me to go with you for? Because I just saw Philadelphia last weekend and it's so tough what you people have to go through!"

Emily: "Andrea, you have to work tonight. We're memorizing all of these people for a big gala so that in case Miranda's Alzheimer's kicks in, we can tell her who they are, where they work and whom they're fucking."

Sadako: "Don't forget the bias cut adult sized diapers in case the incontinence checks in. Is there anything Miranda can handle on her own?"

Andy: "But Emily, tonight's Nate's birthday and I promised him we'd hire a clown."

Emily: "Too fucking bad."



Christian: "Andy! Remember me? Too bad you've got a boyfriend. I'd love to show you the old in out, in out!"

Andy: "What?"

Christian: "The editors of In Style and Time Out, they're inside. I could introduce you, show them a piece of yours--WOOF!"

Andy: "Oh, well, I have to go."

Nate: "You missed my party."

Andy: "I'm sorry--I tried to leave but there was a lot going on. And I'm here now."

Nate: "You missed the clown we hired. And the bursting of the pinata shaped like your boss. You've changed, Andie. You've sold out."

Sadako: "I'm sorry, Vince, but this coming from the guy so willing to get famous that he starred in Aquaman? You couldn't be any more of a sell out if you let Ari Gold talk you into a Joel Schumacher directed Batman featuring light up LED nipples on the batsuit."

Nate: "And now you're going to Paris with Miranda to meet fashion designers? That was Emily's thing."

Andy: "Miranda chose me! Is it my fault I'm so fetching and sweet? I'm basically the way Disney wishes Lindsay Lohan had turned out. I didn't ask to be so non-threateningly attractive."

Nate: "Let's see other people."



Andy: "Ooh, sex with sexy Christian in Paris. How cosmopolitan."

Miranda: "Let's go over the seating charts for the banquet. Move Snoop Dogg to my table where my husband Stephen was sitting."

Andy: "So I don't need to fetch Stephen from the airport. Yay, time for more sex with the future Norman Mailer!"



Miranda: "Stephen isn't coming. He's rethought the divorce. Oh, put that fiery Latina Nina Garcia in the back and make sure she's supplied with plenty of chimichangas or whatever it is they eat...ah, and make sure to minimize the press on this..."

Andy: "..."

Miranda: "...I can just imagine what they'll say about me in the press. Dragon Lady Drives Away Another Mr. Priestly. The Ice Queen Cometh No More..."

Sadako: "Don't forget Will Protruding Vagina Tentacles Spoil Priestly's Marriage?"

Miranda: "We can't have it all, Andy. We can't have it all. Go! Before you're dried up and alone. Get knocked up and have a rollicking adventure with your adorably immature hipster boyfriend! Marry the first thing that negs you at the bar tonight. Don't end up like I did!"

Nigel: "Come on, fat girl, let's drink to the perfect dream job--mine! Miranda's put me forward to co-partner an awesome new company."

Christian: "Did you know that Miranda's being replaced by a Frenchie? Probably shouldn't have mentioned that. Woof!"

Andy: "Oh no! I've got to warn my boss that Selma Hayek's going to make a fool out of him on national television--crap, wrong script again."

Miranda: "Relax, I knew all along. Frenchie's going to take Nigel's hot new job and I'm staying here at Runway. So's Nigel."

Nigel: *single tear*

Andy: "I can't do this anymore, Miranda. You do whatever it takes to get ahead. And then you break a cute little flamboyant gay man's heart. I haven't seen such hard heartedness since Heidi and Nina refused to let Austin in the final four. Goodbye forever."

Miranda: "Okay, I know you're going to cut this in post, but I can't stay silent. She gets upset about missing her boyfriend's birthday party and I get walked out on in Paris to indulge in your little I'm an independent woman phase? I suppose you expect me to stay silent and let you go, playing the Ike Turner to your lovable but gumby legged Tina?"

Andy: "Yup. Except I'm Elle Woods to your Warner. Time for an interview with a serious magazine."

Interviewer: "These clips are excellent. I loved the piece on the janitor's union--white girl liberal guilt is appreciated here at Nerve.com. Now do you have any pieces about losing your virginity while accidentally still wearing a tampon?"

Miranda: There she goes. The best assistant I ever had. Oh, we had some laughs--like the time she brought me a grilled cheese. And the time she suggested using Crystal Renn for the lingerie spread. Shine on, my little novice!

Andy: "I'm going to be a serious journalist and carry around a netbook and spend time in cafes scowling at people for standing over me with their lattes while I write about stuff that matters!"