Viva La Cola!

Founded in January 2009, PubliCola is a blog about Seattle written by journalists who are dedicated to non-partisan, original daily reporting that prioritizes a balanced approach to news. Started by longtime local editor and award-winning reporter Josh Feit, PubliCola is the first online-only news site in state history to get media credentials to cover the state capitol.

PubliCola was off and running. In June 2009, PubliCola hired another award-winning journalist, super-sourced Seattle city hall reporter Erica C. Barnett.

People were afraid that blogging would change journalism. Instead, we believe journalism can change blogging. Twenty-first century journalism may look and feel different, and yes Erica isn't afraid to get cranky, but we're committed to making sure online news still delivers independent, reliable, even-keeled coverage. And most of all, we're committed to making sure the coverage sparks honest civic debate.

Bringing you cola for the people, PubliCola is named after Publius Valerius PubliCola, the alias for the authors of the Federalist Papers—the original bloggers.

The first online-only news site in state history to get media credentials to cover the state capitol and Seattle city hall, PubliCola has been called a “must-read” by the Seattle Post Intelligencer and a hot “New Media Mover and Shaker” by Seattle Magazine—which also cited our own Erica C. Barnett as the city's No. 1 news nerd.

We Have a Winner in Our “Explain the ’90s” Essay Contest.

In honor of Bumbershoot’s 40th anniversary, over the past two weeks, we’ve asked PubliCola readers to explain the political subtext of a ’70s hit (winner here); to pick an ’80s song and explain why it’s really about Ronald Reagan (winner here); and to tell us why the ’90s were, musically speaking, more political than the preceding two decades.

Our ’90s winner, Serene Careaga, wins two Standard Tickets to Bumbershoot, with guaranteed Mainstage access. She contends that the ’90s were more political than the ’80s or ’70s because of riot grrl feminism.

The 90s were far more political than anything else that came before. Why? Two words: Riot. Grrrl.

Key Bands: Bikini Kill, Bratmobile, Heavens to Betsy, Huggy Bear, Excuse 17, Team Dresch.
Supporting document: The Riot Grrrl Manifesto

The riot grrrl movement was an important clash of third-wave feminism, punk rock, DIY politics (and aesthetics), and youth culture in the early ’90s. Twentysomething women wanted to play their guitars loudly and be heard; they were tired of being sidelined through the patriarchal standards of music and the music business; they wanted to reconstruct femininity and make it tough.

The isolated clusters of pissed-off, college educated, (mostly) white women in Washington D.C. and Olympia eventually spread into a little feminist army with a resemblance to the consciousness-raising groups of the second-wave feminist movement. Loud punk music with nationwide tours combined with zine distribution to give the riot grrls’ message salience.

And for the first time, mainstream media took notice of these women taking music production and cultural revolution into their own hands. Soon, they were everywhere—from sincere Sassy profiles to hilariously patronizing television exposes, rich with “look at how these cute girls are destroying their dresses and yelling and spitting and smearing their lipstick.”

Consumption culture cast the death spell on the movement, because once riot grrrl mentality was being sold back to the suburban girls in the form of pseudo-feminist role model Courtney Love, the cultural movement was a joke. Maybe the movement was doomed to perish by its insistence on decentralization and social democracy. Maybe we can only rage so long. Who knows.

Regardless of the inevitable death of the movement, evidence of its relevance still exists. Everything from the Spice Girls and the bubblegum “girl power” moment of the late ’90s to Lady Gaga highlight how the path for independence and feminist politics was paved by these Olympia and D.C. bands. Riot grrrl was a true cultural and political revolution. The continuing evidence of the movement highlights how ’90s music was more political than anything before.




  • DOUG.

    Riot grrrls over hip hop? I protest.

  • Josh Feit

    Afraid so.

  • Barleywine

    I had no idea that D.C. was such a hotbed of musical creativity. Emo too, I read.

    Funny from wikipedia, about Kathleen Hanna:
    “She was mentioned in an episode of The L Word. A group of friends are playing celebrity at a dinner party, when the character Shane McCutcheon selects her name. Most of the lesbians seem to know it’s her from the description -”Le Tigre, and Julie Ruin, Bikini Kill”- yet the straight people at the party have no clue who she is. This results in the character of Alice joking, “Oh, she just pretty much started the whole riot grrrl music scene, but hey…”, which leaves one straight man asking, “What’s the riot grrrl music scene?”

    I thought it started and ended with Sleater-Kinney.

    Thanks for the schooling, Serene.

  • DOUG.

    Let me guess: the C is for “Contest Judge”…

  • DOUG.

    Let me guess: the C is for “Contest Judge”…

  • Serene

    For arguments sake, I’d argue that hip hop’s political power isn’t limited to the 90s.

  • DOUG.

    “Fear of a Black Planet” was the most politically important album of the decade. Kathleen Hanna couldn’t carry Flavor Flav’s clock.

  • Serene

    I agree. “Fear of a Black Planet” is a powerful album. But the question wasn’t which was the most political album of 1990; it is prove that the 90s were political.

    Riot grrrl was political from conception to execution. Whether or not you feel Kathleen Hanna is fit to be Flava Flav’s gopher is irrelevant. Everything in the movement – from distribution of information via ‘zines to playing pro-choice festivals – proves political motives and successes. Women making their own music, playing ugly distorted punk guitar, fixating on anti-violence messages, disrupting and manipulating notions of femininity, and encouraging everyone to get involved IS POLITICS.

    That clear of an argument cannot be applied to hip-hop in the 90s.

  • Serene

    Thanks for the kind words, Barleywine! Sleater-Kinney isn’t a bad band to associate with riot grrrl – in a lot of ways their success made up for all the disasters that came with the movement. Plus, Heavens to Betsy and Excuse 17 (Corin Tucker and Carrie Brownstein’s first bands) were right there in the beginning.

  • DOUG.

    To call the 1990s politically “vacuous” is to ignore the progress made by African-American legislators during that decade. On Public Enemy’s 1990 album “Fear of a Black Planet” Chuck D implored us to “fight the power,” and by the end of the decade “black power” had moved from a political slogan to a political reality.

    Swept in with Toni Morrison’s “first black President,” 16 African-American new members of the U.S. House were elected in 1992 (equaling the total for the ENTIRE decade of the 1980s), along with our country’s first (and still only) black female U.S. Senator, Carol Mosely Braun. Before 1992 only six African-Americans had served in presidential cabinets. By the time Bill Clinton left office in 2001, that number had more than doubled.

    Things changed in the 1990s, but it was a quiet change. Flags weren’t burned and lengthy wars weren’t waged and (maybe because of that) there was a major shift in the power structure of US politics. This shift extended beyond politics and into the business and messages of American music.

    In the 1990s grunge was really just a blip. It was hip hop culture and rap music that ruled the decade and African American music moguls like Suge Knight, Russell Simmons and Sean Combs rose from the clubs to the boardrooms and into the mainstream consciousness.

    Middle America began hearing the messages of urban America. Political rappers sang of police violence, racial injustice and black-on-black crime. The lyrics of Tupac Shakur (the son of Black Panther activists) were significant enough for UC Berkeley to offer a course named “History 98: Poetry and History of Tupac Shakur.”

    Perhaps too outspoken, Tupac was tragically shot, killed and silenced in September 1996. Less noticed but more significant, two months later a 35-year-old lawyer and community organizer in the south side of Chicago won a seat in the Illinois Senate with 82% of the vote, thus beginning the political career of Barack Obama. Power to the people no delay.

  • DOUG.

    To call the 1990s politically “vacuous” is to ignore the progress made by African-American legislators during that decade. On Public Enemy’s 1990 album “Fear of a Black Planet” Chuck D implored us to “fight the power,” and by the end of the decade “black power” had moved from a political slogan to a political reality.

    Swept in with Toni Morrison’s “first black President,” 16 African-American new members of the U.S. House were elected in 1992 (equaling the total for the ENTIRE decade of the 1980s), along with our country’s first (and still only) black female U.S. Senator, Carol Mosely Braun. Before 1992 only six African-Americans had served in presidential cabinets. By the time Bill Clinton left office in 2001, that number had more than doubled.

    Things changed in the 1990s, but it was a quiet change. Flags weren’t burned and lengthy wars weren’t waged and (maybe because of that) there was a major shift in the power structure of US politics. This shift extended beyond politics and into the business and messages of American music.

    In the 1990s grunge was really just a blip. It was hip hop culture and rap music that ruled the decade and African American music moguls like Suge Knight, Russell Simmons and Sean Combs rose from the clubs to the boardrooms and into the mainstream consciousness.

    Middle America began hearing the messages of urban America. Political rappers sang of police violence, racial injustice and black-on-black crime. The lyrics of Tupac Shakur (the son of Black Panther activists) were significant enough for UC Berkeley to offer a course named “History 98: Poetry and History of Tupac Shakur.”

    Perhaps too outspoken, Tupac was tragically shot, killed and silenced in September 1996. Less noticed but more significant, two months later a 35-year-old lawyer and community organizer in the south side of Chicago won a seat in the Illinois Senate with 82% of the vote, thus beginning the political career of Barack Obama. Power to the people no delay.

  • Barleywine

    DOUG, you spilled your essay right here, Ese.

    “Things changed in the 1990s, but it was a quiet change.”

    I agree, but much quieter than the black change that had been going on not so quietly until the mainsteam explosion you point out. That was a loud one, with N.W.A. and F-uck the Police. The nineties saw those peeps getting mainstream, with all the money starting to flow.

    But there was also something going on with the ladies; strait and not.
    Don’t ask. Don’t tell.

    If I had written anything, it would be about Dar Williams’ “When I Was a Boy.”

    Tears, brother. But not rage.
    Rage was so eighties.

    I couldn’t find a YouTube video that gave it justice.