With trance-inducing “ah-ah-ahs” and cushy layers of synth, Laurie Anderson’s “O Superman” aurally transports its listener to a dreamy-digital state that might feel something like sleeping in a robotic womb. Turns out - this is a rather pleasant place to be. Upon its release in 1981, Laurie Anderson’s techno-filial anthem hit number two on British pop charts. Laurie Anderson was rocketed to international fame, where she has stayed ever since, constantly experimenting with our perceptions of society, technology, and art itself.
Anderson's radio play preceded my existence by almost a decade, so there was little chance that she would appear on my pop culture radar. I would’ve missed her completely if my roommate hadn’t said to me in passing: “Hey, I saw this performance artist from the ‘80s onstage last week. My mom used to be into her… Yeah, it was cool, my mom laughed when I told her I went.” I ambled curiously on over to Youtube, watched “O Superman,” and spent a good twenty minutes transfixed, hitting replay, replay.
The central image of “O Superman” is Anderson's suited arm, illuminated and enlarged as if by an overhead projector. The intended gender of this arm is unclear. Given the title of the song, the obvious assumption is that the arm belongs to Superman. After all, it is an arm with a clenched fist and curled bicep – the very symbols of masculine force and productivity (a nod to Rosy the Riveter, perhaps?). Yet, while the first lyric of “O Superman” is its namesake, the closing refrain is “So hold me, Mom, in your long arms.” Well... whose arm is it? Superman or Mom? Anderson keeps us guessing.
The '80s came and went, and while contemporaries David Bowie and Annie Lennox left behind the androgyny of the day, Laurie Anderson still actively engages it. Her use of a voice filter to lower her voice to a masculine register, previously dubbed “The Voice of Authority”, has recently evolved into an entire male alter-ego: Fenway Bergamot, historian. The name comes compliments of husband Lou Reed, but the personality is quintessential Laurie Anderson. And there are certainly perks to having an alter-ego. Anderson has mentioned that "any kind of stupid thing that I wouldn't do in front of people, I can have Fenway do."
Fenway Bergamot, featured on the cover of Anderson's latest album, Homeland
I’ll admit it: part of my fascination with Laurie Anderson is precisely this playful attitude toward gender. Yes, my intrinsic aversion to the mass consumption of female sexuality that influences, if not rules, the rise and fall of women celebrities certainly has some hand in all of this. Laurie Anderson breaks up this algorithm. I recently watched a performance by The Neo-Futurists (an experimental Chicago based Theater troupe) in which three actors held up Tina Fey’s Bossypants and repeatedly yelled “TINA FEY! A WOMAN! THE WOMAN’S WOMAN! TINA FEY!” The point was well taken: being a brilliant and successful woman that does not rely on the laurels of her sex still comes as a shock to our collective consciousness. Laurie Anderson is all of these things, so why aren't we running around yelling WOMAN at her?
Anderson's relationship with gender, like much of her work, is puzzling. In 1985, Laurie Anderson discussed her performative choices with Mother Jones Magazine (whose current Co-editor Clara Jeffrey will be discussing journalism at CHF's fall festival):
“I have always thought of myself as a narrator, first of all. I wear audio masks in my work – meaning, electronically, I can be this shoe salesman, or this demented cop, or some other character. And I do that to avoid the expectations of what it means to be a woman on a stage.”
But gender considerations are not at the core of Anderson's work. Before she was masquerading as Mr. Bergamot, inventing the talking stick, and organizing symphonies of car horns, Laurie Anderson told stories. She told stories at dinner when she was a child – one of eight in her family – and quickly realized that simply recounting experiences was not very exciting.[1] She told stories when she taught Art History at New York colleges, filling in forgotten details with her own and projecting images into the dark. She told Salon magazine last year that “it's not about gender. It's about telling stories. […] What I do is tell stories.”
And when Laurie Anderson tells stories, we are left with questions. I suspect Anderson wouldn't want it any other way: “It's always good to end with a question.”[2]
It will be good to hear some answers, too, at her Festival program this fall.
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Non-digital Sources:
[1] Gordon, Mel. “Laurie Anderson: Performance Artist.” The Drama Review: TDR. June 1980. MIT Press.
[2] Ross, Clifford. “Laurie Anderson.” BOMB. Fall 1999. New Art Publications.
Francis W. Parker School - Diane and David B Heller Auditorium: Nov.7, 7:30 PM
Tags: Laurie Anderson, gender, androgyny, pop, superman, music, performance, Lou Reed, alter ego, storytelling
