Tag Archives: masculinity

Dad rock and pursuit of stylistic comfort

The term “dad rock” was coined in 2007 with the release of Wilco‘s sixth studio album, Sky blue sky, when a review by Pitchfork’s Rob Mitchum described the album as reflecting the band’s “dad rock gene . . . the stylistic equivalent of a wardrobe change into sweatpants and a tank top”. Mitchum characterized it as a pejorative term associated with passivity and domestication, highlighting Wilco’s shift towards comfort and complacency in their music. This review marked the first printed mention of “dad rock”, linking it to bands that, having once been popular, now rely on basic rock heritage influences without pushing creative boundaries. The label also evokes themes of domesticity and the pursuit of stylistic comfort.

While “dad rock” is often used pejoratively, some artists embrace the label, reflecting a binary perspective in online media. Platforms like Reddit, YouTube, TikTok, and streaming services showcase a diverse array of artists associated with dad rock–from Meat Loaf, Blink-182, and MGMT to classic rock icons including the Rolling Stones, the Beatles, and Led Zeppelin. Playlists and compilation albums on these platforms highlight the genre’s wide-ranging influences, encompassing subgenres from 1980s hard and soft rock to 2010s indie rock.

The “dad” modifier also signifies both a masculine archetype and an aging demographic, as rock culture has historically been deeply rooted in masculine experiences, often sidelining women and others. The significance of celebrating rock’s male-dominated eras, such as its 1950s roots and the British invasion, underscores how rock has been deeply associated with masculine identities and imagery. Media formats such as magazines, television, and radio have been designed primarily for male audiences, contributing to the exclusion of women from music history and their absence in the rock canon.

Dad rock by year of release.

Dad rock by artist gender.

Dad rock follows this trajectory and is defined as guitar-based popular music characterized by canonical conventions, primarily produced by men of an age to father younger generations. The genre encompasses music of the baby boomer generation or is created by aging male artists after their peak commercial and critical success. Classic or canonical rock is often described as dad rock because of its male dominance and roots from the 1960s to 1980s. As Wilco’s Jeff Tweedy (see first image, right) notes, the term “dad rock” often equates simply to rock itself, representing the essence of the rock ethos. Given the processes that shape meaning in rock culture, virtually all rock music could at some point be labeled as dad rock.

This according to “I tried to have a father but instead I had a dad: Defining dad rock” by Charlotte Markowitsch (Rock music studies 11/1 [2024] 107–122; RILM Abstracts of Music Literature, 2024-4840).

An example of a dad rock playlist.

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Filed under Gender and sexuality, Mass media, Music industry, Music magazines, Popular music, Reception

Extra Fancy’s visceral queercore as discursive space

In 1996, Atlantic Records released—and almost immediately abandoned—a queercore album that boldly asserted a fiercely aggressive, macho gay male identity. Extra Fancy’s Sinnerman tackled themes such as sadomasochism, violent retaliation against gay-bashing, and life with HIV, all filtered through a punk-driven sonic intensity that matched the raw aggression of its lyrics. Although the band’s work was overtly queer in content, only lead singer Brian Grillo was openly gay. Grillo’s commanding physicality, including his muscular frame, butch attire, shaved head, and confrontational stage presence, projected a radical gay male persona steeped in anger and defiance. His gravelly vocal delivery evoked the hardcore and alternative masculinity of Henry Rollins, Kurt Cobain, and Eddie Vedder–as he performed shirtless, pounding a fifty-gallon oil drum, owning the stage with visceral bravado. Nearly a decade later, Extra Fancy received near-iconic status in David Ciminelli and Ken Knox’s book Homocore: The loud and raucous rise of queer rock, even as the authors noted that Grillo “never had a desire to be anything other than a performer who rocked—regardless of his sexual orientation”.

Brian Grillo poses with an oil drum.
Extra Fancy poses with fans. Photo: Extra Fancy Facebook page.

The surge of gay and lesbian visibility in 1990s popular culture revealed the limited discursive space within which queer identity was permitted to exist in mainstream U.S. society–a homonormative framework that Extra Fancy vehemently resisted. Brian Grillo’s representation of gay male identity served as a radical rejection of this structure. The band’s title track, Sinnerman, is a reinterpretation of the traditional gospel song Sinner man, originally recorded by The Weavers in the late 1950s and later popularized by Nina Simone’s iconic 1960s rendition. Once emblematic of the liberationist Christian ethos that fueled the civil rights movement, the song was repurposed by Extra Fancy to subvert more dogmatic religious narratives and to spotlight systemic inequality through a distinctly queer lens.

Sinnerman cover art.

The “queer” in queercore signals identities that exist outside rigid heteronormative constructs, yet it does not imply a unified or cohesive community. As Jack Halberstam notes, “In mainstream gay, lesbian, and trans communities in the United States, battles rage about what group occupies the more transgressive or aggrieved position.” Queercore music often seeks to challenge binary understandings of gender and sexuality; however, the multiplicity of identities encompassed by the term makes it difficult–if not impossible–for any band or collective to serve as a definitive representative. This complexity is reflected in the musical output of the most celebrated queercore acts, whose styles are as varied as the identities they seek to express.

This according to “The erotics of an oil drum: Queercore, gay macho, and the defiant sexuality of Extra Fancy’s Sinnerman” by Kevin Schwandt (Women & music: A journal of gender and culture 13 [2009] 76–87; RILM Abstracts of Music Literature, 2009-13027).

Related Bibliolore posts:

https://bibliolore.org/2018/05/17/queercore-and-all-girl-bands/

https://bibliolore.org/2021/12/23/queer-musicology-an-annotated-bibliography/

https://bibliolore.org/2023/06/26/drag-lip-syncing-and-haptic-aurality/

https://bibliolore.org/2020/02/27/queering-bruce-springsteen/

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Filed under Gender and sexuality, Performers, Politics, Popular music, Voice

Makmende, the Kenyan global pop icon superhero

The video for the song Ha-he by the Kenyan experimental pop music group Just a Band features a character named Makmende Amerudi as its protagonist. Within a week of its release on YouTube, Ha-he received nearly 25,000 views and fans began creating their own original Makmende tales, videos, and artwork, leading global media outlets to label Makmende “Kenya’s first viral internet sensation”. Using a contemporary style of hand-held camerawork and shallow depth of field, the video’s graphics, characters, and storylines are reminiscent of 1970s blaxploitation films. As the mysterious tough-guy protagonist, Makmende appears more comfortable sneering than smiling, and like other blaxploitation characters, he sports an Afro hairstyle, open dress shirt exposing his chest, disco-style pants, and dark aviator sunglasses. Other male characters in the video are similarly dressed, while the only female (the damsel in distress) wears a natural short hairstyle, large hoop earrings, a headscarf, and tight pants, reminiscent of blaxploitation icon Pam Grier. Multiple camera angles in the video are reminiscent of the “bullet time” visual effect in The Matrix, and near the end of the video, Makmende ties a red necktie around his head, drawing parallels to Japanese samurai and cult vigilante Rambo.

As technological innovators, young, urban Kenyans seized the moment to reappropriate outdated stereotypes of weakness into aspirations of strength as they projected Kenya into a global online conversation. Through this meme, Makmende became more than a fictional superhero; he represented Kenya’s present and future. While some have considered Makmende as an example of a transnational cultural flow originating in the Global South, this meme, in its cultural and social context, can also be attributed to how and why Kenyans used Makmende to represent themselves. While many video memes are rooted in imitation and parody, the participatory playfulness surrounding Makmende created a “meme of aspiration” through which certain Kenyans collectively reimagined a hypermasculine hero who could lead the nation toward political and economic stability at home and cultural and technological prominence abroad.

Read more in “Makmende Amerudi: Kenya’s collective reimagining as a meme of aspiration” by Brian Ekdale and Melissa Tully (Critical studies in media communication 31/4 [2014], 283–298).

Watch Makmende in action in the video for Just a Band’s Ha-he below.

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Filed under Africa, Gender and sexuality, Mass media, Politics, Popular music