Kathleen Hanna isn’t just a punk singer–she’s a feminist icon. Frustrated by the casual sexism she encountered in the punk rock scene of the late 80s, she formed Bikini Kill in the early 90s to strike back through loud music and angry declarations of female solidarity. The punk feminist movement Bikini Kill spearheaded was known as Riot Grrrl, and through Hanna’s music, activism, and writings, published mainly in handmade, xeroxed zines, she became a hero and an inspiration to a generation of young women seeking a positive alternative to the objectification-oriented culture of Hollywood and the mainstream media.
Hanna continued to make music after Bikini Kill’s breakup with synth-punk group Le Tigre, who released three albums between 1999 and 2004. She now fronts The Julie Ruin, which expands an earlier one-off solo project into a quintet whose first album, Run Fast, was released to widespread acclaim in September 2013 by DC’s Dischord Records.
The Punk Singer (2013) tells the story of Hanna’s life from her early days with Bikini Kill, playing house shows and stapling zines, to tours with Le Tigre and The Julie Ruin. Told through raw footage and in interviews with those closest to Hanna, the journey from underground feminist icon to modern touring performer takes a disheartening turn as the punk singer’s unexplained 2005 disappearance from the public eye is finally laid bare.
This article is taken from the brand new print issue of RVA Magazine. Click here to read the digital version of this issue.
Kathleen Hanna isn’t just a punk singer–she’s a feminist icon. Frustrated by the casual sexism she encountered in the punk rock scene of the late 80s, she formed Bikini Kill in the early 90s to strike back through loud music and angry declarations of female solidarity. The punk feminist movement Bikini Kill spearheaded was known as Riot Grrrl, and through Hanna’s music, activism, and writings, published mainly in handmade, xeroxed zines, she became a hero and an inspiration to a generation of young women seeking a positive alternative to the objectification-oriented culture of Hollywood and the mainstream media.
Hanna continued to make music after Bikini Kill’s breakup with synth-punk group Le Tigre, who released three albums between 1999 and 2004. She now fronts The Julie Ruin, which expands an earlier one-off solo project into a quintet whose first album, Run Fast, was released to widespread acclaim in September 2013 by DC’s Dischord Records.
The Punk Singer (2013) tells the story of Hanna’s life from her early days with Bikini Kill, playing house shows and stapling zines, to tours with Le Tigre and The Julie Ruin. Told through raw footage and in interviews with those closest to Hanna, the journey from underground feminist icon to modern touring performer takes a disheartening turn as the punk singer’s unexplained 2005 disappearance from the public eye is finally laid bare.
This article is taken from the brand new print issue of RVA Magazine. Click here to read the digital version of this issue.
About 300,000 Americans are infected with Lyme Disease a year, a statistic Hanna has become all too familiar with. The movie documents her condition, often in brutal detail; a point Hanna soon realized would be key to not only her life, but the impact she hoped to make on others.
Hanna spoke with me via telephone ahead of The Punk Singer’s opening here in Richmond late last year. She mentioned her own Richmond connection: a sister and a medical procedure which would impact her outlook on life forever.
Through your career and through the movie, there’s a heavy stress on feminism, and the work you did in the 90’s; how do you feel about the conversations around gender and feminism on the internet?
I try and stay off the internet as much as possible because I really like living my real life. I kinda have been dealing with an illness and trying to get better, so that’s what I’ve been dealing with. What I have come across, just because I am musician and I have been doing shows and I have a new record out, I have come across a lot of conversations about gender and music that have been interesting. Younger women are starting to be like, “Hey, it isn’t fair that I am being treated this way.” [I’m] feeling that the same battles we were fighting in the nineties are being fought again. But this time because of the internet, these younger women are able to connect with each other and commiserate. I think it’s creating a loose-knit community of women who maybe are different and don’t agree on everything, but they do agree with the feeling that the treatment they’re getting is not right. So, they’re kinda banding together, and for me that’s really exciting. That’s kind of the angle that I come from.
The movie talks about the zines you created alongside your musical projects. Do you see parallels between the work you did then with any modern musical or artistic releases?
I can definitely draw lines from Pussy Riot. [I] see them wearing bright and colorful costumes (at least when they weren’t in jail), calling themselves Pussy Riot–which obviously has a relationship to Riot Grrrl–and having this very pastiche style, and also incorporating this kind of performance art. I definitely see the thing with fanzines. I see more women in music doing blogs and communicating with fans through twitter, and we were communicating with our fans or people who would hopefully wanted to following along with us [by] doing our zine. We did it because there was no internet, and that really transferred into my music.
You see some acts getting real creative like you did–making their own album cases and art.
I definitely think that younger musicians, kids today–I hate saying that!–and musicians in the underground scene have a longing for a pre-internet culture that they never knew. They long for the physical contact. They’re like, trading cassettes again. Some of [the recordings] can be really, like, “What?” It’s bad quality, don’t do that, go digital. It’s better quality! To me, everything digital is just so interesting, but I still think bank machines are a revelation. Money, coming out of a wall! That’s so crazy! It’s interesting that people are getting back into craft, and I think it does have a lot to do with nostalgia for something that people never knew. I feel lucky that I have gotten to see both worlds.
There’s a lot in the movie about the violence and aggression at shows in the 90’s. Do you think that aggression still exists in shows today?
You know, I am not really sure. I am much more into like the downtown New York Cabaret scene, and there’s definitely not [laughs] a lot of violence there. But, when I do go to shows, I don’t see it. I am not hearing people yelling at women to shut up and play, but I am also not seeing as many performers in general talking between songs about, “Hey, this is what my song’s about.” I don’t know why musicians are like this, but we don’t take the time to realize, “Hey, this is a fucking show. I am putting on a show.” You know, and trying to really connect with an audience like they’re there. Sometimes it makes me kinda depressed. I don’t really want to see a show where its just song-song-song-song-song song, I mean, I could just listen to the album at home.
Does the modern music scene carry a message like your music did?
I think a lot of people who are in music are still speaking out against racism and sexism and homophobia in music. Definitely. I don’t think it’s necessarily any better or any worse. To add on to what I was saying before, what makes me sad is that, you know, one of the reasons why we got yelled at and so much shit when we were on stage is because I talked between songs. It was like, “Shut up, just play. Shut up, just play.” When I see any kind of band who clearly has really great ideas and is doing really interesting stuff, but they’re not talking between songs and letting people know “these are my ideas,” or “this is what’s behind what I am doing” or “what we’re doing as a team,” it feels very safe. I feel like there’s this unwritten thing that’s like, “Just don’t say anything,” you know? And there may be these women who are like, “I may be in a band but I’m not a feminist;” “I don’t wanna call myself a feminist;” “I don’t hate men!” [laughs]
The movie is made up of lots and lots of footage of you throughout your career – starting really early and moving on up until today. It even shows some of the more visually stunning aspects of your illness in the film. Do you feel particularly comfortable being filmed? Do you feel like there’s a role the camera plays in your life?
I have never really felt comfortable on camera until I got sick. [Laughs] And then I felt like, “I have to do this. I have to make sure my work is documented.” Because you just don’t know. People just don’t know how bad it gets, and how uncertain your future looks, when you have this illness. I was kinda like, let’s just do this. All my ego went out the door, all my worrying about what I look like. I did style myself with bright pretty colors in frame. [laughs] You know, there was a lot of stuff where I was like, “I am just going to say everything.” I am going to be on camera, and when I have the chance to do a photo shoot for my band, I am going to do it. I might as well enjoy this now, whereas before I hated being on camera or getting my photo taken. I just saw it as a bummer. And then I was like, “I have to do this now, otherwise I might not get a chance later.”
Did you think it was particularly important to talk about the illness in this documentary–both your own experience and the illness in general?
Absolutely. I mean, it was really important to me that it was in there, but it wasn’t the focus. I thought while I am telling the truth, I have to tell the truth about this illness. You know, during the filming, I got this diagnosis, and I was very ill and didn’t know what I had. Both of those things were in the film because it was just the truth.
I had an experience where I was having seizures because of my neurological problem, and they were very strange seizures. I went online and typed “lyme seizures,” and this youtube video came up of this girl, and I saw her seizure. It was exactly what mine looked like. I was so grateful for her for doing that, and I knew how many people probably came down on her, and they were like, “You’re faking it!” I knew how gutsy it was to do that, and when I thought, “I don’t want to look bad on camera,” or “I don’t wanna put this in, it will make me look weak” or whatever, I just think about her and what she did for me. I need to do this.
I have had such an overwhelming response. I think that was the tipping point. I’m getting masses of emails, I am being interviewed by people who have had the disease. Every time I get interviewed I am getting at least one or two people who have a similar story, and that’s pretty intense.
Do you have any advice for feminist activists fighting against the repression going on in VA at the lawmaker’s level? Changes to the state’s abortion laws, ultrasound bills, etc.
I guess I would say support each other and don’t focus on the crazy people. Focusing on the crazy people is just not worth it, you know what I mean?
You know, I actually had an abortion in Richmond. I was only fifteen and they made me write an essay about why I should be allowed to have an abortion, and the doctor wouldn’t speak. They told me he had laryngitis, but as soon as they wheeled me out of the room, I heard him speaking with the nurses. I realize he was afraid. He had a mask on the whole time; he was afraid he would have his identity known. And this was in 1985. Now you’d think it should be so much better than that. My experience wasn’t that horrible–I could write a mean essay.
I mean, it was degrading to have to do that to get access to health care. I worked down the street at McDonalds to make some money. I was only there [in Richmond] for the summer. I got pregnant and didn’t want my mom or anybody to know, so I went to stay with my sister, who went to VCU; worked at McDonald’s; and saved up my money to have an abortion. And had a sub sandwich after.
Bikini Kill actually played there [in Richmond], and my sister got up on stage and sang with us. It was amazing. The other thing that was really incredible about playing in Richmond was that a woman who worked in a juvenile detention hall brought like 20 girls to the show. I was like, “How’d she manage to do this?” I will never know. It was one of the coolest shows I have ever played. It was so great to see. And it has an underground music scene, because when I lived there, there was a record store [Plan 9]. I would go there to try and meet people and talk to them, but it was really hard.
I didn’t know you had such a Richmond connection. I know you’ve toured with your new band The Julie Ruin; do you have plans to come to Richmond?
Definitely. We are touring the states in the spring, and it’s important for me to get there. I’ve lived so many places since I was a kid and there are certain places you have to go back and have a good experience of. You know what I mean? My next experience [in Richmond] was really bad; we played over a burrito place and the sound guy was like, someone’s neighbor’s cousin who didn’t know what he was doing, and treated us really poorly. There were like 30 people there. It was in like, 2000, the early days of Le Tigre.
I’d love to catch you at a place like Strange Matter here in Richmond. It’s a smaller venue.
That sounds great. How big of a venue? Like 300 people?
Yeah, maybe less than that?
That might be great… I’d rather have a packed house than a half empty theatre.
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thepunksinger.com
thejulieruinband.com
dogwoof.com/thepunksinger
