Girls to the Front: The True Story
of the Riot Grrrl Revolution
by Sara Marcus
Harper Perennial. 367 pages, $14.99
ANYONE whose life was impacted in even a small way by the punk-feminist subculture known as Riot Grrrl will find it hard to read Sara Marcus’s thoroughly researched history of the movement and remain seated throughout. From its inception, traced here to 1989 and the creation of the band Bikini Kill, through the dissolution of most of its organizational hubs by 1996, Riot Grrrl existed in an emotionally amplified space. The fierce unity of the first small tribes that sprung up in Olympia, Washington, and Washington D.C. contrasts with the fire and fury at male privilege that inspired some of the movement’s finest work—and occasionally burned the girls themselves. Riot Grrrl was many things, but quiet or simple it was not.
Girls to the Front—the title comes from the young women who pushed to the front at punk shows, linking arms for protection from the mosh pit—dispenses with one formality common to most nonfiction. After a brief introduction, the major players are referred to by first name only. This decision seems right for the culture of fast friendships that formed, first through young women’s encounter groups, then fanzines and bands. The strong personalities on display make it easy to distinguish between Erika, Molly, Andee, and others with no trouble, even when it seems like they’re all sharing one sleeping bag.
Most of those who started out attending meetings eventually created or contributed to zines or formed their own bands, sometimes on little more than a dare or the simple suggestion that “you should play music.” Punk poet and icon Kathy Acker made that suggestion to Kathleen Hanna when Hanna was attending a writing workshop. Rather than the spoken word pieces she had been composing, Acker suggested using music as a vehicle to spread her highly politicized feminist vision. Hanna took the advice and ran with it, ultimately connecting with Tobi Vail and forming Bikini Kill.
There’s a generous dose of band lore and gossip to chew on here, such as Bratmobile’s legendary on-stage breakup during what was supposed to be a reunion show, or Corin Tucker’s confession that her first group, Heavens to Betsy, didn’t really exist much beyond her and bandmate Tracy Sawyer’s combined imagination and a few casual jam sessions—until they were asked to perform at an event called Girl Night. Prompted to put up or shut up, one of the best bands of that era was born.
Marcus, who spent five years piecing together this history, captures the creative energy and intellectual bonding among the girls as the movement took root. For socially awkward and lonely young women, just sitting close together on a sofa was a big deal. Reclamations of childhood through sleepovers were as vital to their politics as marching on Washington for reproductive freedom. Taken with discussions about childhood sex abuse, race, class, and the opportunity to make associations between feminist theory and everyday life, the intensity of the bonds that formed makes perfect sense.
Close attention is paid to the impact that zine publishing had on the spread of Riot Grrrl’s philosophy and values. There are numerous quotes, set off neatly in typewriter font, as well as reprints of actual pages (picture abundant Wonder Woman clip art, hearts, stars, female symbols, and many exclamation marks, all garnishing a heady dose of neofeminist theory). For girls living outside Olympia or D.C., zines were the only way to know if a band was touring near you, or to find other girls in your area who connected with this “new aesthetic” and wanted to try it on for size. Cheap to produce and reproduce, they constitute the best documentary evidence of the movement in both its ascendancy and during its worst time of crisis.
Riot Grrrl as a movement insisted on a degree of fluidity and freedom to evolve over time, but some things were inviolable. The mainstream media as a whole was no friend to women, and as such automatically suspect. So it wasn’t surprising that when USA Today and, later, Spin magazine attempted to cover Riot Grrrl, things went awry. A baseless emphasis on a few clichés (hairy armpits, hatred of men) left the women who spoke to the press feeling minimized and misrepresented. An ultimately unenforceable media blackout failed and led to internal conflict.
From there things either fell apart or continued on under new names, depending on your vantage point. After closing the book with a call for those so moved to pursue their artistic passions, Marcus thoughtfully includes a “postscript” letting readers know what all the grrrls are doing now. Some are professionals—there’s a goat farmer, an artisan sauerkraut-maker, some zine makers turned bloggers—and many, many women who, regardless of whatever else they’re doing, are still writing, making music, and doing art. In other words, the revolution continues.
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Heather Seggel discusses her personal connection to Riot Grrrl in the anthology Punk Rock Saved My Ass.
