Fatal Women of Boston Rock

On November 19, I advanced a theory -- one of many, over the course of the past year; I'm going to have to do a theory round-up, later this week -- about Boston Rock. Riffing on Brett Milano's claim that some of the greatest songs to emerge from this city, including the Modern Lovers' "Modern World" and The Cars' "Just What I Needed," are about intellectual, slightly mysterious women, I argued (not in so many words) that the authors of these songs were sado-masochists attracted to Fatal Women who caused them pain, and that their songs were cries of revenge. I also suggested, half-seriously, that Mission of Burma's "Academy Fight Song" was written from the point of view of "a cool, educated young woman who was sick and tired of the obsessive attention paid to her by a would-be [Boston rocker] boyfriend."

Brainiac readers agreed with me (and Milano). Ed Park, an editor of The Believer who has Boston roots, buys it. And over at the intellectual blog Crooked Timber, Scott McLemee suggested that the Fatal Woman was first ventriloquized by a 1960s Boston band, Ultimate Spinach, which he describes as "a large group, consisting of unusually pretentious hippies with access to a lot of studio time." McLemee's exegesis of one Ultimate Spinach tune in particular is worth quoting at length:

"The Ballad of the Hip Death Goddess" [by Ultimate Spinach] opens with a very solemn guy describing her from what I hope is a safe distance:

See the glazed eyes
Touch the dead skin
Feel the cold lips
And know the warmth
Of the Hip Death Goddess.

Then a female singer with a rather lovely high voice starts channeling the H.D.G. herself. She invites you to come into her arms. There, she can "keep you safe from all harms." But don't believe her for a second, because she did not get that name by accident:

Kiss my lips for they are very nice
Kiss my lips and you will turn to ice.

She has a few other lines, with you ending up dead figuring into most of them. She has cold eyes that will free you from lies, and so forth. Then she disappears for a while and you get lots of guitar and theremin noodling over a sometimes rhythmically challenged bassline. I am not sure, but this may represent purgatory.

Very convincing evidence, indeed, Mr. McLemee.

Patrick Smith, Salon.com's "Ask the Pilot" columnist, who grew up in Revere, emails:

You cherry-picked your examples, but there must be something to it. How can there not be, considering the area's many prestigious high schools and universities, and the music and arts culture that inevitably springs up around such places. After all, this is Boston, not LA. Which reminds me, you left out Gang Green's song, "Snob."

Cambridge-based cat writer Clea Simon writes:

I assume you've heard the Robyn Hitchcock song, "I Wish I Were a Pretty Girl"? While Hitchcock plays that thought out to the obvious immediate sexual gratification, a male friend who'd heard it commented on the common fantasy -- often arising in psychoanalysis -- of being the desired object. What also struck me was the constant undercurrent of melancholy he found in the Boston sound. Put those two together...

Brett Milano, meanwhile, thought of some more examples. He emails:

Ultimate Spinach had "Ballad of the Hip Death Goddess." And there was a Revere band called Dry Ice (whose guitar player later joined the arena band Angel!) whose non-hit single "Mary is Alone" had this uplifting chorus: "Mary is alone and she wants to live/But all she sees is death." Sounds like the goth movement was way overdue.... Someone quoted [Boston's hit song] "More Than a Feeling" on one of the blogs and I was realizing that sorta fits. ["When I'm tired and thinking cold/I hide in my music, forget the day/And dream of a girl I used to know/I closed my eyes and she slipped away"] And of course, the Pixies! "is she weird, is she white, is she wedded to the night..."

Yep, I think it's safe to say that a particular strain of Boston Rock should be understood, from now on, as a latter-day Decadent movement, obsessed with the Fatal Woman.

Poor Juliana Hatfield! No wonder the Duxfield-raised rocker has so many songs about stalkers. ("Can I feel your tragic wrist/And can I have your cherry lips/Can I be born into this/You're the prettiest girl/You're the prettiest girl/You're the prettiest girl in the world/Come on, baby, give me some/Of your precious attention/Your honor I defend/From all the dirty old men," not to mention "Get up off me/I want coffee/My stalker is outside my door.") And no wonder the music press remains obsessed with her sex life. Back off, Boston rock creeps!