That was far from what those who’d marveled at her mute beauty would have imagined her to sound like back in 1964, but such was Faithfull’s subversive power. She upended the expectations of all sorts of feminine stereotypes. NY Times
You should not be able to guess that an article is written by a woman or a gay man just from the content of the piece. But as soon as I hit that paragraph above, I knew that this was a woman writing about another woman and leveraging whatever modest achievements she had into a statement on the secret and unrecognized fantastic achievements of women that have been suppressed and minimized by our patriarchal, sexist society.
Undoubtedly, there are genuine cases. There is also a lot of bullshit. Marianne Faithful was a hot looking young ingenue in 1965 when she was spotted by a promoter at a party and chosen to be packaged, promoted, and sold by the music industry. She got a recording contract, studio time, backup instrumentalists, producers, arrangers, and so on, all by virtue of having a pleasing face and robust figure. She became an even bigger celebrity by virtue of her relationship with Mick Jagger, and her notoriety as the “naked woman” found in Keith Richards’ apartment when the Stones were arrested for drug possession.
Her “success” and fame and notoriety are all entirely due to the machinery of the pop music industry and celebrity culture. She was a product of male fantasy and female aspiration.
She could sing a little. She couldn’t act very well. She was pretty. Her most well-known songs were all written by other artists, mostly men. Lindsay Zoladz would like to have you believe that she caused Mick Jagger to think deeply and write good lyrics and therefore deserves some of the credit for the Rolling Stones success. That’s a very, very thin line of reason.
Soladz declares that “she upended the expectations of all sorts of feminine stereotypes”.
What she did do was lots of drugs, to the point where her child had to be put into care. Her most arresting work, “Broken English”, is the product of good studio engineering and arrangements and the exploitation of her broken voice and reputation. A curiosity, worth a listen or two, but far from subverting anything it caters to a not uncommon trope of abject surrender: I am a victim, of drugs, of pop culture, of men, and myself. I am the spurned woman. I am fucking mad.