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It’s No Capital Crime

Rock is one of the most glorified music genres in Western society. By many, it’s considered to be not only more artistically creative, but also more intelligent. Bob Dylan won a Nobel for his lyrics, and many musicians are praised for their politically charged lyrics. Rap music, however, is disparaged and commonly criticized for its depictions of violence and misogyny. Rock music is not held to the same rigid standard despite being rife with the same content.

Rock songs are filled with misogyny. In 1968, the Rolling Stones released Beggar’s Banquet, containing some of their most iconic hits, like ‘Jumpin’ Jack Flash,’ ‘Sympathy for the Devil,’ and ‘Street Fightin’ Man’. One track on that album, ‘Stray Cat Blues,’ remains relatively anonymous next to the others; however, the song explicitly romanticizes statutory rape, yet has never been addressed. Jagger croons: “I can see that you’re fifteen years old/ (…) It’s no hanging matter/ It’s no capital crime/ (…) Bet your mother don’t know you can scream like that/ I bet she doesn’t know you can spit like that.” This portrayal of predatory rape is extremely sexualised, and the adage of “it’s no capital crime,” however ironic, emphasises just how normalised sexualised violence is in rock music. Similarly, the Police, one of the most successful rock bands of all time, released a song titled ‘Roxanne,’ in which a man refuses to respect a woman’s decision to be a sex worker because he ‘loves’ her: “won’t share you with another boy/ I know my mind is made up/ So put away your make up/ Told you once I won’t tell you again it’s a bad way.” Here, Sting commands Roxanne to respect his boundaries and wishes, rather than her own. This is sexist because it implies that Sting’s own desires regarding Roxanne are more important than Roxanne’s.

Yet, despite the explicit misogyny that pervades classic rock, it is rarely discussed on the same level as the misogyny in rap. Some may point to classic rock’s birth date and context as justification. Most of these songs were released in the 60s and the 70s, when the discussion of misogyny in music was not as mainstream a concern. Yet, if this were truly the reason, why does society continue to accept these songs? The Rolling Stones have performed Stray Cat Blues in the 2000s, and Sting performs Roxanne at every concert. If we can accept the music as a ‘standard of their time,’ why do we accept it in the 21st century?

Even when one looks at modern rock, often colloquialized as “indie rock,” misogyny is still prevalent. In Arctic Monkeys’ 2005 single ‘Still Take You Home’, lead singer Alex Turner describes a girl in a nightclub as someone who’s “tarted up,” while, in a condescending tone, claiming she “knows nothing.” In ‘Baby Came Home’ (2012), frontman of the Neighbourhood Jesse Rutherford sings about a girl that left their town, proclaiming ownership over her despite the fact that she’s gone: “I think if you found her/ that even you would know/ she’s mine”. This is problematic because it is a romanticisation of a toxic relationship, in which the singer won’t accept his girlfriend’s choice to move on and instead remains possessive over her. In this case, the simple excuse of ‘the times’ completely falls through; these are all contemporary and almost exclusively white, heterosexual and male portrayals of women.

Even in indie rock of the female variety there is a strong presence of misogyny — especially in the recurring form of pedophilia. Lana Del Rey is notorious for portraying an extremely romanticised yet still infantile Lolita in her songs: “Hey, Lolita, hey/ I know what the boys want, I’m not gonna play/ (…) I want my cake and I want to eat it too/
I want to have fun and be in love with you.”
 Yet, her depiction isn’t a commentary, it’s a glorification of Lolita’s story. In her song “Off to the Races,” which is brimming with Lolita references, Lana sings of the relationship between a young girl and an old man as a timeless romance. Her character sings, “I’m not afraid to say/ That I’d die without him/ Who else is gonna/ put up with me this way?/ I need you, I breathe you, I’ll never leave you”. This depiction of Lolita is problematic in that it portrays Lolita as a romantic figure in a passionate relationship rather than a victim of rape and abuse. Melanie Martinez, another female indie rock star, continually infantalises herself while singing sexual songs utilising childish euphemisms for sex. Though this is not explicitly violent, the normalisation of pedophilia and internalised misogyny in female indie rock detracts from the severity of sexual abuse of children, which, albeit unintentionally, ends up reinforcing violence of this nature.

This is not to say that rap music isn’t violent or misogynistic, or that it is undeserving of criticism for its portrayal of these harmful constructs. Rap music is rife with both these social ills, and therefore it does perpetuate them to an extent. Yet, rap music is also a reflection of the environment that black artists have grown up in; environments that exist due to systematic racial oppression. Blaming rap music for its themes of violence and sexism ignores the struggle of black people in Western societies in general and the United States in particular. Rap is a medium through which these artists express their frustrations and their experiences. White rock artists, however, have not grown up in these toxic environments. Though their music is reflective of cultural phenomena, it does not explicitly touch upon harmful experiences that were at the forefront of how these artists perceived society. Therefore, rock music is more deserving of criticism in terms of perpetuation of violence and sexism.

Indie rock is unabashedly white, while rap music is stereotypically black; this dichotomy seems to beat the crux of the disparity in the criticisms levelled at the two genres. The ‘violent black man’ stereotype feeds into the common societal perception of rap. The idea that black men are inherently more violent colors the perspective in which rap music is examined and talked about in popular discourse. Alternatively, the common absolvement of white men allows for the normalisation of problematic constructs in the white genres of indie and rock. This differing perception and treatment of races is endemic to all the different facets of Western society. It does not just manifest in critique of music genre, but can be seen in the way authority figures and the penitentiary system treat black men. This perception also manifests itself in cases of police brutality, in which black men are perceived as more threatening than white men, resulting in more fatal shootings. According to the Washington Post, “White people make up roughly 62 percent of the U.S. population but only about 49 percent of those who are killed by police officers. African Americans, however, account for 24 percent of those fatally shot and killed by the police despite being just 13 percent of the U.S. population.”

The differing social perceptions of black rappers and white rockers further feed into this dynamic, creating a vicious cycle. Tyga, a black rapper, is repeatedly criticised for dating a very young Kylie Jenner; on the other hand, David Bowie is reported to have raped a 14-year old girl, who was later kidnapped and raped by Led Zeppelin guitarist Jimmy Page. Although the criticism levelled against Tyga might be deserved, the god-like status of both rockstars, who are guilty of similar, or even worse crimes, have not been tarnished in the slightest. This unequal treatment is another adage of the cultural tendency to relate black men to violence while excusing the behaviors of white men.  

The solution to this problem lies within the deconstruction of Western stereotypes; yet, the criticisms of rock music versus rap music is not the most important problem that this perception causes. To address the ‘violent black man’ stereotype is to address police brutality, the systematic oppression of black men in the justice and prison systems of the United States, to prove to ignorant masses that black lives matter.

About the Author

Erika Undeland '21 is the Section Manager for the Culture Section of the Brown Political Review. Erika can be reached at erika_undeland@brown.edu

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