Latest news with #BikiniKill
Yahoo
20-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
‘The Buccaneers' Season 2 Soundtrack: From Griff To Sabrina Carpenter
With its first season Apple TV+'s The Buccaneers made a name for itself with its focus on all women musicians featured in the show's soundtrack, with needle drops like Taylor Swift's 'Nothing New,' Japanese Breakfast's 'Be Sweet,' Brandi Carlile's 'Broken Horses' and Bikini Kill's 'Rebel Girl' featured in the first season, to name a few. Swift's 'Nothing New' was used in the scene where Nan St. George (Kristine Frøseth) and her friends made their society debut, similar to the procession of Netflix's Bridgerton in white dresses and feathers. Later on in the first season, songs like 'Kissing Lessons' by Lucy Dacus, 'Cedar' by Gracie Abrams,' 'Bite the Hand' by boygenius, 'Want Want' by Maggie Rogers' and another Taylor Swift anthem, 'Long Live' highlighted the high stakes of Nan's decisions. Season 2 continues in the vein of mostly women artsits featured on the soundtrack. It also features Chloé Caillet's remix of 'North American Scum' by the Emily Kokal featuring Miya Folick. Jennifer Smuckler and Christina Azarian serve as music leads on the show, and Stella Mozgawa worked as executive music producer, collaborating with artists for certain songs featured in later episodes. More from Deadline 'The Buccaneers' Season 2 Casts Greg Wise, Maria Almeida, Grace Ambrose & Jacob Ifan Meet Leighton Meester's New Character In 'The Buccaneers' Season 2 Trailer As Nan Tries To 'Let Go' Of Guy 'Stick' Soundtrack: All The Songs You'll Hear In The Apple TV+ Golf Series Find the full list of songs in The Buccaneers, updated as each episode drops weekly, below: Episode 1 – 'The Duchess of Tintagel' 'Last Night's Mascara' by Griff 'Something to Burn' by Madi Diaz 'Looking at Me' by Sabrina Carpenter Best of Deadline 'Stick' Soundtrack: All The Songs You'll Hear In The Apple TV+ Golf Series 'Stick' Release Guide: When Do New Episodes Come Out? 2025 TV Series Renewals: Photo Gallery
Yahoo
07-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Yahoo
St. John's punk band Snitfit wants to evolve beyond its Riot Grrrl label
Cramped into guitarist Ruairi Hogan's parent's 90s-style basement, the band plays a new, unreleased tune — as hard and as fast as anything they've done so far. Punk songs are well-known for their brevity, but this one sneaks up on you with a breakdown that comes back around to a blistering verse. Drummer Dom Lamouche bashes away mercilessly on his kit, Hogan happily drives the song with their signature intensity, as singer Etta Cessac-Sinclair screams her lungs out into a megaphone while wearing a star-patterned aqua-coloured dress. They're still looking for a bass player, but this is Snitfit, a band that identifies as anti-capitalist and anti-fascist, and at times comes off aggressive politically. The teen punk group based in St. John's adopted the Riot Grrrl movement attributed to many female-led feminist acts over the years. But they're working hard to evolve beyond the movement's shortcomings. "In [Bikini Kill and Le Tigre's] Kathleen Hannah's autobiography, she talks about wanting to lean away from the title Riot Grrrl because, historically, it marginalized a bunch of people," said Cessac-Sinclair. "So we always call ourselves post-Riot Grrrl. I think that's what we are." That sentiment will be on full display on Saturday, when the band takes the stage during the annual Lawnya Vawnya festival in St. John's. Although the band is confident about the motivation, the group admits to sometimes feeling constrained by labels. They're mixing it up a bit on their upcoming efforts. It's obvious beneath the screaming, the ear-melting instrumentation, and the band's political views, there's a lot of love behind it all. "I feel you should go about educating people with love and not hatred," said Hogan, referring to his right-wing friends and the polarization of society. "It's very important to have compassion, but also a loud and clear voice." "I wrote a really long song [when] this article came out [some time ago]," Cessac-Sinclair says, describing the inspiration of one of Snitfit's upcoming tracks. "There were terrible photos showing how the planet is dying … a whole village is burning, a family is hiding under a bridge, and a baby's dying. So I read this article, cried, wrote down the description of each image, and that's one of the songs." The members have raised thousands for Palestine relief with their performances. "It doesn't feel nice to just talk about it and not do anything", Cessac-Sinclair said. Download our to sign up for push alerts for CBC Newfoundland and Labrador. Sign up for our . Click .
CBC
19-05-2025
- Entertainment
- CBC
How the '90s girl power movement turned into marketing
The phrase "girl power" was coined by Bikini Kill in the early 1990s, but its meaning was watered down later in the decade when angry radical women in music were followed by younger, less opinionated pop stars. But how did this happen? Culture critic at The Atlantic and Pulitzer Prize finalist Sophie Gilbert takes a deep dive into 1990s and 2000s pop culture in her new book, Girl on Girl: How Pop Culture Turned a Generation of Women Against Themselves, to find out. Today on Commotion, host Elamin Abdelmahmoud speaks with Gilbert about her new book, how this pop culture shift happened and how its effects continue to shape our current moment. WATCH | Today's episode on YouTube:
The Guardian
19-03-2025
- Entertainment
- The Guardian
A moment that changed me: I was an excruciatingly shy teenager. Then Courtney Love roared into my life
I had no tribe during my first three years of high school. Desperate to be accepted by the in-crowd, but sick with anxiety if I was invited to one of their parties, I had no idea who I was. I had spots, wonky teeth and my hair was lank. I was kind of gangly and excruciatingly shy. I didn't fit the mould, and I had no idea you could carve out your own space in the world. Bombarded with TV shows such as Beverly Hills 90210 and Baywatch, while poring over teen magazines, I compared myself with the glossy, wholesome models that I saw – and felt that I was failing. Everything changed when I first heard Courtney Love. I was kneeling on the floor next to my cheap 90s stacker system, aged 14. My boyfriend had lent me his copied tape of Hole's debut album, Pretty on the Inside, and nothing prepared me for what I felt when I first heard Love scream. Pressing play, the lyrics 'When I was a teenage whore' roared from my tinny little speakers. It sounded rebellious and raw – and like nothing you'd encounter in the 90210 district. I'd never heard a woman sing like that – and knowing that Love played guitar and wrote her own music and lyrics made it even more real. I played Garbadge Man over and over – the lines about 'letting the darkness up inside' felt strangely comforting. I didn't fully understand it – but I knew I wanted more. This was not female perfection; this was messy, undone and unfinished. Love's tights were ripped and her hair was unkempt, with dark roots given space to breathe. She made me realise that our flaws should be celebrated, not shamed and hidden. Hearing that album opened the door to more incredible female musicians – Babes in Toyland, the Breeders, Bikini Kill; women who were unafraid to turn themselves inside out and bare their chaotic souls. I fell acutely and chronically in love with all of them. Of course, I was still me – I wasn't Love, Kat Bjelland, Kim Deal or Kathleen Hanna, the frontwomen in these bands. I was never going to stand on stage and scream like that, and my teenage poetry was beyond cringe. But as I started becoming bolder, I found my own means of self-expression. I stopped hiding under baggy jeans and loose T-shirts because I was scared to be noticed. Instead, I made my fashion choices stand out more than my teeth and my spots ever did, swapping drab and boring clothes for charity-shop nightdresses, white fishnet tights and Mary Janes similar to those worn by my punk rock heroes. I smothered my lips in black cherry lipstick and lightened my hair with Sun In. It made me feel invincible. I realised that Love didn't sing because she had it all sussed; her lyrics were often about injustice, trauma and torture, not to mention misogyny and sexual violence. She sang about how women are expected to be, and about how we really are. She was proud to be a work in progress, and it made me realise that I didn't have to have it all figured out in order to say what I felt. My confidence grew year on year as I began to form my own opinions and speak up for myself. When I was younger, I was deemed 'difficult' for speaking out against the toxic culture at my workplace – but I refused to apologise, eventually walking away from a well-paid job in order to carve out a career as a freelancer. It wasn't easy but I no longer felt like I was compromising myself. I'm not perfect at being imperfect, either. I still panic about how I look and how I think I should look. I saw a play recently – Mary and the Hyenas, about the 18th-century writer and philosopher Mary Wollstonecraft, and there was a song about being a 'fully formed fucked-up woman', which struck a chord. I still listen to Hole, and all the bands I first fell in love with in the early 90s. They serve as an ongoing reminder that I needn't apologise for being angry. I know that, sometimes, I will get it wrong. Even now, 30 years later, Love remains the antithesis of beige. I don't agree with everything she has said, or sung about, or posted on social media, but her unapologetic spirit can never be called bland. I'm all for loud, imperfect women. They keep the world turning, the music blasting – and they help shy girls, as I once was, to find their voice. When Sally Killed Harry by Lucy Roth, the pseudonym for Lucy Nichol, is published on 27 March (Avon Books, £9.99). To support the Guardian and the the Observer, order your copy at Delivery charges may apply.
New York Times
18-02-2025
- Entertainment
- New York Times
Riot Grrrl Rebellion With Supernatural Cues
The narratively profuse mystery game Lost Records: Bloom and Rage is like living in a Bikini Kill song followed by a Phoebe Bridgers ballad. The four main characters who form the title band, Bloom and Rage, are strong together — even as teenagers, even when one describes herself as meek. Through the highs of anger and the depths of sadness, they search for deeper meaning through self-discovery as they come of age. It's freeing. It's feminist. It's powerful. But the rebellious grit, augmented by the game's mature themes, does more than amplify an energetic liberalism during this 1995 period of revelation. Everywhere the girls go in tiny Velvet Cove, Mich., they rock. Autumn, a spirited young woman of color, sings duets loudly with Nora, a gothy Joan Jett type who likes to push friends' buttons. Music plays an important part throughout Bloom, the first of the game's two episodes. (Rage is scheduled to be released in April.) The D.I.Y. riot grrrl essence here is inspiring, especially for those who lived through the time. And yet, there's a serene, attractive innocence when suburban boredom turns to goblincore-inspired escape. After Swann, the red-haired central character, is called 'fat' by bullies, she turns to filming everything with a video camera. (There's no idealized perfection here, a good, honest thing; every teen has zits, even Swann.) She explores a lurid forest. She sits at the water's muddy edge among the mushrooms, frogs and dragonflies, the height of Zen peacefulness. You can't help but appreciate her outsider essence. Even Thoreau would be jealous. Swann and her friends yearn for more than hanging at the local ice cream stand or watching movies at the multiplex. You can hear it in their words. All they care about is one another, their fleeting summer together, holding hands and making their art. They make fun of condom wrappers and heavy flow days because speaking truth is freeing. Just as in the Life Is Strange series, also by the French studio Don't Nod, the gameplay elements are light and not necessarily new. There's the convention of placing fuses correctly in a breaker box to get power running. But the play isn't the point, not really. It is in service of the story, which feels dramatic when it should be and, at the end, surprisingly melancholy. The game makes mistakes regarding pop culture history. Characters cite the found-footage horror film 'The Blair Witch Project,' though that movie wasn't released until 1999. They repeatedly use the anachronistic term 'bounce' (meaning 'leave'). The Furbys and Tamagotchis seen in Swann's room weren't sold until the late '90s. When the details are right, though, the game approaches perfection. Troll toys sit cute and big-eyed, a Newton's cradle clacks appealingly, and nods are made to films like 'Pulp Fiction.' At the practice garage, there are homemade mix cassettes featuring groups like Hole and Belly. It's here that Kat, an overall-wearing, occasionally furious writer, introduces 'See You in Hell,' the raucous tune that will be the group's anthem. (Unfortunately, you can't access the song to play it again when the episode is complete.) A mix of horror and science fiction becomes revealed when three of the band members reunite at a local dive bar 27 years after their brilliant but tragic summer together. Through snippets of reminiscences, you see that Swann leaves a cabin at midnight to videotape bizarre moths. They're suddenly, supernaturally colorful, surrounded by a fog of luminescent hues. They lead Swann to a seemingly bottomless sinkhole that radiates a purple glow. Then, back in the present day, a shoebox-size package addressed eerily to Bloom and Rage is brought to the bar. A 'Grey's Anatomy'-style cliffhanger is moving because it isn't just the girls who are friends. Invested in their stories and emotions, you've become close to them as well. The game's final episode promises to reveal all mysteries, perhaps violently and supernaturally. True to form, Bloom and Rage sings, 'I can tell I'll mess you up — when I see you in hell.' In riot grrrl fashion, they may indeed live their music.
