Let us now praise famous women. 2003 was the year of the female condition in all its most gorgeous and gruesome. Sure, the boys – and men – acquitted themselves admirably, but this year oestrogen overload didn’t necessarily equate with PMT (Pro-Minstrel Attention).
It was the year of Beyoncé, TATU (faux lesbian chic or no, that was a hell of a single) and even Christina, who caused this writer to do an abrupt U-turn when faced with the stinky, skanky funk of ‘Dirrty’ and the resilient grace of ‘Beautiful’. In the wrong hands the latter could’ve been Sarah Brightman but instead came off as Dorothy Vallens after the fall. Of course, the tune’s author, Linda Perry had already established herself as psychotherapeutic ghostwriter to the stars last year with ‘Just Like A Pill’ for Pink, a song that, in its way, was as subversive as ‘Sister Morphine’. But fair’s fair, Ms Aguilera knew what to do with the material – the sound she makes as she exits the middle-eight into the chorus goes far beyond vocal showboating and into pure catharsis.
In a very different sphere, Maria McKee forged her own Plath-y puss bio-pic with High Dive, but instead of being overblown or self aggrandising, this was dark, funny and, above all, ambitious. “Soooicide,” she sang in a voice halfway between Townsend’s Tommy and Frances Farmer, “Ever think of soooicide?/See your friends the day you take your life/Kinda helps you to decide.” Here was a criminally neglected masterpiece that begged the patronage of a Paul Thomas Anderson, with McKee as a steely magnolia peering into the void before essaying her final deliberation: “We’re all just collecting dust.”
Speaking of neglected treasures, The Cardigans’ wonderful Long Gone Before Daylight was also a compassionate, pissed off, tender and patient record. Other highlights? Karen O’s tears in the video for ‘Maps’, the only piece of music television that could possibly compete with JC’s requiem ‘Hurt’. Alison Goldfrapp getting in touch with her space-aged inner slut on Black Cherry. Also, Patti Smith unplugged but very much electric in Belfast. And while we’re talking kick-ass chicks, how bout Uma in Kill Bill…
Great white hopes? Daddy’s Little Princess, who mightn’t be female, but they sure as hell dress like it. This quintet should hook up with Eddie Izzard and JT Leroy’s band Thistle for a triple-header and make 04 the year of equal-opportunities three-inch fuck-me-pink stilettos and (Hed)wig rehabilitation.
Go, baby, go-go.
