Felicity Ward: Dear Reputable Music Magazine Editor
Dear Reputable Music Magazine Editor,
There’s a serious, unaddressed problem within the music industry. I’m talking about music that makes me want to have sex with you. There are some songs and some bands that make me want to grab a man by the collar, push him and his pelvis against a wall, and plant one on him. Then, say nothing, drop my business card at his feet & mouth the words “you weren’t special,” as I walk away.
Here are the problems with that particular scenario:
Number 1) I don’t have a business card.
Number 2) That is sexual assault.
Number 3) I don’t even know this guy; what if he has lip herpes.
Number 4) How do I know there’s a wall there if it’s a hypothetical situation?
And the list goes on. There is music that exists that deludes me into thinking with all the sexual confidence of a porn star or a dog. Think about it: dogs are pretty sexually confident. They go up to a stranger’s arse, give it a sniff, decide whether it’s something they want, jump on & hump on. I’m not into it, I just respect it. Anyway, that’s beside the point.
Here’s what I mean. On one occasion I remember getting ready for work. Now if I had no music playing at the time, I may have left the house fully dressed. But…because I had the Pixies’ Tame blaring in my ears, I left the house wearing nothing but heels, thick stockings and a “long enough” business shirt a la Carrie Bradshaw. It wasn’t until I was half way through my gig that I had to say the words, “You’re right, sir, I’m not wearing any pants” before I understood that this wasn’t the time, nor the place for a high stage, low-set audience and no protective measure between us.
These songs make me think that I should whisper to a guy “I fold up like a cardboard box?” That doesn’t make me sound sexy; it makes me sound disabled. And if you’re still wondering: yes, I slept alone those nights.
Bands need to tone it back. When I listen to the Black Keys, I’m not sure I’m not pregnant afterwards; that’s how sexy it is. Once I thought my imaginary baby was kicking-turns out it was doing the Hustle: even it couldn’t fight the funk.
And this is very different to music that makes you feel in love.
No. This is music that takes a little friend called Sexual Insecurity and gives it a line of cocaine, a push up bra and a finger in the arse.
And it is doing damage to thousands of mediocre people that could otherwise be setting their sexual bar at a realistic level. There is a statistic, that I have made up, whereby the music of Sharon Jones & The Dap Kings increases sexual hubris and proportionate amounts of disappointment by 67%. That is devastating, mostly because of its scientific inaccuracy.
This is a pandemic that needs an antibiotic and Dr. Ward is prescribing three days of Joni Mitchell and a turtleneck.
We say no to you, we say no to cock rock & we say no to Best Bonk Songs Of All Time Compilation albums.
Felicity Ward performs her show, Honestly at Melbourne Town Hall’s Portico Room until April 24. It’s at 8.15pm Tuesday – Saturday. Tickets are $18-$26.90 from Ticketaster online, 1300 660 013, or at the door.