I AM WOMAN - Let the roaring begin

 

I love hearing new songs, finding new tunes, new favourites, new obsessions and ear worms.  One thing leads to another. This week we have a group of young ladies who love the ladies.  They call themselves Hyaenas, and their song is Little Trophy.   It is gorgeous little pop confection with an “Oh-oh” hook.  The lyrics are driven by desire to be desired, but not too much. An exercise in control.  

Hyaenas are Sophie Heppell (guitar, vocals), Jessie Robertson (bass), Jen Foster (drums) and Luvia Petersen (synth).  Jen plays drums in Rong, another favourite.  

Lyrics are by Sophie. 

LITTLE TROPHY

Take me to the forest, I'm knocking on wood
Just because you want to doesn't mean that you should
You think you've got my whole world but nothing gold can stay
Lose your grip and all the stars will fade to grey
I'm going away
I'm not your little trophy
I'm not your prize to be won
All my work for all your fun
Oh, oh, oh no
I'm not your little trophy
I'm not your prize to be won
All my work for all your fun
Oh, oh, oh no
You lured me in with fish hooks - they're ripping my mouth
Jump this ship before it all starts heading south
That was touch and go there - that was a close call
Another venture in exchange for nothing at all
Nothing at all
I'm not your little trophy
I'm not your prize to be won
All my work for all your fun
Oh, oh, oh no
I'm not your little trophy
I'm not your prize to be won
All my work for all your fun
Oh, oh, oh no
I'm not your badge of honour
I'm not your accolade
Not a soul for you to save
Oh, oh, oh no
I'm not your badge of honour
I'm not your accolade
Not a soul for you to save
Oh, oh, oh no
Don't touch don't look give back what you took
Don't look don't touch you take up too much
Don't touch don't look give back what you took
Don't look don't touch you take up too much
I'm not your little trophy
I'm not your prize to be won
All my work for all your fun
Oh, oh, oh no
I'm not your badge of honour
I'm not your accolade
Not a soul for you to save
Oh, oh, oh no
I'm not your badge of honour
I'm not your accolade
Not a soul for you to save
Oh, oh, oh no
I'm not your little trophy
I'm not your prize to be won
All my work for all your fun
Oh, oh, oh no

“Little Trophy is a call-out against the sexual objectification of women,” the all-female Vancouver band explain. “The song was partially inspired by a previous long-distance relationship Sophie had (she was doing all the heavy lifting to make everything happen while the other was sitting back and reaping the benefits (fun trips and getting laid)), and partially inspired by unwanted sexual advances, judgments or discriminations that almost every single woman has experienced.”

Like I said, the song is a celebration of someone taking control of their own love and desire.  

It pairs well with a new song by one of favourites, Metric, All Comes Crashing.   

Metric is all about hooks, little barbs that grab you, and won’t let you go.   Emily Haines is the the enchantress extraordinaire.

ALL COMES CRASHING

Starting over won't be easy, broken, divided

Split tomorrow from today
Knowing what you know just makes it harder to think straight
Starting over after it breaks
Starting over when the story's got an astounding twist
You better turn that page
When push it comes to shove
We do not fall out of love
We double down, we do not fade

For all I know
This might be my last night
If that's how it goes, there's no one
I would rather be lying beside
When it all comes crashing
When it all comes crashing

Starting over won't be easy
Damage be damned
Please say you love me just as I am
Starting over won't be easy
Misunderstand that pattern
Fear is forcing your hand
Knowing what you know just makes it harder to think straight
Starting over after it all breaks
When push it comes to shove
We do not fall out of love
We double down, we do not fade

For all I know
This might be my last night
If that's how it goes, there's no one
I would rather be lying beside

If all we knew
Came crashing down tonight
I'd be with you, and there's no one
I would rather be dying beside

When it all comes crashing
All comes crashing down
When it all comes crashing
All comes crashing down

We'll come crashing down together
Don't expect to live forever
We'll come crashing down together
If it all comes crashing down tonight
We'll come crashing down together
Don't expect to live forever
We'll come crashing down together
When it all comes crashing, crashing, crashing

For all I know
This might be my last night
If that's how it goes, there's no one
I would rather be lying beside

If all we knew
Came crashing down tonight
I'd be with you, and there's no one
I would rather be dying beside
When it all comes crashing
When it all comes crashing
When it all comes crashing
When it all comes crashing

More girl on top, taking the reins of the relationship.  Someone has to know what they are doing here.

Which then leads us to Angel Olsen and her song All The Good Times.  It has a slow boil, layering detail on detail until it finally. At the very end of the song, gets to the title sentiment. 

ALL THE GOOD TIMES

I can't say that I'm sorry
When I don't feel so wrong anymore
I can't tell you I'm trying
When there's nothing left here to try for

And I don't know how it happened
We've both abandoned the reason we used to believe
Was it love that we shared when we easily cared?
Now it's impossible to conceive

I don't know who can see you
If you've ever learned how to let someone in
Well, I've tried to comе find you
But I just don't know where to begin

If you'vе ever been open, there's no way of knowing
With the way that knowing you has been
Was it always so broken? If these thoughts were spoken
Would it bring us together again?

I can't say that I'm sorry
When I don't feel so wrong anymore
I can't tell you I'm trying
When there's nothing left here to try for

Well, I can't be the one to keep holding you back
If there's something you're missing, then go right ahead

I'll be long gone, thanks for the songs
Guess it's time to wake up from the trip we've been on
So long, farewell, this is the end
And I'll always remember you just like a friend
And the way that you said, as heavy as lead
"You've always known how to get straight to my head"

Thanks for the free ride
And all of the good times
Thanks for the free ride
And all of the good times

The end and title is of course 

“You've always known how to get straight to my head"

Thanks for the free ride
And all of the good times
Thanks for the free ride
And all of the good times”

Are we back in Little Trophy land?  When the end finally comes, did it “all come crashing down”?

As a 64 year old male (him/he) in a 43 year relationship, I’m not sure why I am drawn to the joyful angst pop of young lesbians. I admit that there is a crush on Emily Haines, so there is that. 

Then a trolling of my daughter’s playlist ( She has very cool taste in music- completely her own take.  I am sensing some slight influences from her pops, but I give her all the credit. 

She had been listening to a band calledOver The Rhine, a duo of guy and girl, going back a few years.  This song is from 2007, so a blast from the past.

LET’S SPEND THE DAY IN BED

Let's spend the day in bed, yeah, that's what I said
Let's lie down, draw the shades
Ditch the plans we made
Rest your lovely bones and just stay home

Turn off the telephone, picnic on the sheets
Toss the dogs some treats, rub each other?s feet
We're not ashamed of a little lazy love
Till we're through, I'm gonna spend the day in bed with you

let's spend the day in bed on our very own bed spread
A pajama holiday
Catch a black and white matinée
Spoon feed these new daydreams and just stay home

We’ll read Shel Silverstein, 'Where The Sidewalk Ends'
Smile about old friends, try to comprehend
One single day, no work and only play
Kick off your shoes, I'm gonna spend the day in bed with you

Life’s a drag, we’ll get stoned on love
Stoned on love, just stay home
We’ll get stoned on love, stoned on love

We need a groove that's all our own and we?ll get stoned
Just stay home
We’ll get stoned on love, stoned on love

Till we're through, I'm gonna spend the day in bed with you

let's spend the day in bed, forget all that I said
We’ll eat your favorite pie, ice cream on the side
Lie here a la mode and just stay home
Just stay home, just stay home

When life’s a drag, we’ll get stoned on love
Stoned on love, just stay home
We’ll get stoned on love, stoned on love

We need a groove that's all our own and we?ll get stoned
Just stay home
We’ll get stoned on love, stoned on love

When life’s a drag, we’ll get stoned on love
Stoned on love, just stay home
We’ll get stoned on love, stoned on love

We need a groove that's all our own and we’llget stoned
Just stay home
We’ll get stoned on love, stoned on love
Just stay home

So all female voices.  And then the theocratic Supremely Stupid Court, SCOTUS, which sounds like a rash that one gets when playing too much with your scrotum, wipes out 50 year’s of progress, by killing Roe v. Wade.  My mother is rolling in her grave, which is the rolling sea, so all comes crashing.  

“ I am woman hear me roar.”  Let the roaring begin.  

Consider the Oyster

The oyster may be the most sublime food.  They are definitely one of most sensual.  More than food, they are passion and metaphor. 

On the outside, we feel sharp, craggy calcium carbonate layers of oyster shell, self created by secreting proteins and minerals from their mantle extracellularly, the oyster constantly growing new layers of shell, their physical presence enlarging as they grow.

This hard and dangerous exterior holds its secrets tightly, as opening an oyster, ah shucks, is an art form itself.  There are specific tools needed, the oyster knife, wielded by the expert shucker, old Shucky, careful, you may want to wear a glove made of metal mesh, otherwise risking cuts from the shell or a slip of the knife. But once the vise-like grip of the muscles, holding its inner secrets intact is broken, a salty brine weeps. 

Inside we feel a shell so smooth and porcelain. You may even find a pearl! And then there is the oyster itself.  Shimmery, moist, so many layers of feminine deliciousness.  This oyster object of desire, slurp worthy, your tongue wants to explore the folds and lips dare I say of the smooth little button of muscle at its centre.

Or you might just want to slurp it dow, drawing it into your receiving mouth, letting it slide down your throat, the oyster and the brine, accented with the tang of lemon or perhaps a bit of vinegar, a splash of hot sauce or a mignonette, which translates roughly into "cute, small, and tasty”. 

I was reading a Substack post today from Alicia Kennedy, about her vegan relationship with the oyster- she makes an exception for this bivalve.  And I wanted to comment on her page with my most memorable experience with oysters, but I was shut down by her Subscriber paywall- no money, no comments welcome.  

So here we are, inside my own non- paywall.  Here, my friends, is my memory of the night of Oysters and Stout where I met the infamous Oysterman, Brent Petkau. 

Brent is a mountain of a man, big beard, big laugh, and a generous knowledge of all things oyster.  He is the Oysterman.  https://vimeo.com/32602676?embedded=true&source=vimeo_logo&owner=3637760

It was a special evening of oysters and sampling of Stouts, with Brent supplying the oysters, and the liquor store and my friend Craig Noble supplying the stout and information on how to pair with oysters.  

I think I ate about 25 oysters, most were smallish, and the stouts were delicious, and at the end, I had sort of shocked myself with how many I had consumed.

But it was more than eating lots of oysters, it was an ingestion of knowledge of oysters and stout, most of which is forgotten.

Growing up, I remember some of my family having oysters, normally cooked, breaded and pan fried, how an old brother disparagingly compared the oyster to another bodily fluid, and how that aversion to oysters later became a desire to devour.

Which brings us to the oyster loaf, which is a Mills family tradition of hollowing out a loaf of french bread and adding back in pan fried breaded oysters, bacon, tomato and hopefully something green but I'm not totally sure.   Sort of our Pacific Northwest take on the Po' Boy.  It is then cut into slices, and consumed with much alcohol.   Whether it was the oysters or the alcohol that later lead to laughter then tears, is unclear.   Most likely the alcohol.