Bikini Kill and the Boy who Left Distinct Complicity

Did a group of women start a movement and a band at the same time? Did that movement send ripples to the social fabric after the band broke up? Could a young man face hard truths, listen, and learn? If we are talking about Bikini Kill, yes.

We are going to start on the right side of history here. Bikini Kill over the decades has been misrepresented by journalists. It makes sourcing facts about them and the Riot Grrrl movement harder than a casual google search. To make sure we do not add to the BS, we will start with their own words from the about page in their website.

“Bikini Kill is a feminist punk band that was based in Olympia, WA and Washington, DC, forming in 1990 and breaking up in 1997. Kathleen Hanna sang, Tobi Vail played drums, Billy Karren (a.k.a. Billy Boredom) played guitar and Kathi Wilcox played bass. Sometimes they switched instruments. Bikini Kill is credited with instigating the Riot Grrrl movement in the early 90’s via their political lyrics, zines and confrontational live show.

The band started touring in June 1991. In addition to touring the US several times, they also toured Europe, Australia and Japan. Bikini Kill recorded and released a demo tape, two EP’s, two LP’s and three singles. Their demo tape was self-released, while their first two records came out as a full length CD/Tape and their singles were posthumously collected on CD.

Bikini Kill believed that if all girls started bands the world would change. They actively encouraged women and girls to start bands as a means of cultural resistance. Bikini Kill was inspired by seeing Babes in Toyland play live and attempted to incite female participation and build feminist community via the punk scene. They used touring as a way to create an underground network between girls who played music, put on shows and made fanzines. This independent media making and informal network created a forum for multiple female voices to be heard.“

Kathleen Hanna, the lead singer and one of the principal songwriters, was working at McDonalds and had worked as dancer at a strip club to pay tuition when she and some other women started Bikini Kill. This was not a suburban upper class limousine democrat, but someone with a life lived and experiences had even at a young age. She and her founding friends knew their plight and the power of music.

From the inception, a movement was interwoven into their mission. The movement and the band were symbiotic.

The punk scene was very white male dominated and second wave feminism was very white middle class. They set out to challenge all of it, not hold back and propel women forward together. With the battle cry of “girls to the front” and a Riot Girl Manifesto that was part of a Zine, they provided and lived the blue print for change.

As a zine and music propelled the underground movement it grew at a breakneck pace. So did toxic men challenging them violently at concerts and media mis-portrayals of what they and the movement was and was not. Bikini Kill never backed down from the violence of men and they always made sure they were telling their story with zines that the right people read to counter the poorly sourced narrative of the media (EDITOR’s NOTE: As a journalist, some of the coverage I found on Bikini Kill from normally credible sources was disheartening. Our ethics are listed in our about page. Due diligence is not that fucking hard and zines and public events were readily available for proper sourcing).

Even after the band broke up in 1997, the Riot Grrrl movement and third wave feminism still march on fighting a difficult and important fight with intersection and inclusion that the 2nd wave was lacking.

As far as the music? The music was damn good. It was solid punk with compelling vocals and lyrics that were not only in your face, but introspective, compelling, and full of social statements delivered artistically that held no punches back.

In the song “Feels Blind” Bikini Kill calls out apathy. It’s also a call to action for those who want to challenge the norms of and fight for a better world instead of just memeing and talking about it. They set the tone of what that looked like in real life. Riot Grrrls and third wave feminism moved strongly into a new era or intersectional inclusivity and collaboration. Feminism in the 3rd wave is a space for women of color, all socio economic backgrounds, sexuality, and gender inclusive (pro trans).

Myself and Gen X Watch’s Music and Social columnist Jeremy Ritch both know that Riot Grrrl formed our feminism. As a parent of a non binary young adult, I have seen first hand the harm of a feminism that does not include my child. The third wave welcomes my child. The result? My kid is on the frontlines working at an organization providing relief for victims of domestic violence and sexual assault. They are also Northern Illinois University’s first graduate in their Gender and Women’s Studies major. The third wave was a part of that road and they give as well as they receive and dedicate their life to that mission.

There is so much more to say on this and we are going to be saying more later. Our next quarterly magazine is going to be dedicated to the Riot Grrrl movement and the 3rd wave and the website will have a comprehensive story that is still a month or two away from being complete. With all the poor representation out there, we want to ensure we get it right.

My exposure to Bikini Kill and the Riot Grrl movement happened in it’s very early days. It was still in formation, but a woman I knew who worked at a record store would introduce me to it. The experience would change me and force me to challenge my alleged Christian values.

I had been back home in Illinois for a few days after meeting a woman named Sarah in Ohio at a Joan Jett Concert. Sarah and I spent five days, mostly in her studio apartment, exploring each other and life. The time had been intense and I could not get her and our conversations out of my head. I had recently broken up with someone, but this was not a rebound, it was something else. Something powerful with someone powerful.

I owed a promise to a friend named Catalina who worked at a record store called Sound Warehouse in Lemont, Illinois. The last time we saw each other was on a long journey home together after we found each other on opposite sides of an abortion demonstration. I was on the wrong side and the night got violent as the “pro-life” group I was with took to violence on a woman. We got to safety and away from the violence and owned that I was on the wrong side.

I was nervous about seeing her again and hoped we were still okay. I parked my 1977 Thunderbird into the parking lot of Sound Warehouse and walked inside.

Any fears I had about the status of our friendship faded within moments of entering the record store. I heard my name and turned right into a running hug from her and the smell of Final Net filled my senses as her hair pressed against my face.

“Soooo,” she said, “How was Ohio? Did you have fun? Did it clear your head?”

“I had a great time!” I said.

“And the fuzzy head?” I blushed a little and avoided eye contact. “Uh oh! You okay?”

“I met a girl at a Joan Jett concert. It’s a long story. Another day when you’re not working. “

“Joan Jett?” She exclaimed. “She’s awesome! So that not working thing! You free this friday to hit up a show and then hang out with the friends I told you about?” Hearing her say that further showed me that we were okay. After that messed up night and the last week I had, I really needed a good friend.

“I’m in!” I said. “But first! It’s about time I listened to you and got myself a Siouxsie and the Banshees album. You pick. I buy.”

Catalina grabbed the sleeve of my linen sports coat and brought me to the imports section of the store.

She held two albums in her hands and sucked in air between her teeth.

“I’m temped to give you her best, but I know you,” I raised an eyebrow and she smirked as she continued, “So we’re gonna ease you into Siouxsie with Tinderbox! You’ll like it and want more.” I started to walk toward the register and she stopped me. “Hang on!” she said. “I got something for you. I gotta go in back to get it”

She came out with a paper bag and handed it to me. It felt like there was a magazine and something else inside.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“A zine and a cassette for you to check out before Friday.”

“A what?”

“A zine! It’s a….”she stopped for a moment. “Just read it.”

We talked briefly about logistics for Friday night. I was driving, she was buying my ticket for the show, and I was on my own dime for dinner after the show with her friends. She rang me up for the album.

I got in my Thunderbird, turned on the interior light and opened the paper bag. The cassette had a pink background with a heart with a banner that read, “Revolution Girl Style Now” the band’s name was Bikini Kill and the cassette cover looked like a photocopy of a photocopy on pink paper stock. The zine was a simple hand bound magazine with the same photo copy aesthetic as the cassette cover. It was called Bikini Girl and it had the words Girl Power on the bottom below a hand drawn graphic.

I lit a cigarette, started the T-bird, and popped the cassette in the player having no clue my world was about to get larger.

When the first song came on all I noticed was the roughness of the cut, but then the lyrics started and everything fit. This was punk that in some ways reminded me of Poly Styrene and maybe even a little of the Slits. But the Poly Styrene shadows hit me on an emotional level because she reminded me of a lost love story in my life with a woman named Cassie.

This was different and did not hold back. And with each cut was a reaction from me. BJ’s at the carnival? Was this song about rape? Is daddy a boyfriend or her dad? Does it matter? And holy shit this is powerful and uncomfortable. But the discomfort I knew I had to lean into. I got home before the cassette was finished and stayed in my car until it was over.

I went inside, went upstairs, put Tinderbox on the record player, lit a cigarette and grabbed the Zine. Something called the Riot Grrl Manifesto caught me. Everything else in the zine reinforced the manifesto. This was powerful and it had a lot to say that I never thought of before. It forced me to see what culture had done to women and they were fighting with music and zines for change and empowerment.

As Siouxsie sang about Pompei’s destruction I stared at my phone. I wanted to call Sarah. I almost walked up to the phone, but decided to finish the album, re-read the zine, and go to bed.

Friday came and as I was getting ready to pick up Catalina the keys to my T-Bird were sitting by my phone. As I reached for the keys I stared at the phone. I wanted to call Sarah. I touched the handset for a few moments, grabbed my keys instead and went to get Catalina.

We were off to a warehouse venue in Chicago. I honestly do not remember what it was called or where it was at. It was a decent sized crowd and the smell of weed and cigarettes filled the parking lot as we got closer to the crowded entrance. This was definitely a punk scene but it seemed different and for a few moments I could not put my finger on it.

It was diverse.

There were more women than men. The racial diversity was a stark contrast to the normal white punk scene I was used to seeing. There was even a tall black trans women in the crowd. It was simply unlike anything I had seen before. Catalina introduced me to all of her friends. It was 3 other women whose names I do not remember. 2 of them were Mexican and the other was white. They were very welcoming. One of them said something to Catalina in Spanish while nodding her head to me. She laughed and said something back.

As we walked to the seatless and riser-less main stage area for the show, Catalina said into my ear, “She wanted to know if pretty boy was cool or an asshole. I told her you’re getting there on cool but not an asshole.” I signed thank you to her.

It was 3 local all girl punk bands. The first band was rough and they had even copped to the fact that they had only been playing instruments for a few months. They just wanted to scream. Scream they did. The drummer was good. The rest of it was a mess, but after reading the zine, I realized that was not the point.

As they performed some girls started working their way to the front in a pack. As they were doing so I saw a small group of Straight Edge guys. I could not see what happened, but one or two of the guys did something that included unwelcome contact on one of the girls. Within seconds all of the Straight Edge dudes were surrounded and getting yelled at by women inches from their faces.

I had never seen those guys without their bravado bs. They backed down with their toxic tails tucked under their legs and left without so much as a middle finger in the air. I enjoyed how that story ended.

The second band to play was a 3 girl band dressed very simply. A lead singer who played lead guitar, a bass player, and a drummer. They were good and did classic punk covers in their set. But they closed out with two songs from the Bikini Kill cassette I had. Carnival and Suck My Left One. I knew these! I sang along and noticed Catalina and her friends and some other women looking at me grooving to the songs.

At the end of their closing number, Suck My Left One, the lead singer slung her guitar behind her pulled up her shirt and held her left breast in her hand as she screamed “Suck.My.Left.One” The energy in the room went wild by the women and every guy looked uncomfortable. I think I got it.

The third band felt and looked like a German Goth band. Their songs were original and had a distinct sound to it. Their set was shorter than I thought it would be. They stopped and the lead singer with wild black hair and white and black makeup on her face, challenged the women in the audience to tell their stories. One after another they came to the lead singer and took the mic and spoke.

Most of them told stories of being victims of date rape, or told graphic things that a dad or uncle or brother did to them. One girl just grabbed the mic and cried aloud. She wept into the microphone and it was powerful. No words, just sobbing.

There were other stories, but I noticed something about the rape stories.

The stories were not about being victims. These were not being told as part of healing. This was unity and power and strength. I was silent and moved and just saw pain and shame being turned into power and unity.

At one point I heard a guy heckle them and scream for them to play some fucking music. I could not see where he was, but it sounded like it did not go well for him. Within a minute or two the set of mic grabbing continued. They dared to tell their stories and make a difference.

The show ended and Catalina and her friends and I went to a 24 hour diner down the street from the warehouse just past a few bars.

Most of the people at the show either went home or to one of the bars so the diner was pretty quiet. The five of us sat at a table. The white girl had a canvas satchel full of zines that she passed around. One of them was hers. I found out that she was a big deal in the Chicago Zine community and she put out new ones weekly.

All of the zines had a DIY aesthetic to them. Compared to the various newspapers I had freelanced for, they were rough, unpolished, and the grammar was imperfect. They were powerful, honest, and the hand drawn or clipped art enhanced the vibe. It was art meets writing in raw underground power.

I asked her and one of the other girls who was a leader of a group of women that were starting to meet questions. I wanted to understand this movement they kept talking about. One of them mentioned the third wave of feminism. I asked her what that meant.

“Do you remember the suffrage movement?” I nodded. “That was the first wave. It made big steps but we needed more. That was when the second wave hit in the 60’s and the 70’s. Because of them we got the pill, credit cards and mortgages, husbands can be charged for raping their wives, and then bam bam bam! Title IX, Equal Pay Act, Roe V Wade. That was the second wave.”

I nodded as I nibbled at my patty melt and sipped my cherry coke.

“But they weren’t perfect and got complacent in the 80’s. 1st and 2nd has always been racist and they don’t like sex workers or working class women and there’s a lot of lesbians who feel shut out too. And if you’re trans? No room at the inn for you either. The next wave needs to get off their asses, be powerful, and not be Archie Bunker’s wet dream. All sisters need to not only have a seat at the table, but decide what’s for dinner.”

Dinner and conversation continued and one of the girls asked me what I thought of the night. I took a deep breath, lit a cigarette at the table and said, “I’m sorry”

They all looked at me confused. So I continued.

“I’m part of the problem and I’m sorry. Over the last few days I have been listening to the Bikini Kill cassette and reading the Bikini Kill zine. Then I went to the library and got Gloria Steinem’s ‘Outrageous acts and everyday rebellions’. This night just sealed the deal. I need to stop going to church and quit Bible College. I’m honestly not even sure how I ended up there but I think I’m hurting women.”

“Go on.” she replied.

“The stuff they are teaching me in Bible College about women is wrong. And I had a girl dump me not too long ago and I think it was because of my faith. And lately, I’m happy she did that. But I met this other woman in Ohio last week and I think I’d like to get to know her more and that only happens if I stop this shit.” It felt good to say.

“You want to leave for her or for you?”

“For her,” I said. “And for you and Catalina and the rest of the women at the table and our waitress. For my mom and my grandmother.” I paused. “And for me so I can sleep at night. I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry.”

They all stared at me. The one who was asking me the questions looked at me, took a drag from her Virginia Slim, and said as she made a sign of the cross, “Thank you. You’re forgiven.”

On our way back to the suburbs I told Catalina about Sarah and our five days together. Then I asked Catalina if I even had a right to ask Sarah for more time together with what I have done as a Christian and the pro life and anti gay stuff.

“Pat!” She said. “You’re not Ted Bundy or a mass rapist or anything. You’re just guy who’s part of a machine. Keep going and as for as having a right to ask Sarah for seconds, that’s up to Sarah, not me. But you gotta make that call sooner rather than later. Every tick of the clock is affecting her if she likes you too.”

I dropped off Catalina, and turned on the local jazz station on the radio. On the way home I was on a rural road and noticed a small park. I pulled into it, sat on the warm hood of my T bird, stared at the stars, and smoked a cigarette.

What I wanted to be was a reporter. I didn’t want to be a pastor and I hated what every church did to me. And as I saw a shooting star streak across the night I realized the spell they cast over me broke. I was done. I was going to finish out this semester I just started for the credits, pretend I still liked them, and bail. Honestly? I hated the subculture and it felt good to think that. I felt free and I felt lighter.

I slept in until almost noon. When I woke up I made some coffee and ate a honey bun. I stared at the phone. It felt like it stared back. I grabbed it and dialed Sarah’s number. It rang twice and she answered. I smiled hearing her voice and hearing Joan Jett in the background.

“Yo!” She said. My heart was in my throat. I paused. “Hello?” she said.

“Hi Sarah.”

“Pat! Hey! Hi! Ummm…hi. You actually called.”

“I want to see you again, Sarah. I think about you a lot and I like you.” I just got it out.

“Well the weather is nice here too!” She said. “So let’s skip all the small talk. What do you want?”

“When I left, you told me I could stay. Change my major.” I said.

“I know.” She repied.

“Offer still open?”

“Pat,” she said seriously, “I had just finished 5 days of almost non stop fucking with a guy who listened to me and cared about what I think about things and didn’t try to change me. I also was high most of the time.”

I took a deep breath. At least she did not say I was a nice guy. She continued talking.

“But I have been thinking about you a lot too and I don’t want to say that I miss you, but I miss you. But this major change thing. If that’s what you want to be, you should do that.”

“I don’t want to be a pastor. I don’t even wanna do the church thing anymore. That’s my choice. With or without you that’s my choice.”

“Then we should talk about this,” Sarah said.

“Okay. When do you want to do that?” I asked.

“Now.”

Dedicated to Erika

Every Feminist Friday is Dedicated to my friend Erika!

Erika died on Christmas leaving behind a family that has immediate needs.

Click here to read the story of how Erika saved my life when we were teenagers.

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