Black eyeliner, lipstick, mascara, and the whole makeup kit and kaboodle are back — or at least backstage, on the dressing room tables of emo, punk, and rock bands trotting out the “glam” look yet again.
Why are all of these guys, many in hard-edged bands beloved by young men who wouldn't dream of dipping into their sisters' lip gloss, suddenly discussing the merits of Revlon vs. L'Oreal?
The answer lies less in a renewed musical interest in exploring androgyny than in our collective comfort level with such images in popular culture.
PHOTO: AP
In short, they're making up and rocking out because they can.
Certainly the phenomenon can't be ignored, as a look at this year's MTV Video Music Awards indicates. Years of exposure to boys in boas and fake eyelashes has made it possible for a new breed of rockers like Panic at the Disco (which won video of the year), My Chemical Romance, AFI, and 30 Seconds to Mars to play dress-up without anyone questioning their sexuality or making much of a stink at all.
Of course, a little glitter decorating your five o'clock shadow is not a novelty. Think of the sparkles dotting the cheeks of T. Rex's Marc Bolan in the early 1970s, or most influentially, the kabuki makeup fancied by David Bowie in his Ziggy Stardust heyday.
These were reactions to the gritty rock ethos of 1960s groups, from the Rolling Stones to the Doors.
“The creation of overtly artificial theatrical personae onstage ... was a very significant move because you were coming right off the '60s, where that kind of thing was anathema,” explains Philip Auslander, the author of Performing Glam Rock: Gender and Theatricality in Popular Music.
But for Bowie (bi-curious and intellectually inclined) and his ilk, androgyny was also a commentary on the rigidity of gender roles. Boys did not wear dresses; as a result, Bowie was routinely asked about his sexuality and forced to get defensive when talking about his theatrical flamboyance on chat shows.
The new crop of fops is responding less to gender roles, which have gotten blurrier and looser over time, than musical styles — especially the harder-than-hardcore machismo of hip-hop and rap rock during the past 10 years.
The members of Panic at the Disco recently marveled in a magazine interview — one that detailed their hour-long pre-show makeup ritual — that the jocks who used to taunt them in the hallways are now front and center at their shows.
Indeed, the music that once got you stuffed into a locker is now in heavy rotation in the locker room.
Bowie excepted, many glam-rock stars of the first wave were merely seeking shock value with their “man” dresses and platform shoes, as they continued to sing hard-rocking songs about girls.
Later performers emphasized horror (Alice Cooper) or shtick (Kiss) to shock parents and engage teen audiences. (Descendants like Marilyn Manson carried on these traditions). You'd be hard-pressed to find an angry mainstream talk show host these days demanding to know why Jared Leto of 30 Seconds to Mars wears fingernail polish and whether that makes him unfit to be a role model.
In part, that's because over time bands of so many genres have swathed themselves in eyeliner as to render the gesture, by now, almost meaningless.
Denizens of Los Angeles' avowedly hetero metal scene like Motley Crue and Poison flipped the script, recognizing that chicks dig guys who aren't afraid to look pretty for them. While they may have shouted at the devil, their ruby red lips also called out to girls, girls, girls, who could hang backstage and offer application tips.
Auslander says there is some evidence that it was really the girlfriends and stylists of folks like Bowie and Bolan who were the architects of those early looks. Killers lead singer Brandon Flowers credits his four sisters.
New Romantics like Duran Duran often appeared as manicured as the models who co-starred with them in their fashion-forward videos.
Here were men who were pretty but virile, unafraid to look good, the original metrosexuals. The Cure's Robert Smith used his smeared pucker as a striking visual commentary on his otherness. Later, gay artists like then-closeted Boy George, of Culture Club, signaled their sexuality and tipped a cap to heroes like Bowie through their outlandish dress and makeup.
Then came the Seattle grunge phenomenon of the 1990s — all flannel, no lip liner — a stern reaction to the pouting hair bands, gender benders, and glam metal boys.
Which brings us back to the present boom. It's hard to find origins, but you can certainly draw a line from the pop-punk of Green Day (whose lead singer, Billie Joe Armstrong, knows his way around the makeup case) to the melodrama of Panic at the Disco and My Chemical Romance.
A sociological underpinning, though, remains elusive. Lyric sheets and interviews turn up scant evidence that the new acts are applying the war paint for any purpose other than the sheer frivolous joy of it.
Indeed, for many of the baby glam rockers, dressing up seems like a natural outgrowth of membership in the high school drama club. And for bands with barely legal members like Panic and Fall Out Boy, that's pretty recent history. Boston acts have also picked up the torch, with artists like the Dresden Dolls and Humanwine rooting their performances in more theatrical traditions of performance art, mime, and cabaret — styles explored by glam father figure Bowie.
You get the sense watching certain of the new bands that visual kick is the chief draw. They are putting on a show, after all, and if eyeliner will help amplify their tearful tales of bruised hearts and angst-ridden romances, well then praise Ziggy Stardust and pass the eyelash curler.
And if there are some corners of the globe that still look askance at a little creative face paint, then all the better, as titillation is rarely a detriment to the bottom line. “In all kinds of performances,” Auslander points out, “as time goes on things become conventions.”
That today's teen rock fan doesn't think twice about the gloss on Panic guitarist Ryan Ross's lips or the puffy shirt worn by singer Brendon Urie is a sign that traditional gender signifiers are relaxed to the point of irrelevance.
But perhaps not for long. In our accelerated culture, today's “TRL” glam boys are tomorrow's mustachioed, flannel-wearing retro rockers.
Witness the transformation of the Killers from New Romantic fops to Springsteen-styled purveyors of anthem rock.
The fascination is still with the past — in this case Born to Run-era grandeur — but the costume has changed yet again.
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