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What are You Doing Here?: A Black Woman's Life and Liberation in Heavy Metal
What Are You Doing Here? investigates how black women musicians and fans navigate the metal, hardcore, and punk music genres that are regularly thought of as inclusive spaces and centered on a community spirit, but fail to block out the race and gender issues that exist in the outside world.
“The first time I heard rock music it was really exciting. I felt that this new music and vibe was really me. I remember going to bed and having dreams that I was performing this music and visualizing myself on stage, way before it actually happened… What always appealed to me about rock music is the feeling of freedom, that I could finally be who I wanted to be and sing the music that I felt in my heart. Some black people that I met in the music industry felt that we could be stronger and better empowered if we all stayed within in the same box, but I had always relished the fact that I never belonged to any cliques, or any scenes…”—Skin, Skunk Anansie
“I wanted to find other black women like me: metal, hardcore, and punk fans and musicians that were rabid about the music and culture and adamant about asserting their rightful place as black women within those scenes. I wanted to find other women who put aside the cultural baggage that dictates that we must listen to certain musical styles, and simply enjoy the music that influenced us, not just as black women, but as individuals who grew up in an era when, thanks to technology, a large variety of music is accessible and available to everyone. I found many black women and have shared their stories, but I also realize there is still a lot of work to be done.”—Laina Dawes
CONTENTS:
“Who Put That Shaven-Headed Black Woman on the Stage?” Foreword by Skin
Introduction, by Laina Dawes
I. Canadian Steel
II. Metal Can Save Your Life (or at Least Your Sanity)
III. I’m Here Because We Started It!
IV. So You Think You’re White?
V. “The Only One” Syndrome
VI. Too Black, Too Metal, and All Woman
VII. The Lingering Stench of Racism in Metal
VIII. Remove the Barricades and Stagedive!
Epilogue
Appendix: “What Are You Doing Here?”—The Survey
“The first time I heard rock music it was really exciting. I felt that this new music and vibe was really me. I remember going to bed and having dreams that I was performing this music and visualizing myself on stage, way before it actually happened… What always appealed to me about rock music is the feeling of freedom, that I could finally be who I wanted to be and sing the music that I felt in my heart. Some black people that I met in the music industry felt that we could be stronger and better empowered if we all stayed within in the same box, but I had always relished the fact that I never belonged to any cliques, or any scenes…”—Skin, Skunk Anansie
“I wanted to find other black women like me: metal, hardcore, and punk fans and musicians that were rabid about the music and culture and adamant about asserting their rightful place as black women within those scenes. I wanted to find other women who put aside the cultural baggage that dictates that we must listen to certain musical styles, and simply enjoy the music that influenced us, not just as black women, but as individuals who grew up in an era when, thanks to technology, a large variety of music is accessible and available to everyone. I found many black women and have shared their stories, but I also realize there is still a lot of work to be done.”—Laina Dawes
CONTENTS:
“Who Put That Shaven-Headed Black Woman on the Stage?” Foreword by Skin
Introduction, by Laina Dawes
I. Canadian Steel
II. Metal Can Save Your Life (or at Least Your Sanity)
III. I’m Here Because We Started It!
IV. So You Think You’re White?
V. “The Only One” Syndrome
VI. Too Black, Too Metal, and All Woman
VII. The Lingering Stench of Racism in Metal
VIII. Remove the Barricades and Stagedive!
Epilogue
Appendix: “What Are You Doing Here?”—The Survey
208 pages, Paperback
First published November 7, 2012
47 people are currently reading
1623 people want to read
About the author
Laina Dawes
5 books18 followersLaina Dawes is a music and cultural critic and opinion writer from Toronto, Canada. She is an active public speaker and contributor to CBC Radio, current affairs columnist for Afrotoronto.com, and contributing Editor (for race, ethnicity and culture) for Blogher.org.
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February 22, 2013
Sometimes I think this that world wants to hurt me/But if I'm going down it's with my fist in the air... "Bang" by Benedictum.
This wasn't a book. It was an experience. It was like author Laina Dawes was living in my head and decided to write a book about being that rare bird--a black female metalhead. The same passion for the music, the same looks of puzzlement and/or disdain from those who don't understand or accept individuality, the same sense of making a space in a world where few of us are represented. Even the issues of being black, female and feminist are questions I've dealt with (though I feel metal can be feminist for many reasons). The best part of reading this awesome book is discovering so many incredible black women artists who have more talent in their pinky fingers than all the pop princesses we're constantly regaled with.
Instead of my standard review, I'm going to cite some of the quotes from this amazing work that spoke directly to my experiences as not just a metalhead, but as a black woman:
"After all, if the blues, a black-originated sound, served as the musical and spiritual foundation of metal, hardcore and punk, why is there so much resistance among black people to listening to it?"
It's a question I've been asking myself and others over the past three decades of my rock/metal journey. Every band I saw and loved, from Judas Priest to Motley Crue to my favorite Queensryche--they all owe something to Robert Johnson, Howlin Wolf, Muddy Waters, Little Richard, Chuck Berry and of course, Jimi. Even Dream Theater, those scions of Progressive Metal, owe much of their style and penchant for odd time signatures to jazz greats like Miles Davis, Thelonius Monk and John Coltrane. So why are we black metal, hardcore and punk fans treated like some sort of cultural traitors or weirdoes for simply reclaiming a musical heritage on steroids and Gibsons? I love that one of the chapters is actually titled "I'm Here Because We Started It!" Check out the awesome multi-part series 'Metal Evolution' where writer, cultural anthropologist, film-maker and metalhead Sam Dunn makes this very case in one of the first installments.
"Black women don't allow themselves to be liberated," says Laura Nichols, who frequented Toronto's punk scene in the 1980's. "We do not allow ourselves to be free. It's not just listening to a diverse range of music that is perceived as being outside of black-centric musical styles--it's everything in our lives. Some of us do not allow ourselves to be 'big' because we don't want people to notice our behavior as an example of a negative racial stereotype--'Oh, she's acting that way because she's black'."
This statement struck me, to borrow a line from the 'Ryche, "like a two ton heavy thing". I've always said the feminist revolution as beneficial overall as it has been, has also been pretty slow when it comes to the intersectionality of race, sexuality and gender. We feminists of color/GLBTQ often feel further marginalized by the very movement which expects our unthinking support, all the while maintaining the very structure of privilege it claims to fight against. Add to that the burden of being the "representative" of an entire group of people and it's little wonder that our physical and emotional health continue to take a toll on our lives. I still remember my brother and I being warned by my parents to behave ourselves in public because people would judge us far harsher and therefore all black people in general.
Listening to metal, going to shows, wearing a band's t-shirt--from the most aggressive to the gothic/symphonic style-- feels like a welcome release from all that pressure to conform that I have often felt from both black people and white people (though sadly and painfully most of the negative reactions I've had over the years have been from my own). No, it's not the solution (though I wish it was), but just the feeling of allowing oneself to be an individual, of freedom, is priceless. It sometimes feels as if my choice of music is the only thing I'm allowed to own, and there are those who'd try to take that away from me if they could.
A few years ago my father went to Blockbuster Music to purchase 'Time to Say Goodbye' by Sarah Brightman for my mother. The salesgirl took one look at my father, then at the CD, then at my father again and asked him if he was "sure" he wanted to buy it. He politely asked for her supervisor and proceeded to let the man know how offensive the question was. I've had a few similar experiences purchasing metal music (one reason I'm thankful for the era of digital downloads) and unlike my father, I'm a lot less tolerant of people's fuckwittery.
"Throughout my preteen and early adult years I learned that women--particularly black women--are not supposed to show anger, through words or actions. Not only is anger an unattractive quality in a society that prefers women of all cultural and ethnic backgrounds to be gentle and passive, but for black women, being loud and angry harkens back to racial stereotypes that have deterred our social and economic progress."
Just. Yes. Over the years I've seen the right use the 'Angry Black Woman' moniker against Michelle Obama. However, there are those in feminist/progressive circles who also use that when women of color challenge their privilege, not knowing that very argument can be and often is also turned against them when they challenge patriarchy. Considering black women are often the targets of both racism and sexism, we have a right to be angry. In the case of black women, the fact that we're more than likely to be victims of domestic abuse, our rates of HIV-AIDS is higher than the average, and that we're less likely to make as much money as our white female counterparts and yet when we speak truth to power on all sides, there's a damning silence.
However metal for all its agression and rage isn't always angry. I mean, how pissed off is Khan when he sings 'The Sailorman's Hymn'? And while powerful, Stratovarius is far from an "angry" band. Neither are Rhaposody of Fire nor Epica (Cerebral yes. Angry? Not so much). Hardcore on the other hand uses anger in a healthy and creative fashion and I would say that a kid listening to something like Sevendust and getting their aggressions out that way is far emotionally healthy than a kid who holds it in. I can say from personal experience that music (metal and rock) literally saved my life as a teen.
I'm much more into the Power, Prog and European metal styles than punk or hardcore, though I still rock some Bad Brains, Souund Barrier and John Butcher Axis on occasion. Even Japan, home of Gackt and L'arc en Ciel has a pretty vibrant metal scene with bands like Versailles Philharmonic Quintet, the much lamented D'espairs Ray, Dir en Grey, ExistTrace and Galneryus. One of the cooler things I've noticed is that Europe seems to be far ahead of the States when it comes to the number and variety of bands lead by female singers. From Tarja (ex-Nightwish) to Angela Gossow (Arch Enemy) to death metal trio Astarte (a scary but kick ass outfit) to my goddess Floor Jensen (ex-After Forever now ReVamp). There's Krypteria, a German metal band lead by the incandescent Ji-In Cho, the always awesome Epica (Simone Simmons rocks), Leaves' Eyes, Within Temptation, Lacuna Coil, Mandragora Scream, Angtoria and Tristania (I miss you Vibke) just for starters. Unfortunately with the prominence of so many powerful women expressing themseves in what is still regarded as a male domain, the sexist asshats tend to make their presence (and disdain) felt. Comments on metal boards usually consist of the typical "who's hot/who's not" or in the case of amazing talents like Sarah Jezebel Deva (Cradle of Filth/Angtoria) and Amanda Somerville, insults about their weight. Put a black woman up there on stage fronting a metal, hardcore or punk band and some folks just want to show their asses, hence the very apt title of this book.
"Music is not only for enjoyment. We derive too much pleasure, pain and education from the music that we listen to every day to dismiss it as simply entertainment."
Metal has been part of the tapestry of my life, from the time my uncle introduced me to Hendrix and Thin Lizzy. I grew up in a household that listened to everything from The Doors to Marvin Gaye to Wes Montgomery to Glenn Miller and everything in between. I am still a Journey fan (though I will always love Steve Perry). I just wore my new Kamelot 'Angel of Afterlife' t-shirt and while most people have never heard of them, I'm always happy to share my love of this amazing band. Reading What Are You Doing Here?: A Black Woman's Life and Liberation in Heavy Metal was like deja vu in black and white (okay on a tablet). It's angry, it's challenging, it's in your face...and it's the spirit of metal! The women interviewed, from Skin of Skunk Anansie to Alexis Brown of Straight Line Stitch are not in here to be apologetic or to get people to understand "why" they do what they do. In fact, there is nothing apologetic about the book in the least. These artists and fans deal with not just racism, but sexism and are not deterred by it. I like that. So when you see me at the next metal show, don't be surprised. After all, I have a right to be here.
If you think I'll sit around while you chip away my brain/listen I ain't foolin' and you'd better think again..."
Judas Priest, 'You've Got Another Thing Comin'
This wasn't a book. It was an experience. It was like author Laina Dawes was living in my head and decided to write a book about being that rare bird--a black female metalhead. The same passion for the music, the same looks of puzzlement and/or disdain from those who don't understand or accept individuality, the same sense of making a space in a world where few of us are represented. Even the issues of being black, female and feminist are questions I've dealt with (though I feel metal can be feminist for many reasons). The best part of reading this awesome book is discovering so many incredible black women artists who have more talent in their pinky fingers than all the pop princesses we're constantly regaled with.
Instead of my standard review, I'm going to cite some of the quotes from this amazing work that spoke directly to my experiences as not just a metalhead, but as a black woman:
"After all, if the blues, a black-originated sound, served as the musical and spiritual foundation of metal, hardcore and punk, why is there so much resistance among black people to listening to it?"
It's a question I've been asking myself and others over the past three decades of my rock/metal journey. Every band I saw and loved, from Judas Priest to Motley Crue to my favorite Queensryche--they all owe something to Robert Johnson, Howlin Wolf, Muddy Waters, Little Richard, Chuck Berry and of course, Jimi. Even Dream Theater, those scions of Progressive Metal, owe much of their style and penchant for odd time signatures to jazz greats like Miles Davis, Thelonius Monk and John Coltrane. So why are we black metal, hardcore and punk fans treated like some sort of cultural traitors or weirdoes for simply reclaiming a musical heritage on steroids and Gibsons? I love that one of the chapters is actually titled "I'm Here Because We Started It!" Check out the awesome multi-part series 'Metal Evolution' where writer, cultural anthropologist, film-maker and metalhead Sam Dunn makes this very case in one of the first installments.
"Black women don't allow themselves to be liberated," says Laura Nichols, who frequented Toronto's punk scene in the 1980's. "We do not allow ourselves to be free. It's not just listening to a diverse range of music that is perceived as being outside of black-centric musical styles--it's everything in our lives. Some of us do not allow ourselves to be 'big' because we don't want people to notice our behavior as an example of a negative racial stereotype--'Oh, she's acting that way because she's black'."
This statement struck me, to borrow a line from the 'Ryche, "like a two ton heavy thing". I've always said the feminist revolution as beneficial overall as it has been, has also been pretty slow when it comes to the intersectionality of race, sexuality and gender. We feminists of color/GLBTQ often feel further marginalized by the very movement which expects our unthinking support, all the while maintaining the very structure of privilege it claims to fight against. Add to that the burden of being the "representative" of an entire group of people and it's little wonder that our physical and emotional health continue to take a toll on our lives. I still remember my brother and I being warned by my parents to behave ourselves in public because people would judge us far harsher and therefore all black people in general.
Listening to metal, going to shows, wearing a band's t-shirt--from the most aggressive to the gothic/symphonic style-- feels like a welcome release from all that pressure to conform that I have often felt from both black people and white people (though sadly and painfully most of the negative reactions I've had over the years have been from my own). No, it's not the solution (though I wish it was), but just the feeling of allowing oneself to be an individual, of freedom, is priceless. It sometimes feels as if my choice of music is the only thing I'm allowed to own, and there are those who'd try to take that away from me if they could.
A few years ago my father went to Blockbuster Music to purchase 'Time to Say Goodbye' by Sarah Brightman for my mother. The salesgirl took one look at my father, then at the CD, then at my father again and asked him if he was "sure" he wanted to buy it. He politely asked for her supervisor and proceeded to let the man know how offensive the question was. I've had a few similar experiences purchasing metal music (one reason I'm thankful for the era of digital downloads) and unlike my father, I'm a lot less tolerant of people's fuckwittery.
"Throughout my preteen and early adult years I learned that women--particularly black women--are not supposed to show anger, through words or actions. Not only is anger an unattractive quality in a society that prefers women of all cultural and ethnic backgrounds to be gentle and passive, but for black women, being loud and angry harkens back to racial stereotypes that have deterred our social and economic progress."
Just. Yes. Over the years I've seen the right use the 'Angry Black Woman' moniker against Michelle Obama. However, there are those in feminist/progressive circles who also use that when women of color challenge their privilege, not knowing that very argument can be and often is also turned against them when they challenge patriarchy. Considering black women are often the targets of both racism and sexism, we have a right to be angry. In the case of black women, the fact that we're more than likely to be victims of domestic abuse, our rates of HIV-AIDS is higher than the average, and that we're less likely to make as much money as our white female counterparts and yet when we speak truth to power on all sides, there's a damning silence.
However metal for all its agression and rage isn't always angry. I mean, how pissed off is Khan when he sings 'The Sailorman's Hymn'? And while powerful, Stratovarius is far from an "angry" band. Neither are Rhaposody of Fire nor Epica (Cerebral yes. Angry? Not so much). Hardcore on the other hand uses anger in a healthy and creative fashion and I would say that a kid listening to something like Sevendust and getting their aggressions out that way is far emotionally healthy than a kid who holds it in. I can say from personal experience that music (metal and rock) literally saved my life as a teen.
I'm much more into the Power, Prog and European metal styles than punk or hardcore, though I still rock some Bad Brains, Souund Barrier and John Butcher Axis on occasion. Even Japan, home of Gackt and L'arc en Ciel has a pretty vibrant metal scene with bands like Versailles Philharmonic Quintet, the much lamented D'espairs Ray, Dir en Grey, ExistTrace and Galneryus. One of the cooler things I've noticed is that Europe seems to be far ahead of the States when it comes to the number and variety of bands lead by female singers. From Tarja (ex-Nightwish) to Angela Gossow (Arch Enemy) to death metal trio Astarte (a scary but kick ass outfit) to my goddess Floor Jensen (ex-After Forever now ReVamp). There's Krypteria, a German metal band lead by the incandescent Ji-In Cho, the always awesome Epica (Simone Simmons rocks), Leaves' Eyes, Within Temptation, Lacuna Coil, Mandragora Scream, Angtoria and Tristania (I miss you Vibke) just for starters. Unfortunately with the prominence of so many powerful women expressing themseves in what is still regarded as a male domain, the sexist asshats tend to make their presence (and disdain) felt. Comments on metal boards usually consist of the typical "who's hot/who's not" or in the case of amazing talents like Sarah Jezebel Deva (Cradle of Filth/Angtoria) and Amanda Somerville, insults about their weight. Put a black woman up there on stage fronting a metal, hardcore or punk band and some folks just want to show their asses, hence the very apt title of this book.
"Music is not only for enjoyment. We derive too much pleasure, pain and education from the music that we listen to every day to dismiss it as simply entertainment."
Metal has been part of the tapestry of my life, from the time my uncle introduced me to Hendrix and Thin Lizzy. I grew up in a household that listened to everything from The Doors to Marvin Gaye to Wes Montgomery to Glenn Miller and everything in between. I am still a Journey fan (though I will always love Steve Perry). I just wore my new Kamelot 'Angel of Afterlife' t-shirt and while most people have never heard of them, I'm always happy to share my love of this amazing band. Reading What Are You Doing Here?: A Black Woman's Life and Liberation in Heavy Metal was like deja vu in black and white (okay on a tablet). It's angry, it's challenging, it's in your face...and it's the spirit of metal! The women interviewed, from Skin of Skunk Anansie to Alexis Brown of Straight Line Stitch are not in here to be apologetic or to get people to understand "why" they do what they do. In fact, there is nothing apologetic about the book in the least. These artists and fans deal with not just racism, but sexism and are not deterred by it. I like that. So when you see me at the next metal show, don't be surprised. After all, I have a right to be here.
If you think I'll sit around while you chip away my brain/listen I ain't foolin' and you'd better think again..."
Judas Priest, 'You've Got Another Thing Comin'
February 27, 2017
2 stars. Teenage me would've loved this book with all of her angst and woes. Adult me, though, the one who is very comfortable with being a black woman and being different didn't really care for it at all. I was a mix of bored and annoyed while reading this the whole time. It was just really dull and directionless. Though I will admit that there were quite a few quotes that I liked from this. I think that might be the only positive though.
First let me say that this needed to be edited so badly and it wore me out. I mean there were a lot of grammatical mistakes and weird phrasing of sentences. I can let a few slide but this was just dreadful with how many there were.
I see what the author was trying to do but I don't think it was executed correctly. There was a lot of "well black people don't understand me because I'm different waaaaaaaah!" and that drove me nuts. As someone who is very much into rock and all of it's different sub-genre (granted not as much as I was in HS but I digress) I understood that aspect perfectly. My family didn't get why I was into screamo music and the ripped jeans and band tees and dyed 'scene' hair. It was annoying having my blackness called into question just because I liked something different but this book was all that it seemed to be about. The author didn't really delve into anything else and sometimes this read like a frustrated teenage girl's diary.
I also was absolutely NOT here for the constant slamming of R&B female artists. I loooooove me some R&B so this was a big issue for me. It was mentioned so many times how all the 'R&B girls' do is get half naked and dance around on stage. Okay? And? What the fuck is your point?? But then turn around and admire when women do it ONLY if they're in the heavy metal or rock scene?? Fuck out of here with that. It pissed me off so much. Don't police black women's bodies. Period. End of story.
Overall, this wasn't what I wanted in the least. I wanted this to be a badass black girls rock type of read but instead I felt distant from it. Only good thing to come out of it is that I am now on the hunt for more books dealing with this topic by black women. There has to be a good one out there somewhere.
First let me say that this needed to be edited so badly and it wore me out. I mean there were a lot of grammatical mistakes and weird phrasing of sentences. I can let a few slide but this was just dreadful with how many there were.
I see what the author was trying to do but I don't think it was executed correctly. There was a lot of "well black people don't understand me because I'm different waaaaaaaah!" and that drove me nuts. As someone who is very much into rock and all of it's different sub-genre (granted not as much as I was in HS but I digress) I understood that aspect perfectly. My family didn't get why I was into screamo music and the ripped jeans and band tees and dyed 'scene' hair. It was annoying having my blackness called into question just because I liked something different but this book was all that it seemed to be about. The author didn't really delve into anything else and sometimes this read like a frustrated teenage girl's diary.
I also was absolutely NOT here for the constant slamming of R&B female artists. I loooooove me some R&B so this was a big issue for me. It was mentioned so many times how all the 'R&B girls' do is get half naked and dance around on stage. Okay? And? What the fuck is your point?? But then turn around and admire when women do it ONLY if they're in the heavy metal or rock scene?? Fuck out of here with that. It pissed me off so much. Don't police black women's bodies. Period. End of story.
Overall, this wasn't what I wanted in the least. I wanted this to be a badass black girls rock type of read but instead I felt distant from it. Only good thing to come out of it is that I am now on the hunt for more books dealing with this topic by black women. There has to be a good one out there somewhere.
February 12, 2013
Before I "met" Laina, I was unaware of all the young "sistahs" who had grown up as I had--feeling like an outcast for being more devoted to rock than R & B. When she contacted me to talk about my experiences as the first black rock critic to work for a "major metropolitan daily," (The Chicago Sun Times), I felt as if I was listening to myself in a way.
But I was listening to, and soon to read, the story of a young woman of today. And though Black women--Black people--are still not fully accepted in the "metal" realm, things are changing, gradually. Young women like Laina are kicking the doors open, declaring their allegiance...and independence.
This book is the story of Laina and a small group of intrepid travelers blazing their own trails and making their own waves. It's long overdue, and it's written with an urgency born of the long, long way the women in this book still have to go.
It is a tribute to those women and perhaps also to anyone who has ever had a dream deferred. But the dream is becoming a reality--this book is the clarion call. We are here. We have always been here--rock has Black roots.
Laina and the women in her book are reclaiming it and remaking it in their own images. Brava!
But I was listening to, and soon to read, the story of a young woman of today. And though Black women--Black people--are still not fully accepted in the "metal" realm, things are changing, gradually. Young women like Laina are kicking the doors open, declaring their allegiance...and independence.
This book is the story of Laina and a small group of intrepid travelers blazing their own trails and making their own waves. It's long overdue, and it's written with an urgency born of the long, long way the women in this book still have to go.
It is a tribute to those women and perhaps also to anyone who has ever had a dream deferred. But the dream is becoming a reality--this book is the clarion call. We are here. We have always been here--rock has Black roots.
Laina and the women in her book are reclaiming it and remaking it in their own images. Brava!
January 10, 2013
As someone who has spent most of her life as the "weird kid" in many, many different places, I must first thank Laina Dawes for writing this book. "What Are You Doing Here?" offers a glimpse of what it is like to be a Black, female metalhead in this (very often) racist and sexist sphere of music. Including information gleaned from interviews and personal experiences, this book also includes historical tidbits about the music industry, as well as facts about the punk and metal scene that you probably never knew. I highly recommend "What Are You Doing Here?" to any who has been asked that question from anyone, including themselves.
February 20, 2013
When I set a goal of reading only books about the black experience in America this month, I knew What Are You Doing Here? would be a great way to kick things off. Combining one thing I know a lot about (heavy music) and something I am almost completely ignorant about (the lifestyle of African American women), I was elated at the prospect of seeing through the eyes of a 'triple minority' in my own subculture. And at turns, Laina Dawes sheds brilliant light on a regrettably small slice of the heavy metal underground. However, in spite of her expose on the experience, her writing often falls flat. It makes what should've been a greatread into a rather uneven one.
Still, ne has to admire Dawes for her ambition. I expected this book to be more autobiographical, and while it's obviously a labor of love, there is much more to the story than Dawes' own passion for aggressive music. She kicks things off by quickly outlining black women's contributions to rock music as we know it (from slave songs to Tina Turner). Sprinkled heavily throughout the texts are testmanets from today's black rock musicians and fans themselves, including a great introduction from scene queen Skunk Anansie. Considering how sparsely black women populate this music genre, the number of interviews Dawes was able to compile for her book is impressive. And the multiple sources certainly reiterate common trends in the experience:
Black women are marginalized in heavy music. This predictable conclusion comes up again and again throughout the book, and the stories begin to blend together. Personal anecdotes, a cultural embarrassment at best and downright shameful at their worst, illustrate how exclusive the heavy metal 'family' can really be. And while Dawes does break down some of the specific issues that apply to female and black heavy metal fans (the "only one" syndrome at concerts, for example), the message begins to wear thin at times.
Not that this is a group of musicians worth overlooking for another day. If anything, hearing about a small but vocal population of the metal subculture is a welcome breath of fresh air. There were many moments in the book that I found myself reflecting on the music I love, and how unwelcoming my kin can be, at times. I genuinely feel that this book has given me a lot of food for thought, and in terms of peeling back some unsightly blisters in the movement, Dawes succeeds admirably.
That said, this book sometimes seems to succeed in spite of its own author. While she clearly did her homework to tell a broader narrative for black women in the scene, her personal agenda becomes an enemy of objective journalism at points. Dawes manages to spare the reader any guilt trips, but her own experience or stances are sometimes inserted in awkward fashion. On top of this, her writing sometimes wanders through irrelevant topics, instead of sticking to the (valuable) topics of the eight chapters in the book. There are dead ends that never get quite tied up in the process of telling this worthwhile tale. Finally, as other readers have touched on, the editing process in this book seems very rushed. Maybe Dawes was under a strict publishing deadline for her manuscript? Whatever the reason, there are an embarrassing amount of extra words, missing words and typos that make the author seem less-than-professional.
What Are You Doing Here? is a story worth telling, and one that will appeal to a diverse audience. Men, women, blacks, whites, metalheads, punks, and squares: all can find an inspiring story of perseverance and passion here. While I really, really wanted to love this book, and found myself only liking it instead, I would still recommend it to anyone who wants to expand their own cultural horizons and see how marginalized blacks, women and (in particular) black women have been in this supposedly all-inclusive . Dawes is willing to sacrifice some sacred cows in the music underground, and although the process itself can get messy at times, the meat is still there, and worth sampling.
Still, ne has to admire Dawes for her ambition. I expected this book to be more autobiographical, and while it's obviously a labor of love, there is much more to the story than Dawes' own passion for aggressive music. She kicks things off by quickly outlining black women's contributions to rock music as we know it (from slave songs to Tina Turner). Sprinkled heavily throughout the texts are testmanets from today's black rock musicians and fans themselves, including a great introduction from scene queen Skunk Anansie. Considering how sparsely black women populate this music genre, the number of interviews Dawes was able to compile for her book is impressive. And the multiple sources certainly reiterate common trends in the experience:
Black women are marginalized in heavy music. This predictable conclusion comes up again and again throughout the book, and the stories begin to blend together. Personal anecdotes, a cultural embarrassment at best and downright shameful at their worst, illustrate how exclusive the heavy metal 'family' can really be. And while Dawes does break down some of the specific issues that apply to female and black heavy metal fans (the "only one" syndrome at concerts, for example), the message begins to wear thin at times.
Not that this is a group of musicians worth overlooking for another day. If anything, hearing about a small but vocal population of the metal subculture is a welcome breath of fresh air. There were many moments in the book that I found myself reflecting on the music I love, and how unwelcoming my kin can be, at times. I genuinely feel that this book has given me a lot of food for thought, and in terms of peeling back some unsightly blisters in the movement, Dawes succeeds admirably.
That said, this book sometimes seems to succeed in spite of its own author. While she clearly did her homework to tell a broader narrative for black women in the scene, her personal agenda becomes an enemy of objective journalism at points. Dawes manages to spare the reader any guilt trips, but her own experience or stances are sometimes inserted in awkward fashion. On top of this, her writing sometimes wanders through irrelevant topics, instead of sticking to the (valuable) topics of the eight chapters in the book. There are dead ends that never get quite tied up in the process of telling this worthwhile tale. Finally, as other readers have touched on, the editing process in this book seems very rushed. Maybe Dawes was under a strict publishing deadline for her manuscript? Whatever the reason, there are an embarrassing amount of extra words, missing words and typos that make the author seem less-than-professional.
What Are You Doing Here? is a story worth telling, and one that will appeal to a diverse audience. Men, women, blacks, whites, metalheads, punks, and squares: all can find an inspiring story of perseverance and passion here. While I really, really wanted to love this book, and found myself only liking it instead, I would still recommend it to anyone who wants to expand their own cultural horizons and see how marginalized blacks, women and (in particular) black women have been in this supposedly all-inclusive . Dawes is willing to sacrifice some sacred cows in the music underground, and although the process itself can get messy at times, the meat is still there, and worth sampling.
July 5, 2019
Heavy metal has defined me as a person! I didn’t want to get with Metallica, I wanted to BE Metallica. And Jonathan Davis. And Sevendust. And Shine Down. And Nine Inch Nails. And Staind. Et cetera — music circa 1996-2001.
Dawes’s book, published by Bazillion Points Books, is a mother-luvin’ hot mess. I mention the publisher (I typically do not) because I have to wonder if they even care about what goes out to readers, readers who have paid for their books. The introduction appears twice in my Kindle copy. When I saw “EPILOGUE,” I sighed with relief, but was confused as to why I was only 75% through the book. It’s because the small survey Dawes distributed is copied three times. You’d think someone got happy with the copy and paste functions and didn’t care to review the final product before publishing it. And typos. Typos as far as the eye can see. Small presses struggle, but they have to have pride to have customers.
Laina Dawes’s work lacks credibility in a way that made me mistrust everything she said. Sources are not cited (there’s a bibliography at the end, but most of it goes to entire books that are not referenced often, suggesting she’s cherry picking information). Dawes references the same few sources repeatedly, including one documentary and a couple of musicians, basically asking them to prop up her poorly researched argument.
And it is an argument — a “should” argument, the kind I taught college freshmen for years not to make. If you argue that “women should make equal pay to men,” that’s not a strong argument because if they “should,” then the would. It’s too simple and lacks nuance. Dawes argued that people “should” be able to listen to whatever music they want without feeling like an outsider or being harassed. Yes, in theory, but it’s not true, as evidenced by her numerous anecdotal evidence.
Dawes purports to be a journalist, but lacks the ethical guidelines of a good journalist like Rachel Louise Snyder. Instead of speaking to the white men Dawes claims side eye her at concerts to give them voice, she assumes they are racist. Am I saying she’s wrong? No, but this wasn’t a memoir, it was a work of biased journalism, which is a no-go in my book.
There are a number of assumptions, too, rather than real investigation. Here is just one example:
Though you could consider the blog Dawes maintains a personal space separate from her scholarly and journalistic pursuits, she admits she’s reporting on concerts she attends, including the time she attended a concert with multiple bands, heard a rumor that one of the bands said or did something racist, and then wrote about it in a blog post. She claims she didn’t name the band, but it was easy for her readers to figure it out, and people slammed her for publishing unfounded rumors. If Dawes wants to be a journalist, she can’t conduct herself like a tabloid version of the profession. Because she argued that what she did was acceptable, and later deleted the post, I didn’t trust her ethics.
Sadly, I was disappointed the entire time I read What Are You Doing Here? Poor sources, a questionable author, a seemingly careless press — there wasn’t much to root for. I did check out some of the musical acts she mentioned, surprised that many had a more 1990s alt-rock sound like The Cranberries than a heavy metal sound. Straight Line Stitch was the exception. This is an important topic that likely needed to be a memoir, or perhaps Dawes needed more support — financial, personal, and academic.
This review was originally published at Grab the Lapels.
Dawes’s book, published by Bazillion Points Books, is a mother-luvin’ hot mess. I mention the publisher (I typically do not) because I have to wonder if they even care about what goes out to readers, readers who have paid for their books. The introduction appears twice in my Kindle copy. When I saw “EPILOGUE,” I sighed with relief, but was confused as to why I was only 75% through the book. It’s because the small survey Dawes distributed is copied three times. You’d think someone got happy with the copy and paste functions and didn’t care to review the final product before publishing it. And typos. Typos as far as the eye can see. Small presses struggle, but they have to have pride to have customers.
Laina Dawes’s work lacks credibility in a way that made me mistrust everything she said. Sources are not cited (there’s a bibliography at the end, but most of it goes to entire books that are not referenced often, suggesting she’s cherry picking information). Dawes references the same few sources repeatedly, including one documentary and a couple of musicians, basically asking them to prop up her poorly researched argument.
And it is an argument — a “should” argument, the kind I taught college freshmen for years not to make. If you argue that “women should make equal pay to men,” that’s not a strong argument because if they “should,” then the would. It’s too simple and lacks nuance. Dawes argued that people “should” be able to listen to whatever music they want without feeling like an outsider or being harassed. Yes, in theory, but it’s not true, as evidenced by her numerous anecdotal evidence.
Dawes purports to be a journalist, but lacks the ethical guidelines of a good journalist like Rachel Louise Snyder. Instead of speaking to the white men Dawes claims side eye her at concerts to give them voice, she assumes they are racist. Am I saying she’s wrong? No, but this wasn’t a memoir, it was a work of biased journalism, which is a no-go in my book.
There are a number of assumptions, too, rather than real investigation. Here is just one example:
Labelle, the ’70s super group that consisted of Patti LaBelle, Nona Hendryx, and Sarah Dash, were known for their glam rock style and their willingness to combine rock ‘n’ roll with societal issues that many singers in that era avoided. Did their images and music preferences stay in line with what black folks thought was appropriate behavior? No. Did they care? Probably not. [emphasis mine]Dawes, who was a PhD candidate at Columbia University, had access to a research library. I searched “Patti Labelle” on their library site and came up with 14,835 articles and 21 items in the music/book catalog. Is that a huge number of resources? Of course, but that’s part of being a serious scholar in a PhD program.
Though you could consider the blog Dawes maintains a personal space separate from her scholarly and journalistic pursuits, she admits she’s reporting on concerts she attends, including the time she attended a concert with multiple bands, heard a rumor that one of the bands said or did something racist, and then wrote about it in a blog post. She claims she didn’t name the band, but it was easy for her readers to figure it out, and people slammed her for publishing unfounded rumors. If Dawes wants to be a journalist, she can’t conduct herself like a tabloid version of the profession. Because she argued that what she did was acceptable, and later deleted the post, I didn’t trust her ethics.
Sadly, I was disappointed the entire time I read What Are You Doing Here? Poor sources, a questionable author, a seemingly careless press — there wasn’t much to root for. I did check out some of the musical acts she mentioned, surprised that many had a more 1990s alt-rock sound like The Cranberries than a heavy metal sound. Straight Line Stitch was the exception. This is an important topic that likely needed to be a memoir, or perhaps Dawes needed more support — financial, personal, and academic.
This review was originally published at Grab the Lapels.
February 9, 2013
Must-read for casual and serious scholars of rock, punk, metal, gender and race studies. Dawes surveys a wide array of music fans, performers, scholars and others and adds in her own honest and often painful experiences as a black female metal fan, shining a light on one aspect of the metal scene that is rarely discussed and often unfairly misunderstood and made invisible. The book also runs through the historical relevance of blues, rock, punk and metal and the black artists that influenced nearly all of the major players in these genres, and also takes a clear-eyed and sober look at the bullshit comments and thoughtless gaffes committed by people like Phil Anselmo, Chuck D, Varg Vikernes and many others. So good!
January 26, 2013
The only problem I had with this book was the lack of proofreading. It took me out of the book more than few times, focusing (even for a second) on the typos. Other than that, great book. Felt like I was reading about my kin. I was one of few people listening to rock music (mainstream, indie, metal, etc) and getting a lot of flack from my peers about the type of music I was (and still am) into. Granted I'm no metalhead, I could definitely relate to the author and many of the people she interviewed. I also loved how she opened my eyes to all of these different musicians I had never known of before but now I'll be digging Youtube for them.
March 31, 2016
While there were a few anecdotes worth noting, I found it mostly redundant in nature, and pretty predictable. "Hey, these rebellious white people turned out to be not so rebellious when it comes to race matters." Saw that coming a mile away. At the same time, it's a book I think should exist alongside other work in its vein. So if you read a lot of material about race and social issues, there are zero surprises here. If you don't, or if you read a lot of music stuff and little else, this could serve you well. Most of the people I know are in the first group though.
May 17, 2016
The subject matter was very interesting to me, as a black woman on the fringes of alternative music and the sister of a black female metalhead, but the writing style - very rambling and at times unfocused - made it hard for me to really get into and enjoy all the truths that the book was telling. But it was nice and refreshing to hear a perspective in music that, while common, is rarely heard.
March 23, 2016
A fascinating perspective on what something was like. Random white guy me could figure out that Dawes would get various sorts of crap from white people, because everything from condescension to overzealous liberalism to screamed slurs, is predictable by anyone who's every read or listened to a black person talking about their experiences. I was surprised to hear other thing about her experiences and those of the women she interviewed as a black women metalheads, such as how much crap she gets from black people for liking THAT music and how odd it can be to go from being the only one to one of a few.
Taking the title at face value, I was a little sorry Dawes went heavier on the life than the liberation. I'd have liked to hear more about what metal makes her feel, but obviously it's a hard thing to put into words. And I rolled my eyes a bunch because of how tone deaf she seems when talking about hip hop, but well worth reading for its strengths.
It also made me think a lot about how who's performing it plays into how I or other people react to music.
Given the cliche about dancing about architecture, I'll list the less known rock/metal/other bands with black members (I think in all cases?) Dawes talks about or interviews, so anyone can go listen and see what they think. Straight Line Stitch, God Forbid, Genetic, Sole Heiress, Empire Beats, Rise From Ashes, Tamar-Kali, Dormitory Effect, Misery Index, Tetrarch, The Family Stand/Sandra St. Victor, Blaxam/Saidah Baba Talibah, Swear on Your Life.
Taking the title at face value, I was a little sorry Dawes went heavier on the life than the liberation. I'd have liked to hear more about what metal makes her feel, but obviously it's a hard thing to put into words. And I rolled my eyes a bunch because of how tone deaf she seems when talking about hip hop, but well worth reading for its strengths.
It also made me think a lot about how who's performing it plays into how I or other people react to music.
Given the cliche about dancing about architecture, I'll list the less known rock/metal/other bands with black members (I think in all cases?) Dawes talks about or interviews, so anyone can go listen and see what they think. Straight Line Stitch, God Forbid, Genetic, Sole Heiress, Empire Beats, Rise From Ashes, Tamar-Kali, Dormitory Effect, Misery Index, Tetrarch, The Family Stand/Sandra St. Victor, Blaxam/Saidah Baba Talibah, Swear on Your Life.
February 19, 2021
Star detracted mostly because of "both" genders mention, although this book may need an update anyway since some of the music pages are MySpace pages which... Yeah.
Anyway aside from that, anyone and everyone should read this book. It touches on a lot of social issues that are broader than the metal community and also paints a pretty good music history lesson in the process, all from a black female FoR, which is refreshing because it is so rarely seen.
Despite the fact that I'm not black and our experiences differ, through intersectional experiences I can still relate. There's a good reason my local punk scene is very adamant on the "no racism, no sexism, no homo-/queerphobia" rule (although the addition "no ableism" would be welcome but that's not even tangentially related). Even being vocal about it, the crowds are still (well, pre-covid anyway) mostly white and often mostly male unless the target audience is clearly indicated differently. Issues with some types of men in metal also clearly resonated with me.
But even if you're not into metal or punk at all, go read this anyway.
Anyway aside from that, anyone and everyone should read this book. It touches on a lot of social issues that are broader than the metal community and also paints a pretty good music history lesson in the process, all from a black female FoR, which is refreshing because it is so rarely seen.
Despite the fact that I'm not black and our experiences differ, through intersectional experiences I can still relate. There's a good reason my local punk scene is very adamant on the "no racism, no sexism, no homo-/queerphobia" rule (although the addition "no ableism" would be welcome but that's not even tangentially related). Even being vocal about it, the crowds are still (well, pre-covid anyway) mostly white and often mostly male unless the target audience is clearly indicated differently. Issues with some types of men in metal also clearly resonated with me.
But even if you're not into metal or punk at all, go read this anyway.
February 10, 2018
Such interesting subject matter, but disapointing delivery. Not enough depth to be a study and not enough personal stories to be a memoir. Seemed like the same few voices were same the same point repeatedly. Too bad. Could have been fascinating.
February 8, 2014
I wanted to go 4.5 out of 5, but could not get it to do it.
December 1, 2021
I’m embarrassed to say I never thought about the challenges women of color faced in the hard rock and heavy metal scene. The stories and perspectives in here are seriously eye-opening.
I try not to complain too much about typos and errors, but my kindle version was full of them to the point of distraction. Not structured well and repetitive. Just wanted more of the first hand accounts.
This seriously woke me up and if I ever find myself at a show again I’ll definitely say something if I see something. Recommended if you like this type of music and the experiences of everyone in the crowd not just some of the people.
I try not to complain too much about typos and errors, but my kindle version was full of them to the point of distraction. Not structured well and repetitive. Just wanted more of the first hand accounts.
This seriously woke me up and if I ever find myself at a show again I’ll definitely say something if I see something. Recommended if you like this type of music and the experiences of everyone in the crowd not just some of the people.
February 16, 2022
Good first hand experience, but...
Doesn't really hold up on your research aspect it promises. Some redundancy and lack of variation on used of experts held it back, as did far too much speculation about motivations and thoughts of others, but still a good look into with that still needs attention all the years later. Enjoyable.
Doesn't really hold up on your research aspect it promises. Some redundancy and lack of variation on used of experts held it back, as did far too much speculation about motivations and thoughts of others, but still a good look into with that still needs attention all the years later. Enjoyable.
May 6, 2014
As a female heavy metal fan, I can attest that it is a wholly different experience than being a dude in the same scene. What I didn’t realize before reading this well-researched and surprisingly objective book was how much more marginalized I’d be feeling as a female minority. Author Laina Dawes weaves not only her own lifelong experiences as a fan, photographer and journalist, but the experiences of countless others into this documentary tale about the unique difficulty minority fans and musicians experience in the extreme music scenes. Some of the stories about encountering blatant and sometimes-violent racism are rightfully upsetting, and demonstrate that, while heavy metal is full of glorious liberation, the scene still has plenty of growing to do. More than anything, I was surprised at how taboo listening to metal/punk still is to a wide swath of the black community, as encountered by the book’s witnesses—how it is equated with “letting the race down” by showcasing emotions some feel are better left alone. Dawes brings a lot of experience, clear and concise writing and good journalism, and while she doesn’t have any long-term solutions for bridging these deep and unfortunate valleys—through no fault of her own—she has still introduced the first step, which is opening our eyes and starting a dialogue.
SLUG Magazine, Feb. 28 2013
SLUG Magazine, Feb. 28 2013
April 15, 2022
I wanted to like this book but I did not. It sounded good. But I should’ve known since I couldn’t find this book anywhere but kindle. No physical or library copies to be had. This isn’t the author’s fault but my copy was riddled with typos. The whole thing was just poorly written.
Based on the subhead I thought this would be a more personal journey into the author’s liberation through heavy metal music. That was what the first chapter was, which was the best chapter in the entire book. Dawes went through her life as a transracial adoptee and briefly over Black life and how racism looks in Canada (Surprise, Anti-Blackness is worldwide!). She went through what attracted her to heavy metal and how it made her feel. She also noted how it alienated her because of the limitations people try to place on Black people in general and Black women specifically. If she stayed focused and really drilled down she might have had something really good.
Instead, after that chapter, the book becomes a muddled mess of other sources and other people’s experiences. She never made any new or interesting points about anything. The book just goes around and around in circles.
Based on the subhead I thought this would be a more personal journey into the author’s liberation through heavy metal music. That was what the first chapter was, which was the best chapter in the entire book. Dawes went through her life as a transracial adoptee and briefly over Black life and how racism looks in Canada (Surprise, Anti-Blackness is worldwide!). She went through what attracted her to heavy metal and how it made her feel. She also noted how it alienated her because of the limitations people try to place on Black people in general and Black women specifically. If she stayed focused and really drilled down she might have had something really good.
Instead, after that chapter, the book becomes a muddled mess of other sources and other people’s experiences. She never made any new or interesting points about anything. The book just goes around and around in circles.
January 15, 2014
I found the subject and the information provided most compelling and fascinating. Given what the book has to say about how hard it is for African Americans who like or play heavy metal to be taken seriously, I am pleasantly surprised that this book got published. I wonder how difficult it was for Ms. Dawes to find a publisher willing to take on this topic, and to take it seriously? I think the interest is definitely out there for such a book, but I can't help wondering how the publishers felt and how much convincing they needed.
Thank you, Ms. Dawes for all your hard work in this book, your devotion to this topic, and especially for being willing to share your very personal story with all of us!
Thank you, Ms. Dawes for all your hard work in this book, your devotion to this topic, and especially for being willing to share your very personal story with all of us!
August 15, 2013
I liked the premise, but as the book wore on I wore out. Since the book is mostly interviews with black women in the heavy metal scene, it reads like a research paper. That would have been fine if the interviews would have been edited to reduce the length of the book and to eliminate repetition of opinions/views.
March 22, 2016
I know what it's like to be an "outsider" fan, so this was an interesting look at what a different intersection of women faces in the scene. The book was definitely interesting, although the editing left something to be desired.
March 24, 2015
A very good examination of a fascinating subject. I would definitely read more about it, and the book has also given me a list of music to seek out.
Here are some of the passages I highlighted:
silent yet thick tension centered around being in a social space where your presence is considered an anomaly—still
---
Throughout my preteen and early adult years I learned that women—particularly black women—are not supposed to show anger, through words or actions. Not only is anger an unattractive quality in a society that prefers women of all cultural and ethnic backgrounds to be gentle and passive, but for black women, being loud and angry harkens back to racial stereotypes that have deterred our social and economical progress. The subtle but emotionally damaging thought that because of the perceived allowance for black folks to be free after a turbulent history of slavery and racial economic and social oppression, we must be silent and thankful to be allowed to participate in everyday society, is oppressive.
---
The boys, while intimidating, also excited me because of their rough exteriors. I wanted to be more like them than a frightened little girl—even though their mean-spirited racial slurs indicated that I would never be one of them. Still, I gravitated toward their music.
---
“It’s ’cause your family is white,” my black friends would inform me as a teenager when I told them what band I was listening to on my Walkman, or when I explained the meaning of my Black Flag or Cult T-shirt.
---
Because my adoptive family did not have an issue with what I listened to, I thought nothing of doing exactly what the other kids my age were doing: listening to and enjoying the music that was being played on the radio and spending my Saturdays at the roller rink with my white friends. Many of the black kids of my generation had a problem with that.
---
In my late teens, boyfriends would drag me to calypso, reggae, and soca clubs, somehow trying to “blacken” me up. I also got involved with a number of black cultural organizations to try and “blacken” myself up, thinking that if I could know what I was, maybe then I would be happy and the criticism would stop. But while I also loved R&B, rap, and later hip hop, my true love was metal.
---
I no longer felt that in order to find myself I had to surround myself with black culture. Most importantly, I learned that in order to maintain my sanity and love myself for whom I was, I had to be me—whether I lost my “black pass” or not. But the balancing act was hard and sometimes continues to be a struggle—between wanting others to accept me, and knowing that ultimately, I have to accept myself.
---
My black friends’ parents did not openly complain about systemic, institutional, and overt racism, as they felt their employers and landlords would tell them to go back to their own countries. After all, they’d come to Canada by choice, for the most part.
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During that immigration wave, from the mid-1960s to the late 1970s, many black families were told that to succeed in their immigration bid, they would have to reside in the smaller Canadian cities and rural areas. Workers were needed in rural areas.
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Because of the very small black population in my hometown, the groupthink mentality prevailed as far as adhering to traditional values and manners. Black people wanted to be perceived as hard workers and good contributors to the fabric of the country, and the parents of my friends placed an emphasis on that, most likely after being on the receiving end of racially coded remarks from their coworkers.
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My small group of black girlfriends made me understand that their parents, who immigrated to Canada as adults, did not encourage individualism or the expression of what they wanted to do or to be outside of what was considered the norm.
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If people saw that you were religious, conservative, and dressed and talked with a British colonialist sensibility, then you couldn’t be like the savages or ignoramuses they had heard justified slavery in America.
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I understood that you were truly black if you listened and enjoyed the music from the Caribbean. Moreover, if you knew how to dance to the music and your family regularly cooked and enjoyed the food popular in your home country, it meant that you were part of a community that for many also served as a cultural signifier.
---
I was able to observe how “they” lived and because of that there was an expectation about how my life was going to go, that I was going to be treated exactly like them. What probably messed me up was that there was a lot of confusion when that didn’t happen.
---
“White people get to choose. They get to define themselves,” explains Laura Nicholls. “They can listen to whatever, and they are still white. Being black means that a lot of white people think that they have a right to define you, but I knew at a very young age that I was going to define myself.”
---
Everyone grows up and becomes socialized in a local environment, one where the natural inclination is to do exactly what other people your age are doing. However, your gender and skin color transmit messages to those around you that overwhelm your shared context with precoded expectations.
---
I channeled my frustrations and counteracted my powerlessness by listening to the loudest, most aggressive music I could get my hands on, a habit I retain to this day. The music overrode my experiences of not belonging to either the white or black communities in my hometown. Consequently I came of age and reached adulthood obsessed with the issues surrounding racial identity and also heavy music.
---
“I didn’t fit in,” she says, “but I wasn’t going to fit in anyway, so my loving metal was just another reason to be that weird chick. It wasn’t a black identity issue, like me wanting to be like white folks because I grew up around only black folks. It wasn’t an issue like I needed to choose. I just happened to be a weird black chick that happened to like weird music.”
---
Some of us do not allow ourselves to laugh loudly, to talk loudly, and we don’t allow ourselves to be ‘big,’ because we don’t want people to notice our behavior as an example of a negative racial stereotype—‘Oh, she’s acting that way because she’s black.’ The thing about black people is that we can be touched by anything because it seems as though we will never be able to satisfy anyone, so you might as well just be yourself. There is freedom in not following or adhering to the mold of what people expect you to be.
---
A male coworker once said to me, “So you’re twenty-two and you don’t have any kids? I thought you people had lots of kids.” Another coworker told a white coworker whom I was dating not to sleep with me, because “black women carry syphilis.”
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I feel that there is a lot of power in being a black woman, because young white guys are probably the most insecure people in the world.
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You had to learn how to navigate in a white society, and I learned that in order to navigate, I had to intimidate.”
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For black women, punk, just like the blues, was a music in which they could temporarily eschew the societal constraints that had been imposed by their families and communities.
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Accept it or not, I don’t give a fuck. It’s a very metal thing about being metal. You either like it or you don’t.
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“Women sometimes don’t feel that it’s okay to be angry. I had to learn, and that was a major thing for me. It’s okay to express who you are, and there is nothing wrong with it, and there is no criterion around it. It’s one of the few places as a black woman that you get an opportunity to be free, be who you are without any questions, without caring.
---
“A lot of it is the way Americans understand who we are, and for black and white Americans, part of understanding who is in what category has to do with opposition to the other category, “ says Mahon. “[Often] how black culture gets presented or how black people understand themselves is in contrast to white people or white culture, and vice versa. For white people, their awareness may not be as key, because they do not have to think about identity in the same way, because they are not the minority population.”
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I was used to having my blackness questioned. I found out who I was on my own. I knew that I had a choice: Be proud of who I was, or be swallowed by self-hate. I refused to let anyone get the better of me, and chose the former.
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Black communities are bound together by sets of expectation, whether we live surrounded by black folks or not. It’s hard to repeal silent codes of conduct that rule out behavior that our families and even strangers warn us about exhibiting in public.
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A black metalhead can be perceived not only as an affront to the past and present struggles black people have endured, but as a personal insult to those closest to them. “Some people, especially older people, feel that you are indifferent to being black because are not listening to or respecting, quote unquote, ‘our’ music,” says Sameerah Blue. “They think you’re indifferent to your culture, you’re indifferent to being a black person. They look at it as more than a series of songs, and more about the bigger picture.”
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Sharing certain commonalities—like dialect, dress, dating, and music preferences—signifies to other blacks that you show pride in who you are as a black person. For anyone who chooses not to adopt those cultural signifiers for whatever reason, the choice is seen as a rejection, even an insult. The status quo has questions ready for this: Do you think you are better than me? Why don’t you want to be like us?
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“The effort to interact with those who [see] you as inferior to them while remaining expressionless was and is an arduous task,” writes Collins.
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What could I possibly find appealing about heavy metal, seeing as how it didn’t reflect my life experience or cultural identity in any tangible way? And yet I think that contradiction was what appealed to me in the first place. . . . allowed me to imagine myself as . . . someone who wouldn’t take shit from anyone and didn’t give a fuck about rules.”
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That parochial blackness is as dangerous as hell. It’s dangerous, it steals your joy.”
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When I switched from punk to being a skinhead, my mom definitely noticed when I shaved my head. I had gone over to a friend’s house and to do it, and when I got home, she freaked out. She was very upset, like I had shaved her hair.
---
“Especially when I was in my teens and twenties, comments from some family and friends if I was listening to rock or punk music were like: ‘Why you listening to that white shit?’ I once dated a white guy who grew up in a black neighborhood, and was trying to be ‘down,’ and he yelled at me for listening to Led Zeppelin: ‘Don’t you listen to any black music? Why do you listen to that white music for?’—the funniest thing I ever heard. Now that I’m in my forties, I don’t tend to associate with anyone who is so narrow-minded about me or my tastes in life.”
---
“The other black kids didn’t understand who I was as a person. This one girl called me the devil because I was listening to Black Sabbath. I said, ‘How can you call me the devil and say that I’m an evil person and that I’m going to hell, when you are having premarital sex with your boyfriend? Doesn’t God say that you’re not supposed to do that? Who’s the hypocrite?’ She got very upset about that.”
---
The reason I would hide my albums was because I would get shit from my black friends—‘the wannabe white girl.’”
---
“Whenever somebody says no, we have got to stand on our core experiences of being women of color. We can’t separate any of this. We can’t compartmentalize things because people are not used to women of color and how we live our lives. We have to set the tone of how we understand ourselves. We have to create our own framework of understanding ourselves and how we function in the world. We know our reality.”
---
Though I wish it were not even a factor, my presence at metal, hardcore, and punk shows is always felt.
---
Though I might never speak to the man or woman across the room, when I see another black person at a show, I breathe a sigh of relief.
---
At a recent appearance by legendary all-black Detroit punk band Death, a white stranger nudged me and said, “You must be so proud.”
---
Along with the uninvited attention from nonblack audience members, there is also an undeniable streak of vitriol that sometimes comes from other blacks, often the only other black person, in the room.
---
Black female metal fans already face skepticism from friends, family members, and even strangers on the street. Having a sister on the scene could be a great thing—but that connection can be tough to establish when we are too used to being “the only one.”
---
I have felt the disheartening chill of making eye contact with the only other black girl at a metal show, and receiving a death glare in return that says, “In no uncertain terms may you even try to talk to me and embarrass me.”
---
“You wouldn’t automatically hear ‘Yay, you’re like me! You’re black and let’s be friends!’” she says. “It would become kind of like, ‘Dude, I’m the black girl in the scene. What’s your problem?’ You are so used to being the only one, that when there is another black girl at a show you feel territorial.
---
“When you see another black person, you acknowledge that you know they are there,” explains Ashley Greenwood, “but you don’t want someone to think that you all came together. Anyone of another race, whether Asian or Hispanic, you don’t automatically think that they are with a group of their own, but for some reason, people just automatically assume that with blacks at a concert, we must all be together.”
---
“No one said that you all have to band together because of your color, but I think that a lot of the black woman feel that ‘I’ve done it this long, I don’t need you. Just because we’re black we don’t need to band together.’ Women who have been in the scene for so long refuse to face another stigma, because there’s more of us.”
---
When I was younger I used to hang out and dance with the guys at hardcore shows. At those shows there are times when there are no girls out because the guys on the floor are going absolutely insane. I could handle it. Some of the girls would get mad, go on the floor, and try to ‘accidentally’ push me just to let me know that they’re just as tough as I am. I’ve gotten a lot of attitude [from] women who feel the need to intimidate just for some reason or another.”
---
“We keep each other in check along the same lines as the oppressor. It’s like on the plantation, or wherever we are now. After a while, you don’t even have to do anything, because you have already indoctrinated them. As women, we will judge each other as whores, sluts, this or that, so at a certain point, the man can go away and we’ll start taking it out on each other.”
---
“I have seen a lot of black women in Chicago who will get into the pit,” says Elise, “but that type of woman almost has to prove to the rest of the crowd that she belongs there. She has to hit harder, she has to throw her horns harder, she has to recite every single lyric to show that she belongs there. I do think that that’s a travesty. Because even if you are standing on the side, it doesn’t mean that you don’t like that band any less than the person who is throwing her entire body into it. So there could be another flip side to that argument that you don’t have to sit there and prove to every other single soul who doubts you that you belong there.”
---
“Whenever I would go to a punk show I would wear stuff that you might wear to the disco,” recalls Laura Nicholls about her days in Toronto’s punk scene. “I figured that it doesn’t really matter because regardless of what I wear, I’m going to stand out. I’m black and there’s nothing that is going to make me fit in. It was provocation because I was like ‘Fuck you, I’m here’ but it was also protection because I was expressing ‘No, you are not coming near me.’ I felt safe because I was wearing this very loud camouflage and I wasn’t going to fit in. I didn’t want to deal with a lot of the assholes that go to that type of concert, so I dressed up.”
---
Black women’s bodies are eternally scrutinized in the media. We are too large and, sometimes, too dark. Our hair is different in a way that is not alluring, but wooly and unattractive.
---
The damage from sexual objectification within North American history, coupled with the lack of variances in the narratives of black female life outside of racially prescribed categories and the hypersexualized images of black women in hip hop culture have created a legitimate level of hypersensitivity among many black women.
---
“If you look at hip hop nowadays it is all about creating a black Barbie doll illusion in little girl’s heads. It seems the more hip hop progressed, the more black women lost themselves and the independence they fought so hard for. With metal I have had the opportunity to come across women who are comfortable in their own skin. There is no such thing as being a freak, just being an individual.”
---
St. Victor from The Family Stand, Skin from Skunk Anansie, Brown from Straight Line Stitch, and Rowe from Tetrarch
---
if you are black, the lighter you are, the more you have to prove that you’re black.
---
I didn’t even know about any black women rock musicians until I was in my late teens. These performers meant a lot to me, as a black girl, in that they acknowledged their sexuality as women in alternative and hard rock, but exhibited control over their bodies in a predominantly white male environment. Instead of being fearful and demure, they were powerful and aggressive. To me, hard rock, metal, and punk music seemed like the perfect soundtrack to letting go and letting the inhibitions that had stifled black women from expressing themselves as sexual, beautiful, and, more importantly, normal women, free.
---
wigger Juggalo said I wasn’t a real black person. I hit him in the mouth, then he ran. But other than that it’s all good.”
---
I’ve been told once that I should stop listening to ‘funeral music.’”
---
so much now, but when I was growing up, other black kids asked me why I like ‘white people’s music’.”
---
people already expect me to zig where others zag.”
---
loud, fast, and ridiculous.”
---
want to feel raw emotion. It has to be loud. Bass! Without the bass there is no point to the music. I need to feel swept away.”
---
like tightness, groove, and conviction.”
---
I’d love to date another African-American, but many of them can’t stand my music and believe I don’t accept my ethnicity or culture because I don’t prefer the Top 40 R&B hits.”
Here are some of the passages I highlighted:
silent yet thick tension centered around being in a social space where your presence is considered an anomaly—still
---
Throughout my preteen and early adult years I learned that women—particularly black women—are not supposed to show anger, through words or actions. Not only is anger an unattractive quality in a society that prefers women of all cultural and ethnic backgrounds to be gentle and passive, but for black women, being loud and angry harkens back to racial stereotypes that have deterred our social and economical progress. The subtle but emotionally damaging thought that because of the perceived allowance for black folks to be free after a turbulent history of slavery and racial economic and social oppression, we must be silent and thankful to be allowed to participate in everyday society, is oppressive.
---
The boys, while intimidating, also excited me because of their rough exteriors. I wanted to be more like them than a frightened little girl—even though their mean-spirited racial slurs indicated that I would never be one of them. Still, I gravitated toward their music.
---
“It’s ’cause your family is white,” my black friends would inform me as a teenager when I told them what band I was listening to on my Walkman, or when I explained the meaning of my Black Flag or Cult T-shirt.
---
Because my adoptive family did not have an issue with what I listened to, I thought nothing of doing exactly what the other kids my age were doing: listening to and enjoying the music that was being played on the radio and spending my Saturdays at the roller rink with my white friends. Many of the black kids of my generation had a problem with that.
---
In my late teens, boyfriends would drag me to calypso, reggae, and soca clubs, somehow trying to “blacken” me up. I also got involved with a number of black cultural organizations to try and “blacken” myself up, thinking that if I could know what I was, maybe then I would be happy and the criticism would stop. But while I also loved R&B, rap, and later hip hop, my true love was metal.
---
I no longer felt that in order to find myself I had to surround myself with black culture. Most importantly, I learned that in order to maintain my sanity and love myself for whom I was, I had to be me—whether I lost my “black pass” or not. But the balancing act was hard and sometimes continues to be a struggle—between wanting others to accept me, and knowing that ultimately, I have to accept myself.
---
My black friends’ parents did not openly complain about systemic, institutional, and overt racism, as they felt their employers and landlords would tell them to go back to their own countries. After all, they’d come to Canada by choice, for the most part.
---
During that immigration wave, from the mid-1960s to the late 1970s, many black families were told that to succeed in their immigration bid, they would have to reside in the smaller Canadian cities and rural areas. Workers were needed in rural areas.
---
Because of the very small black population in my hometown, the groupthink mentality prevailed as far as adhering to traditional values and manners. Black people wanted to be perceived as hard workers and good contributors to the fabric of the country, and the parents of my friends placed an emphasis on that, most likely after being on the receiving end of racially coded remarks from their coworkers.
---
My small group of black girlfriends made me understand that their parents, who immigrated to Canada as adults, did not encourage individualism or the expression of what they wanted to do or to be outside of what was considered the norm.
---
If people saw that you were religious, conservative, and dressed and talked with a British colonialist sensibility, then you couldn’t be like the savages or ignoramuses they had heard justified slavery in America.
---
I understood that you were truly black if you listened and enjoyed the music from the Caribbean. Moreover, if you knew how to dance to the music and your family regularly cooked and enjoyed the food popular in your home country, it meant that you were part of a community that for many also served as a cultural signifier.
---
I was able to observe how “they” lived and because of that there was an expectation about how my life was going to go, that I was going to be treated exactly like them. What probably messed me up was that there was a lot of confusion when that didn’t happen.
---
“White people get to choose. They get to define themselves,” explains Laura Nicholls. “They can listen to whatever, and they are still white. Being black means that a lot of white people think that they have a right to define you, but I knew at a very young age that I was going to define myself.”
---
Everyone grows up and becomes socialized in a local environment, one where the natural inclination is to do exactly what other people your age are doing. However, your gender and skin color transmit messages to those around you that overwhelm your shared context with precoded expectations.
---
I channeled my frustrations and counteracted my powerlessness by listening to the loudest, most aggressive music I could get my hands on, a habit I retain to this day. The music overrode my experiences of not belonging to either the white or black communities in my hometown. Consequently I came of age and reached adulthood obsessed with the issues surrounding racial identity and also heavy music.
---
“I didn’t fit in,” she says, “but I wasn’t going to fit in anyway, so my loving metal was just another reason to be that weird chick. It wasn’t a black identity issue, like me wanting to be like white folks because I grew up around only black folks. It wasn’t an issue like I needed to choose. I just happened to be a weird black chick that happened to like weird music.”
---
Some of us do not allow ourselves to laugh loudly, to talk loudly, and we don’t allow ourselves to be ‘big,’ because we don’t want people to notice our behavior as an example of a negative racial stereotype—‘Oh, she’s acting that way because she’s black.’ The thing about black people is that we can be touched by anything because it seems as though we will never be able to satisfy anyone, so you might as well just be yourself. There is freedom in not following or adhering to the mold of what people expect you to be.
---
A male coworker once said to me, “So you’re twenty-two and you don’t have any kids? I thought you people had lots of kids.” Another coworker told a white coworker whom I was dating not to sleep with me, because “black women carry syphilis.”
---
I feel that there is a lot of power in being a black woman, because young white guys are probably the most insecure people in the world.
---
You had to learn how to navigate in a white society, and I learned that in order to navigate, I had to intimidate.”
---
For black women, punk, just like the blues, was a music in which they could temporarily eschew the societal constraints that had been imposed by their families and communities.
---
Accept it or not, I don’t give a fuck. It’s a very metal thing about being metal. You either like it or you don’t.
---
“Women sometimes don’t feel that it’s okay to be angry. I had to learn, and that was a major thing for me. It’s okay to express who you are, and there is nothing wrong with it, and there is no criterion around it. It’s one of the few places as a black woman that you get an opportunity to be free, be who you are without any questions, without caring.
---
“A lot of it is the way Americans understand who we are, and for black and white Americans, part of understanding who is in what category has to do with opposition to the other category, “ says Mahon. “[Often] how black culture gets presented or how black people understand themselves is in contrast to white people or white culture, and vice versa. For white people, their awareness may not be as key, because they do not have to think about identity in the same way, because they are not the minority population.”
---
I was used to having my blackness questioned. I found out who I was on my own. I knew that I had a choice: Be proud of who I was, or be swallowed by self-hate. I refused to let anyone get the better of me, and chose the former.
---
Black communities are bound together by sets of expectation, whether we live surrounded by black folks or not. It’s hard to repeal silent codes of conduct that rule out behavior that our families and even strangers warn us about exhibiting in public.
---
A black metalhead can be perceived not only as an affront to the past and present struggles black people have endured, but as a personal insult to those closest to them. “Some people, especially older people, feel that you are indifferent to being black because are not listening to or respecting, quote unquote, ‘our’ music,” says Sameerah Blue. “They think you’re indifferent to your culture, you’re indifferent to being a black person. They look at it as more than a series of songs, and more about the bigger picture.”
---
Sharing certain commonalities—like dialect, dress, dating, and music preferences—signifies to other blacks that you show pride in who you are as a black person. For anyone who chooses not to adopt those cultural signifiers for whatever reason, the choice is seen as a rejection, even an insult. The status quo has questions ready for this: Do you think you are better than me? Why don’t you want to be like us?
---
“The effort to interact with those who [see] you as inferior to them while remaining expressionless was and is an arduous task,” writes Collins.
---
What could I possibly find appealing about heavy metal, seeing as how it didn’t reflect my life experience or cultural identity in any tangible way? And yet I think that contradiction was what appealed to me in the first place. . . . allowed me to imagine myself as . . . someone who wouldn’t take shit from anyone and didn’t give a fuck about rules.”
---
That parochial blackness is as dangerous as hell. It’s dangerous, it steals your joy.”
---
When I switched from punk to being a skinhead, my mom definitely noticed when I shaved my head. I had gone over to a friend’s house and to do it, and when I got home, she freaked out. She was very upset, like I had shaved her hair.
---
“Especially when I was in my teens and twenties, comments from some family and friends if I was listening to rock or punk music were like: ‘Why you listening to that white shit?’ I once dated a white guy who grew up in a black neighborhood, and was trying to be ‘down,’ and he yelled at me for listening to Led Zeppelin: ‘Don’t you listen to any black music? Why do you listen to that white music for?’—the funniest thing I ever heard. Now that I’m in my forties, I don’t tend to associate with anyone who is so narrow-minded about me or my tastes in life.”
---
“The other black kids didn’t understand who I was as a person. This one girl called me the devil because I was listening to Black Sabbath. I said, ‘How can you call me the devil and say that I’m an evil person and that I’m going to hell, when you are having premarital sex with your boyfriend? Doesn’t God say that you’re not supposed to do that? Who’s the hypocrite?’ She got very upset about that.”
---
The reason I would hide my albums was because I would get shit from my black friends—‘the wannabe white girl.’”
---
“Whenever somebody says no, we have got to stand on our core experiences of being women of color. We can’t separate any of this. We can’t compartmentalize things because people are not used to women of color and how we live our lives. We have to set the tone of how we understand ourselves. We have to create our own framework of understanding ourselves and how we function in the world. We know our reality.”
---
Though I wish it were not even a factor, my presence at metal, hardcore, and punk shows is always felt.
---
Though I might never speak to the man or woman across the room, when I see another black person at a show, I breathe a sigh of relief.
---
At a recent appearance by legendary all-black Detroit punk band Death, a white stranger nudged me and said, “You must be so proud.”
---
Along with the uninvited attention from nonblack audience members, there is also an undeniable streak of vitriol that sometimes comes from other blacks, often the only other black person, in the room.
---
Black female metal fans already face skepticism from friends, family members, and even strangers on the street. Having a sister on the scene could be a great thing—but that connection can be tough to establish when we are too used to being “the only one.”
---
I have felt the disheartening chill of making eye contact with the only other black girl at a metal show, and receiving a death glare in return that says, “In no uncertain terms may you even try to talk to me and embarrass me.”
---
“You wouldn’t automatically hear ‘Yay, you’re like me! You’re black and let’s be friends!’” she says. “It would become kind of like, ‘Dude, I’m the black girl in the scene. What’s your problem?’ You are so used to being the only one, that when there is another black girl at a show you feel territorial.
---
“When you see another black person, you acknowledge that you know they are there,” explains Ashley Greenwood, “but you don’t want someone to think that you all came together. Anyone of another race, whether Asian or Hispanic, you don’t automatically think that they are with a group of their own, but for some reason, people just automatically assume that with blacks at a concert, we must all be together.”
---
“No one said that you all have to band together because of your color, but I think that a lot of the black woman feel that ‘I’ve done it this long, I don’t need you. Just because we’re black we don’t need to band together.’ Women who have been in the scene for so long refuse to face another stigma, because there’s more of us.”
---
When I was younger I used to hang out and dance with the guys at hardcore shows. At those shows there are times when there are no girls out because the guys on the floor are going absolutely insane. I could handle it. Some of the girls would get mad, go on the floor, and try to ‘accidentally’ push me just to let me know that they’re just as tough as I am. I’ve gotten a lot of attitude [from] women who feel the need to intimidate just for some reason or another.”
---
“We keep each other in check along the same lines as the oppressor. It’s like on the plantation, or wherever we are now. After a while, you don’t even have to do anything, because you have already indoctrinated them. As women, we will judge each other as whores, sluts, this or that, so at a certain point, the man can go away and we’ll start taking it out on each other.”
---
“I have seen a lot of black women in Chicago who will get into the pit,” says Elise, “but that type of woman almost has to prove to the rest of the crowd that she belongs there. She has to hit harder, she has to throw her horns harder, she has to recite every single lyric to show that she belongs there. I do think that that’s a travesty. Because even if you are standing on the side, it doesn’t mean that you don’t like that band any less than the person who is throwing her entire body into it. So there could be another flip side to that argument that you don’t have to sit there and prove to every other single soul who doubts you that you belong there.”
---
“Whenever I would go to a punk show I would wear stuff that you might wear to the disco,” recalls Laura Nicholls about her days in Toronto’s punk scene. “I figured that it doesn’t really matter because regardless of what I wear, I’m going to stand out. I’m black and there’s nothing that is going to make me fit in. It was provocation because I was like ‘Fuck you, I’m here’ but it was also protection because I was expressing ‘No, you are not coming near me.’ I felt safe because I was wearing this very loud camouflage and I wasn’t going to fit in. I didn’t want to deal with a lot of the assholes that go to that type of concert, so I dressed up.”
---
Black women’s bodies are eternally scrutinized in the media. We are too large and, sometimes, too dark. Our hair is different in a way that is not alluring, but wooly and unattractive.
---
The damage from sexual objectification within North American history, coupled with the lack of variances in the narratives of black female life outside of racially prescribed categories and the hypersexualized images of black women in hip hop culture have created a legitimate level of hypersensitivity among many black women.
---
“If you look at hip hop nowadays it is all about creating a black Barbie doll illusion in little girl’s heads. It seems the more hip hop progressed, the more black women lost themselves and the independence they fought so hard for. With metal I have had the opportunity to come across women who are comfortable in their own skin. There is no such thing as being a freak, just being an individual.”
---
St. Victor from The Family Stand, Skin from Skunk Anansie, Brown from Straight Line Stitch, and Rowe from Tetrarch
---
if you are black, the lighter you are, the more you have to prove that you’re black.
---
I didn’t even know about any black women rock musicians until I was in my late teens. These performers meant a lot to me, as a black girl, in that they acknowledged their sexuality as women in alternative and hard rock, but exhibited control over their bodies in a predominantly white male environment. Instead of being fearful and demure, they were powerful and aggressive. To me, hard rock, metal, and punk music seemed like the perfect soundtrack to letting go and letting the inhibitions that had stifled black women from expressing themselves as sexual, beautiful, and, more importantly, normal women, free.
---
wigger Juggalo said I wasn’t a real black person. I hit him in the mouth, then he ran. But other than that it’s all good.”
---
I’ve been told once that I should stop listening to ‘funeral music.’”
---
so much now, but when I was growing up, other black kids asked me why I like ‘white people’s music’.”
---
people already expect me to zig where others zag.”
---
loud, fast, and ridiculous.”
---
want to feel raw emotion. It has to be loud. Bass! Without the bass there is no point to the music. I need to feel swept away.”
---
like tightness, groove, and conviction.”
---
I’d love to date another African-American, but many of them can’t stand my music and believe I don’t accept my ethnicity or culture because I don’t prefer the Top 40 R&B hits.”
February 27, 2018
This should be required reading for all metalheads and lovers of heavy/aggressive music. It's as important as any book in the genre - maybe more so, because the issues addressed are immediate, requiring the consideration of all who participate in the scenes. As author Laina Dawes states, fandoms of metal, punk, and hardcore are communities of outsiders, so the hostile treatment of the women and POC within it in general - and WOC in particular - is especially irrational and heartbreaking.
There's plenty of empirical research to devour within the book, tracing the spark of present day metal from the fearless blues women of the mid-twentieth century to contemporary artists and fans who are living definitions of what it is to be one's own self. It's never easy, especially in a world that has its own ideas of who you should be and relentlessly pressures you to conform to them.
Apart from that, it's a love letter to metal, punk, and hardcore. Dawes and her interviewees expound their attraction and connection to the music, and within the scenes, those stories are pretty much universal across race and gender. Unfortunately, bigotry still drives a wedge between us as fans when we fail to confront our social conditioning; in other words, when we fail to be inclusive, we are actively participating in the same machine that pressures our fellow outsiders to conform.
This was a terrific book with plenty of references to other resources and literature to follow up on, but I also hope there will be future editions (partly because my ebook version had a few more typos than average, and also because this was written pre-Trump, when a lot of us - whites and some POC alike - were still trying to convince ourselves that racism wasn't as alive and thriving as it turned out to be). Until then, look up bands on the BRC website (blackrockcoalition.org/mission/manife...), and keep supporting artists, journalists, and fellow fans of color, especially women. Diversity always strengthens communities. Metal is no exception to this rule.
There's plenty of empirical research to devour within the book, tracing the spark of present day metal from the fearless blues women of the mid-twentieth century to contemporary artists and fans who are living definitions of what it is to be one's own self. It's never easy, especially in a world that has its own ideas of who you should be and relentlessly pressures you to conform to them.
Apart from that, it's a love letter to metal, punk, and hardcore. Dawes and her interviewees expound their attraction and connection to the music, and within the scenes, those stories are pretty much universal across race and gender. Unfortunately, bigotry still drives a wedge between us as fans when we fail to confront our social conditioning; in other words, when we fail to be inclusive, we are actively participating in the same machine that pressures our fellow outsiders to conform.
This was a terrific book with plenty of references to other resources and literature to follow up on, but I also hope there will be future editions (partly because my ebook version had a few more typos than average, and also because this was written pre-Trump, when a lot of us - whites and some POC alike - were still trying to convince ourselves that racism wasn't as alive and thriving as it turned out to be). Until then, look up bands on the BRC website (blackrockcoalition.org/mission/manife...), and keep supporting artists, journalists, and fellow fans of color, especially women. Diversity always strengthens communities. Metal is no exception to this rule.
January 2, 2024
Skin's foreword is great and this book's a good way to *find* Black women rock artists to listen to. But the rest leaves a lot to be desired. The author's ideas about female sexuality were often contradictory and backwards when concerning non-rock artists. Dawes makes the mistake so many metalheads make, assuming that metal is inherently deeper and more merit-based than other forms of music or alternative modes of self-expression. Her in-depth laments about r&b women in leather, some woman she saw at a concert, and women who were more into alternative fashion than music left a sour taste in my mouth. How do you purport to be an advocate for women in the scene if you continually one of the biggest misogynistic stereotypes in this context? I also *hated* some of the quotes, particularly the ones by Cynthia Dagnal-Myron in which several female blues artists' transgressiveness was partially owed to being "not attractive at all". But then goes on to refer to herself as being attractive more than once. She was undoubtedly being more hyperfocused on these women's looks than even sexist men and really wounding her argument. Black female blues artists were notable less for their lack of adherance to beauty standards than their work ethic, musical prowess, and self-assurance. And frankly, I had trouble FINDING "unattractive" female blues artists from that era; some were fat and used it as part of their marketing. But ugly in an attention-grabbing way? Were they actually thought of that way by their fanbases and music critics? There were several other quotes in here that made this book seem like a dumping ground for insecurities to run wild instead of a part of the Black feminist canon. I was disappointed by the end.
October 1, 2020
Going into this book I thought it was going to be about racism in metal as a whole, particularly from a black woman's point of view, which I assumed, was not a pleasant experience. It is about that, but there's so many ins and outs about this book and topic I found the whole thing just utterly heartbreaking and illuminating, and inspiring all at once.
The book covers racism in metal, punk, rock, from a larger perspective. The author doesn't get bogged down in niche, fringe elements, or micro scene politics so much as examines why there's a larger problem with a general nonacceptance of black people playing heavier music or being involved in those scenes. There's much discussion about the American music industry and overall treatment of black people and how they're marketed in music differently and how theres come to be a very specific idea of what black people should enjoy and champion, entertainment wise, that comes from both black and white communities. One of the things I was not prepared for was how many of the black women interviewed in this book were essentially shunned or abandoned by their family and community for being into heavy metal or punk, or more extreme forms of entertainment. There's the idea that they're abandoning their culture, something black people strived so hard to attain in America. But all they wanted is to express themselves, and what is punk and metal if not a way to give a voice to the challenged and the angry?
The book isn't about how metal is racist, it's about how there is racism in metal, but it's really about how everybody is and should be welcomed there and how if you're passionate about something you fight for it.
The book covers racism in metal, punk, rock, from a larger perspective. The author doesn't get bogged down in niche, fringe elements, or micro scene politics so much as examines why there's a larger problem with a general nonacceptance of black people playing heavier music or being involved in those scenes. There's much discussion about the American music industry and overall treatment of black people and how they're marketed in music differently and how theres come to be a very specific idea of what black people should enjoy and champion, entertainment wise, that comes from both black and white communities. One of the things I was not prepared for was how many of the black women interviewed in this book were essentially shunned or abandoned by their family and community for being into heavy metal or punk, or more extreme forms of entertainment. There's the idea that they're abandoning their culture, something black people strived so hard to attain in America. But all they wanted is to express themselves, and what is punk and metal if not a way to give a voice to the challenged and the angry?
The book isn't about how metal is racist, it's about how there is racism in metal, but it's really about how everybody is and should be welcomed there and how if you're passionate about something you fight for it.
May 26, 2018
This book reads like a high school English paper. Topics seemed to jump around at random sometimes and many of the quotes were from one of the same five musicians. Who, by the way, were reintroduced ad nauseam. If the people that Laina pulled stories from for the book are the only black women in the scene then I think her main point was made. There are basically no black women in the metal scene. Most of her main interviewees played punk or hardcore, which makes the title a bit misleading. The ones who she considered metal, had a very loose definition of the genre. Personally, living in California, I have never been to a show where the crowd wasn't heavily diverse, especially in LA and San Diego. I think going to a show where there's nothing but white men would be strange. Not saying it isn't prevalent in other parts of the country, it's just not what the scene looks like here. The experiences here are important stories to tell, and hopefully, they have helped some people reexamine the way they treat women of color at shows. I just couldn't get into the writing style and think that the lack of actual metal musicians hurt her argument. Honestly, I think she could have gotten better results by just interviewing fans, and maybe going a bit more into why women and especially black women, are not drawn to playing guitar and metal.
January 28, 2022
A few things stick out for me:
1.) It is really poorly edited. I realize it is an indie press book, but letting careless mistakes slip by reflects badly on everyone involved in the book. This is especially disheartening, given that the topic of the book is so vitally important to modern counter-culture and the writing is extremely eloquent.
2.) At about page 120, the subjects covered in the book have begun to fan out. However, just up until that part, the message of the book seemed fairly repetitive (“It is hard to be black and female in the metal scene”). This made for somewhat uphill reading. Granted, the simplified phrase I put in quotes is indeed the thesis of the book, though I would have liked to have seen the different components of that thesis explored, rather than a harping on the same point over and over (which is my perception of how the book proceeded).
3.) There are a variety of different African-American female vocalists interviewed and mentioned, but it seems as if Skin (from Skunk Anasie) is focused on more than others. I realize that Skin wrote the foreword to the book, but having one voice dominate a discussion tends to sap credibility from said discussion.
1.) It is really poorly edited. I realize it is an indie press book, but letting careless mistakes slip by reflects badly on everyone involved in the book. This is especially disheartening, given that the topic of the book is so vitally important to modern counter-culture and the writing is extremely eloquent.
2.) At about page 120, the subjects covered in the book have begun to fan out. However, just up until that part, the message of the book seemed fairly repetitive (“It is hard to be black and female in the metal scene”). This made for somewhat uphill reading. Granted, the simplified phrase I put in quotes is indeed the thesis of the book, though I would have liked to have seen the different components of that thesis explored, rather than a harping on the same point over and over (which is my perception of how the book proceeded).
3.) There are a variety of different African-American female vocalists interviewed and mentioned, but it seems as if Skin (from Skunk Anasie) is focused on more than others. I realize that Skin wrote the foreword to the book, but having one voice dominate a discussion tends to sap credibility from said discussion.
February 27, 2022
I totally forgot how good Skin’s solo work is. Thanks to this book for reminding me of why the eclectic heavy sounds of Skunk Anansie with Skin on the mic were so often blasted on my vehicle’s speakers back in the late 90s/early 2000s.
This book centers around Laina’s experiences as a black female fan of heavy metal music from her teenage years to the present. In telling her story she leans on black musicians and fans who have had similar experiences of being the only or one of the only black male or black females in the audience. As a fan of heavy music it’s interesting to see shows in different venues and different cities where the crowd dynamics vary widely. In Chicago, I’ve been to several shows where the audience was super diverse with Latino/a fans almost equaling the white fans. In other places the crowd is overwhelmingly male and there are maybe a couple black fans in attendance. The local scenes largely play into who comes out to shows along with the bands performing that particular night.
Hopefully as music continues to become easier to put out there to be discovered more non-white male musicians can breakthrough and be examples for future musicians. As she discussed in the book, if you can play or not is vey important for a lot of fans.
Shout out to: God Forbid, Straight Line Stitch, Skunk Anansie, Suffocation, Bad Brains, Oceano, Sepultura, Brand of Sacrifice, body Count, Candiria, Zeal and Ardor, Hirax and all the other black heavy music performers out there.
This book centers around Laina’s experiences as a black female fan of heavy metal music from her teenage years to the present. In telling her story she leans on black musicians and fans who have had similar experiences of being the only or one of the only black male or black females in the audience. As a fan of heavy music it’s interesting to see shows in different venues and different cities where the crowd dynamics vary widely. In Chicago, I’ve been to several shows where the audience was super diverse with Latino/a fans almost equaling the white fans. In other places the crowd is overwhelmingly male and there are maybe a couple black fans in attendance. The local scenes largely play into who comes out to shows along with the bands performing that particular night.
Hopefully as music continues to become easier to put out there to be discovered more non-white male musicians can breakthrough and be examples for future musicians. As she discussed in the book, if you can play or not is vey important for a lot of fans.
Shout out to: God Forbid, Straight Line Stitch, Skunk Anansie, Suffocation, Bad Brains, Oceano, Sepultura, Brand of Sacrifice, body Count, Candiria, Zeal and Ardor, Hirax and all the other black heavy music performers out there.
January 30, 2020
I love metal. A lot. But it's definitely something I feel isolated in - few friends like it, and when I go to shows, I definitely feel separate from the crowd. I've always been particularly frustrated with how needlessly male and how white the scene is, and this book was the perfect vehicle to dissect that more.
Dawes does an incredible job of looking at both the factors in the black community that stop people from turning to metal or feel comfortable embracing it, along with the struggles of being accepted in the metal community. She breaks down the history of race and music, and the roots of hard rock and metal, and ties it so well to why the communities should work together. She digs into the relationship of women and sexuality to metal. She compares it all to other music genres that are considered more acceptable (punk somehow??? and hip hop/r&B) and tries to get into why there's a societal rift in acceptance.
There were times where her writing wasn't the clearest, or it was repetitive or overly academic, but overall, this was well worth the read.
Dawes does an incredible job of looking at both the factors in the black community that stop people from turning to metal or feel comfortable embracing it, along with the struggles of being accepted in the metal community. She breaks down the history of race and music, and the roots of hard rock and metal, and ties it so well to why the communities should work together. She digs into the relationship of women and sexuality to metal. She compares it all to other music genres that are considered more acceptable (punk somehow??? and hip hop/r&B) and tries to get into why there's a societal rift in acceptance.
There were times where her writing wasn't the clearest, or it was repetitive or overly academic, but overall, this was well worth the read.
August 12, 2020
I really wanted to like this more than I did, but it was exactly what I don't like about non-fiction: dry, repetitive, and unorganized. It read more like a magazine article that just had no end. The Kindle version was greatly in need of editing. The epilogue was in twice and the survey results at the end were in triplicate. There were a lot of grammatical/typographical errors possibly the result of transcription. I wanted to read this because heavy metal was such a white male dominated scene in the '80's that I never went to any shows alone, only with a group or a male friend, and I wondered how much more tough these women had to be. It was bad enough dealing with the misogyny, but the racism? I found it interesting to hear their thoughts and experiences about the heavy metal scene and the music (some which weren't that different than mine), but I really hadn't thought about the lack of understanding from their black family and friends. There is a lot of focus on this aspect in the book, more so than on dealing with racism or misogyny from other heavy metal fans.
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