By Paige Rodriguez
Trigger Warning: This story discusses sexual assault.
Anger is not at the top of the list when people think of the word femininity. Its expressive quality is usually linked to men and the ‘violent nature’ of masculinity. The stereotype of masculine and feminine traits is problematic all on its own, and it is just as troublesome when we find it in music. Anger is an emotion felt by everyone, regardless of their gender. However, for women, demonstrating it in their music has become a tool for free expression.
In a patriarchy, women are taught to take up as little space as possible, which includes how they display emotion. In the journal article “Women’s Anger and Feminist Therapy” by Karen Mueller and Margie Whittaker Leidig, they pinpoint why women are hesitant to display anger. According to Mueller and Leidig, “Probably the most important and pervasive is the conditioning that women receive throughout their lives. This conditioning subtly teaches women to ‘be nice,’ ‘be sweet,’ and above all ‘don't be angry.’ These messages are obvious in our children's school texts, television messages, and in the role modeling we all received when we were young girls.”
This psychological conditioning prevents women from sharing their anger out loud. Although every woman has experienced this emotion, it’s much less likely that we will let people know when we are angry. For female musicians exploring this emotion in their music, it is crucial to utilize obvious signals of anger. It must become a performance because we are used to downplaying and hiding it. A prime example of this particular voice of anger is in Mothra’s “Don’t Touch Me.”
Mothra is a Eugene-based indie-rock band which includes Belle (lead singer and bassist), Krista Kroiss (lead guitarist), JP McCarthy (singer and bassist), and Rena Frampton (drummer). Belle wrote “Don’t Touch Me,” which I’ve seen performed several times. The first time I heard it, I was stopped in my tracks — my eyes glued to the band. The electricity of their performance astounded me. I was overwhelmed by the expressiveness of each band member. Belle, someone who would tell an amusing anecdote and giggle between sets, now had an intense scowl on her face and a growl to her voice. Belle’s vocal style of screeching, yelling, and emphasizing a lower register is particular and purposeful. She has crafted a technique to fit the emotion of the song.
Belle shared a few words with me over Instagram DMs about her experience using “Don’t Touch Me” as a vessel for her anger.
Q: How do you feel when performing Don’t Touch Me?
A: When I’m singing don’t touch me, I try to feel the condescending and annoyed energy I would have with anyone who doesn’t respect my space. Mostly for men who touch people without consent. I try to think of all the feelings I have that are angry and try to allow myself to feel that way. I feel like a lot of women aren’t allowed to be angry or it’s seen as impolite, but anger is an important step in processing big feelings.
Q: How do you want the audience to feel when you play the song?
A: It’s a funny song. I’m aware of it. I want them to have fun and dance and all that. But though it’s a song that people can laugh at, it's also a song used to portray an important message. I want people to know that there are angry people like me who will call them out for shitty behavior. I want people to feel like they can hold people accountable for their inappropriate actions. People, especially women, are angry, and a lot of us are feeling pretty aggressive about it. We're not just toys to play with. I want people to take me seriously. Regardless of the humourous cadence, I will be taken seriously.
Q: What made you want to write the song?
A: I wrote the song because, like many women, I am a victim of sexual assault. Women hold shame and pain in their hearts and bodies because of these traumatic events. It happens way too often. Especially in settings like a show where people are getting drunk. I want abusers to know that I won’t tolerate it. I want them to know that they should be holding the guilt and the shame because they are the only ones to blame. So I’ll call them out with the loud pointing of a finger this song is, and tell them not to touch me or her and tell them how much of a waste this behavior makes them.
Q: What kind of emotions came up when you wrote the song?
A: I was angry. I had been sexually assaulted. And I was taught all of my life to give myself away in every way. To be selfless, including when I felt frustrated or angry. It was a brutal assault. It left me with wounds, physical and mental. I felt powerless for a really long time, and I was stuck in a really dark place. I needed to get out of that place. I was tired of not being able to feel anger. I was tired of feeling small. Like most of my songs, I write through my feelings. I’m talking to the feelings and myself. I chose to give myself power in this song and take the power from my abuser. I wanted to point that finger loud and proud and put him in his place.
In addition, the lyrics emphasize a direct message to someone invading her boundaries:
“Don’t touch me
It’s really gross
You’re the kind that I hate the most
I’m not trying to say it again
I’ll kill you…”
Utilizing words like “hate” and “kill” paints a picture of rage suitable to the song's theme. The command of “Don’t Touch Me!” as a direct reaction to being disrespected is accompanied by various insults and threats — befitting anyone who would push past your boundaries.
The threat of sexual violence is no stranger to women. According to the CDC, over half of women have experienced sexual violence involving physical contact in their lifetime. This means that women are constantly struggling with the fear or trauma of sexual assault. It’s only appropriate that when writing music, this would come up, and it would occupy a sense of anger and frustration. Overwhelmingly, women need an outlet to express the ways they’ve been mistreated. Music just so happens to be one of those outlets.
Executing anger and frustration through vocals and lyrics has a long history of empowerment. Throughout several decades, women have fought to become a part of the rock scene, which so desperately kept them out. Today, female rock musicians perform around the world and have no doubt gained success. However, the spirit of anger, which has been a staple of the genre, still has a rightful place. Women still face a lack of bodily autonomy, objectification, and so many other daily occurrences that just make you want to scream. Female rock musicians will keep yelling, screeching, and screaming as long as there’s something to do so about. Which will most likely be forever.