• ClipSaver
ClipSaver
Русские видео
  • Смешные видео
  • Приколы
  • Обзоры
  • Новости
  • Тесты
  • Спорт
  • Любовь
  • Музыка
  • Разное
Сейчас в тренде
  • Фейгин лайф
  • Три кота
  • Самвел адамян
  • А4 ютуб
  • скачать бит
  • гитара с нуля
Иностранные видео
  • Funny Babies
  • Funny Sports
  • Funny Animals
  • Funny Pranks
  • Funny Magic
  • Funny Vines
  • Funny Virals
  • Funny K-Pop

Rebel Queens: Women, Punk, and the Sound of Resistance, Chapter One: “New York.” скачать в хорошем качестве

Rebel Queens: Women, Punk, and the Sound of Resistance, Chapter One: “New York.” 3 дня назад

скачать видео

скачать mp3

скачать mp4

поделиться

телефон с камерой

телефон с видео

бесплатно

загрузить,

Не удается загрузить Youtube-плеер. Проверьте блокировку Youtube в вашей сети.
Повторяем попытку...
Rebel Queens: Women, Punk, and the Sound of Resistance, Chapter One: “New York.”
  • Поделиться ВК
  • Поделиться в ОК
  •  
  •  


Скачать видео с ютуб по ссылке или смотреть без блокировок на сайте: Rebel Queens: Women, Punk, and the Sound of Resistance, Chapter One: “New York.” в качестве 4k

У нас вы можете посмотреть бесплатно Rebel Queens: Women, Punk, and the Sound of Resistance, Chapter One: “New York.” или скачать в максимальном доступном качестве, видео которое было загружено на ютуб. Для загрузки выберите вариант из формы ниже:

  • Информация по загрузке:

Скачать mp3 с ютуба отдельным файлом. Бесплатный рингтон Rebel Queens: Women, Punk, and the Sound of Resistance, Chapter One: “New York.” в формате MP3:


Если кнопки скачивания не загрузились НАЖМИТЕ ЗДЕСЬ или обновите страницу
Если возникают проблемы со скачиванием видео, пожалуйста напишите в поддержку по адресу внизу страницы.
Спасибо за использование сервиса ClipSaver.ru



Rebel Queens: Women, Punk, and the Sound of Resistance, Chapter One: “New York.”

Free on Amazon Kindle 👇🏼 https://amzn.to/3LhRFIb Welcome to the new series of Books by Tale Teller Club, Concise Books that give you what you need to know on 100s of subjects. CH 1. Rebel Queens: Women, Punk, and the Sound of Resistance, Chapter One: “New York.” by Sarnia de la Mare Chapter One: New York Where the Noise Began—and Where it Ended Up The room was hot, rank with beer and body odour, lights flickering through cigarette smoke. CBGB wasn’t a temple so much as a sewer mouth, coughing up sound. Patti Smith stood on the lip of the stage, lean and electric, her hair a dark storm around a face that refused to smile. She wasn’t pretty, and that was the point. Her voice cracked, sneered, soared. Every syllable spat into the microphone was an act of defiance: against the industry, against gender, against the idea that art should behave itself. This was 1975, and something unnameable was happening in New York’s Bowery district. The Velvet Underground had already cracked the veneer of polite rock; Television, Talking Heads, and Blondie were tuning up in neighbouring basements. But the noise that mattered wasn’t just musical—it was philosophical. It was the sound of ownership. Women, for the first time in rock’s messy history, weren’t waiting to be discovered or desired. They were occupying. Patti Smith declared that rock was “the highest form of art,” and she meant it in the most primitive way. No polish, no permission. A microphone, a reverb pedal, a poem. Her androgyny was not a costume but a weapon, and her performances blurred the line between invocation and insurrection. Debbie Harry followed in sequins, weaponising glamour the same way Smith weaponised language. Blondie was art-school subversion in disco drag: irony laced with fury. And yet, while New York was birthing the attitude, London was preparing the revolution. Across the Atlantic, teenage girls were trading safety pins and spray paint for microphones. They watched news of the Ramones and Television through grainy photographs and thought, we can do that too — and better. Poly Styrene’s voice was the anti-pop snarl the world didn’t know it needed. When she screamed “Oh bondage! Up yours!” it was both a declaration and a diagnosis — a manifesto for every woman who had been sold a fantasy of femininity wrapped in plastic. Siouxsie Sioux, cool as chrome, made aggression look regal. Viv Albertine of The Slits shredded the last vestiges of “nice girl” decorum on her guitar strings, her riffs a middle finger to etiquette. If New York had created the noise, Britain gave it a body — loud, imperfect, and defiantly female. The American scene made rebellion sound intelligent; the British scene made it look dangerous. Punk had crossed the ocean and slipped into latex and eyeliner. Vivienne Westwood’s boutique, SEX, became a laboratory for reinvention. Jordan Mooney prowled its shop floor like a high priestess of confrontation, her painted face and peroxide hair an affront to every office secretary in Britain. Westwood’s designs were part costume, part commentary, reminding the world that the female body could be armour as easily as ornament. The British women of punk didn’t ask to join the movement — they were the movement. Their anger was domestic and political, their rebellion both aesthetic and existential. They screamed not just to be heard, but to rewrite the rules of hearing itself. By 1978, the revolution had exported itself again — to Europe, to zines, to the underground film scene, to girls recording demos on cheap cassette decks. The scream had become a language. II. The Silence Before the Scream Before punk, there was a pause — a long, uncomfortable one. Women in rock existed, but they were exceptions, not architects. They were allowed to sing, to shimmer, to ache, but never to threaten. The microphone was a prop, the guitar a novelty, and the industry a closed door disguised as a velvet rope. The 1960s had promised liberation, but the revolution came wrapped in miniskirts and camera flashes. The women of pop were sold as fantasies: perfect hair, perfect heartbreak, perfect obedience. Dusty Springfield, Marianne Faithfull, Sandie Shaw — all voices of exquisite restraint, each framed by a male producer, a male songwriter, a male idea of what a woman should sound like. Even those who broke through the mould — Janis Joplin’s raw howl, Grace Slick’s acid command, Nico’s haunted detachment — were treated as aberrations, not prophets. They were “wild,” “difficult,” “tragic.” Rock critics fetishised their pain but ignored their craft. The mythology of self-destruction became the only narrative permitted to a woman who sang too loudly. The industry loved its muses and tolerated its sirens, but it had no vocabulary for women who wanted to make noise rather than music. The studio was male, the stage was male, even the rebellion was male. The Rolling Stones could swagger through sex and politics with impunity; a woman with the same energy...

Comments

Контактный email для правообладателей: [email protected] © 2017 - 2025

Отказ от ответственности - Disclaimer Правообладателям - DMCA Условия использования сайта - TOS



Карта сайта 1 Карта сайта 2 Карта сайта 3 Карта сайта 4 Карта сайта 5