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I'm old enough to remember when The Runaways stirred a lot of reaction among rock fans -- especially concupiscent teenage hoodlums like me. I was 16 when they issued their first LP and I remember seeing their photo in Creem magazine and saying to msyelf, "An all-chick rock 'n' roll band? Playing their own instruments? Weird."Yeah, there had always been chick singers, but mostly they tended toward sappy love-song stuff or -- far, far worse -- whiny folk-music nonsense a la Joan Baez. And then there was Heart: A real rock band fronted by the Wilson sisters, who could honest-to-God play guitar. But an all-chick band? Absurd.
The big obstacle to such a project? Well, whoever heard of a rock 'n' roll drummer with a vagina? Get real. That probably had something to do with why The Runaways, as a band, mostly sucked. But when Joan Jett went solo, she rocked.
So I'm looking forward to The Runaways, especially the steamy nude shower scenes and the part where Joan gets all butch-dominant with Cherie Currie . . .
Oh, wait a minute. That stuff's not actually in the movie. Those were the fantasies of a concupiscent teenage hoodlum circa 1976. UPDATE: Little Miss Attila informs me that I have neglected to note her online shrine of her schoolgirl crush on Joan Jett. Attila is living proof that not ever ex-lesbian is all preachy-and-overcompensating-a-bit-too-much. Her erstwhile preferences are admitted but not shoved down our throats.
That last figure of speech reminds me of another 1976 hoodlum fantasy scenario involving Joan Jett and Cherie Currie, but I digress . . .
And, hey, what's with this Lita Ford fan club in the comments down there? She never impressed me as particularly hot. I'm all about Joan and Cherie, OK? You want chicks who are famous for actually playing guitar, there's Melissa Etheridge . . . uh-oh. I'm about to digress again, aren't I?
UPDATE II: Little Miss Attila links back, mentioning another chick-rocker from the '70s, Suzi Quatro, who was hot. The mnemonic trigger now sparks a dim memory from when I was maybe 14 or 15 and briefly had a thing for Toni Tennille. My adolescent erotic interests were idiosyncratic and eclectic and . . . well, bad and sinful in ways too disgusting to admit. To confess, in 2009, that I once felt amorous stirrings toward a woman whose hits included "Muskrat Love," should give you a hint of how monstrously depraved I was.
