Fortunately there are many intelligent readers out there and one of them recently responded. Her name is Lise Brault and she lives in Montreal and she made a number of very interesting observations that I thought added to the debate. With her permission here are some of her comments.
Yesterday, while surfing the Net, I chanced upon an article you wrote back in 2001 about the lopsided boy/girl ratio among Prog lovers. As a long-time female Prog fan myself, I was happy to see that you, of all people, questioned what I so often pondered: Why don’t more women like Prog even though they keep showing up at Prog concerts?
Perhaps the ‘dirty’ word here is not so much Prog as Rock itself. Let me explain.
Prog has its roots in Rock, which means that in order to like Prog, you must enjoy Rock to start with. And it looks as though Rock is just not in the female blood, no more than Scharwtzneger movies are – although you do find the odd chick that likes dick flicks.
Back in the 60’s, I sensed that something very basic made my females friends rave about the Beatles’ ballads rather than Keith Richard’s raunchy guitar riffs. Indeed, I’ve always suspected that Rock’s raw physical/sexual energy (a testosterone-driven music if there is one) is something young adolescent males relate to more naturally than females, the same way guys take more readily to action-packed films.
Are we back to the ‘nature vs. nurture’ dilemma? Perhaps so, and a lot of it seems biologically predetermined to me. Take, for example, the noise factor in Rock, which is an integral part of its appeal (I'm sure you’ll agree that no Rock aficionado likes to hear his music at low volume).
Toys rhymes with boys, they say, and so does Noise. Just think of the different ways the two sexes perceive noise and you’ll understand why Rock is not a feminine favorite, especially for the average female with no particular ear for music. Have you ever noticed that it’s always males who hang around noisy construction sites? I bet you’ve never seen a single female grinning with delight while standing next to a blaring sledge hammer; the reason being that most women find loud noises threatening. If Rock’s noise is perceived by some guys as simply annoying, many girls feel downright assaulted by it, hence echoing your wife’s reaction (dark, scary, jarring, etc.).
Perhaps this difference of rapport with noise can be explained by the sexes’ different brain structures, as you suggested in your article. Perhaps females perceive not only the noise but also the ‘threat’ behind it. Come to think of it, humans are the only earthly animals known to actually enjoy noise because in nature, a loud noise is often a danger signal...
Rock’s high decibels, its booming bass and the heavy-duty machinery employed to maximize it at Rock and Prog concerts just don’t seem to be a female thing; although many females are willing to be dragged along at such events by their male friends (and there’s your
social pressure at work right here).
The main reason for the general female lack of interest in Prog, in my humble opinion, is its inherent Rock (read violent) element.
Take away the Rock in ProgRock and we’re left with music many females consider much more palatable: folk, blues, ethnic, etc. Of course, this utterly emasculates the genre, which then looses its raison d’être.
This being said, you’re probably wondering how I, a female, came to love Prog despite what I’ve said. First, let me say that I’m quite an odd ball to start with. I am 53 year old DINK (double income, no kids), I have quite an ear for music and although I have been exposed
to classical music early in life, I have craved Rock’s high-powered energy and been a musical rebel since the tender age of 5.
Way back in the mid-50’s, I recall my mom settling down every evening to practice her Chopin on the living room piano. I would then dash to the kitchen, turn the small radio on to a Montreal French AM station featuring Le Hit Parade Américain and would gulp down all the
Presley, Haley and Dion hits I could get before I was found out and had my ears boxed (my classically-trained mom considered Rock’n Roll downright vulgar).
By the end of the 60’s, psychedelic bands were making their way through the airwaves alongside many folk artists. Being a teenager then and hanging around with mostly girls my age, I wanted to be part of the scene and go to concerts; but my mere mentioning of Pink Floyd would
have my pals roll their eyes.
For the first time, I started to realize I was different. And believe me: being 17 and perceived as an outcast, musical or what not, is an excruciating experience.
I grew up, moved out on my own and one night, in 1973, having fallen asleep with the headphones on with my favorite FM Rock station playing, I had this most wonderful dream: I was walking in a pastoral scenery, a sunny country lane flanked on both side by gigantic colorful flowers all the way, flowers so tall they made me feel like Alice in Wonderland.
I suddenly awoke and to my utter amazement, the magical feeling still lingered. I was wide-awake and yet still soaring! Wow! I was elated and yet completely baffled by the miracle. It is then I realized that the fine thread linking me to the dream was the music still piping through the headphones. I had truly never heard such beautiful music before and listened to the whole track, totally mesmerized. What had actually prompted the dream were the opening notes of The Cinema Show. From then on, I fell for Prog and never looked back
Of course, it has been a lonely affair since then as I’ve rarely had the opportunity to share my musical enthusiasm with female friends, let alone drag them to Prog concerts. But that does not deter me from going Prog all the way. In fact, it is the only music that does it for me and I admit spending a fortune on the stuff.
Yes, I do get goose bumps and a lump in the throat every time I hear Camel’s Hour Candle. Pendragon’s A Man Could Die Out Here suite brings me close to ecstasy. As for Arena’s Skin Game: simply orgasmic (hey, Maybe it’s another quirk of faith, yielding to my DNA...). And I do
count on my folks to play After Crying's Tribute to Keith Emerson at my funeral – let them be fooled by the artists’ name, ha-ha!!!
Lise
Thanks Lise, you offer some great observations to ad to the discussion. And thanks to everyone who takes the time to read and sometimes respond. As always your comments are welcome. Happy listening.
