There are a glut of incredible females around, so why aren’t they headlining, why aren’t they on more bills… WHY IS THIS STILL A THING??


eve-barlow:

It’s noon on Saturday at Glastonbury 2007 and me and my best girls wake up determined to trundle through mud wastelands to cheer on the one, the only, The Pipettes. Remember them? Brighton’s all-female band responsible for such gems as ‘Your Kisses Are Wasted On Me’? We saw ourselves in The Pipettes, dressed like The Pipettes, sang The Pipettes on the bus to lectures, wanted to be The Pipettes. Our first Glasto was planned around The Pipettes, so much so we hauled hungover ass across the Somerset Somme to show our solidarity because they were the indie babes we could be if we weren’t knee deep in Pilton muck, our hair a wash of dry shampoo and Scrumpy Jacks. They were the best we had during a year when Arctic MonkeysThe Killers and The Who headlined. So we stood in an empty field fit for thousands, hoping that next time The Pipettes might reach the zenith of joining the all-male, trad bands that were a shoe-in year after year. Not that we didn’t love/want to marry Alex Turner and Brandon Flowers (less Roger Daltrey), but we couldn’t identify with them as women. It’d be nice to celebrate an all-female collective like us at the top of the bill.

Sadly our efforts remain in vain. For all-female bands, the festival landscape is bleak. Last week a study revealed that a paltry 3.5% of the six biggest line-ups consist of all-female bands (compared to a whopping 43% all-male), but why the under-representation? Not to get all ‘wimmin in music’ by cobbling together musicians who have nothing in common besides their genitals but… we have the strongest array of all-female bands on the scene for bygones. SavagesWarpaintHaimHoneybloodPinsTegan & SaraDum Dum GirlsEx Hex… The caliber is definitely high enough to not just play the biggest festivals, but sell them by being confidently positioned way up on the bill. These bands can smash through any glass ceiling of prejudice, just like a Jay Z or Metallica at Glastonbury. Isn’t it sad that we can challenge fans to be flexible with genres, but still can’t push them enough to celebrate female groups - actually FEMALES in general – as big draws?

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lovingsylvia:

Sylvia and Ted “interrupted in a spat,” Chalot Square, London, July 25, 1960 photographed by Hans Beacham for a portfolio of images of British writers

"They were sullen. Hughes was rude. He was going to get more attention than she, and she didn’t like that while he did. He invited me outside and told me I needed to know that he loathed photographers". Hughes particularly wanted to keep Plath out of the way. "His wish, of course, forced me to photograph them together", Beacham said; and later; Hughes acknowledged that he had been "an ogre."

—Diane Middlebrook, Her Husband: Hughes and Plath-a Marriage, 2003

(via laurasnapes)

My mantelpiece.

My mantelpiece.

“That’s what I’d like to do, I think. Have a long, cool, clean nail, right in the middle of my head. That would calm me. And no one would blame me - a girl with a nail in the centre of her skull. They would put me in a hospital - and, because I would be broken, and ill, I would be safe. If I broke all my bones, no one would hate me. If I was in trouble. If I was at the bottom of the stairs. If I was smashed up. If I died.
If you can’t save yourself from attack by being powerful - and I, palpably, have no power. My hands are empty - then perhaps you can save yourself from attack by being ruined, instead. Blow yourself up before the enemy gets to you.”

Caitlin Moran, How to Build a Girl (via hjwhutnow)

(via fuckyeahcaitlinmoran)

thescienceofexcellence:

Dear Henry,
{…}
“You destroy and you suffer… I often see how you sob over what you destroy, how you want to stop and just worship; and you do stop, and then a moment later you are at it again with a knife, like a surgeon.
In some strange way I am not with you, I am against you. We are destined to hold two truths. I love you and I fight you.
And you, the same. We will be stronger for it, each of us, stronger with our love and our hate.
When you caricature and nail down and tear apart, I hate you. I want to answer you, not with weak or stupid poetry but with a wonder as strong as your reality. I want to fight your surgical knife with all the occult and magical forces of the world.  I want to both combat you and submit to you, because as a woman I adore your courage, I adore the pain it engenders, I adore the struggle you carry in yourself, which I alone fully realize, I adore your terrifying sincerity. I adore your strength.
You are right. The world is to be caricatured, but I know, too, how much you can love what you caricature. How much passion there is in you! It is that I feel in you. I do not feel the savant, the revealer, the observer. When I am with you, it is the blood I sense.
This time you are not going to awake from the ecstasies of our encounters to reveal only the ridiculous moments.
No. You won’t do it this time, because while we live together, while you examine my indelible rouge effacing the design of my mouth, spreading like a blood after an operation (you kissed my mouth and it was gone, the design of it was lost as in a watercolor, the colors ran).
While you do that, I seize upon the wonder that is brushing by (the wonder, oh, the wonder of my lying under you), and I bring it to you, I breathe it around you.

thescienceofexcellence:

Dear Henry,
{…}
“You destroy and you suffer… I often see how you sob over what you destroy, how you want to stop and just worship; and you do stop, and then a moment later you are at it again with a knife, like a surgeon.
In some strange way I am not with you, I am against you. We are destined to hold two truths. I love you and I fight you.
And you, the same. We will be stronger for it, each of us, stronger with our love and our hate.
When you caricature and nail down and tear apart, I hate you. I want to answer you, not with weak or stupid poetry but with a wonder as strong as your reality. I want to fight your surgical knife with all the occult and magical forces of the world. I want to both combat you and submit to you, because as a woman I adore your courage, I adore the pain it engenders, I adore the struggle you carry in yourself, which I alone fully realize, I adore your terrifying sincerity. I adore your strength.
You are right. The world is to be caricatured, but I know, too, how much you can love what you caricature. How much passion there is in you! It is that I feel in you. I do not feel the savant, the revealer, the observer. When I am with you, it is the blood I sense.
This time you are not going to awake from the ecstasies of our encounters to reveal only the ridiculous moments.
No. You won’t do it this time, because while we live together, while you examine my indelible rouge effacing the design of my mouth, spreading like a blood after an operation (you kissed my mouth and it was gone, the design of it was lost as in a watercolor, the colors ran).
While you do that, I seize upon the wonder that is brushing by (the wonder, oh, the wonder of my lying under you), and I bring it to you, I breathe it around you.

(via sculpturedchaos)

And in the blue corner..

And in the blue corner..

iamtheanchoress:

In great company here with Perrier’s pick of the five hottest acts. Thanks guys! http://sperrier.com/1o5F1Y0

iamtheanchoress:

In great company here with Perrier’s pick of the five hottest acts. Thanks guys! http://sperrier.com/1o5F1Y0

iamtheanchoress:

Double playlist action for the single!

iamtheanchoress:

Double playlist action for the single!

iamtheanchoress:

The Anchoress is Artist of the Week on BBC Radio Wales. Listen back to Catherine’s interview with Eleri Sion.