Marianne Elliot Said 1957 – 2011
It’s funny which deaths affect you.
Poly Styrene died last night. I haven’t really thought about her in years. I first heard of the X-Ray Spex when I was twelve or thirteen, going somewhere in my sister’s car. The car was olive green with a cloth ceiling that was falling in. She’d put checkered contact paper along the sidewalls to make it look like a cab. It smelled like motor oil and rust.
My sister was a Riot Grrrl. She made zines (which I was not allowed to read) and mixed-tapes and the hissing sound of the tape deck of her car is all mixed up in my memories of that time. I can’t tell you the exact day that I heard it, but I have a feeling that “Oh Bondage! Up Yours!” was my first Styrene song–the little squeaky girl voice shouting up from the tape deck as we drove down route 22, going somewhere. I was probably embarrassed–a thirteen-year-old’s hazy awareness that she’s listening to something dirty.
I wouldn’t rediscover the X-Ray Spex until I was sixteen or seventeen. I was already punk by then (thank Johnny Rotten’s short-lived TV series RottenTV, a summer spent torturing my mother with my own favorite tape, God Save the Queen), had started going to local shows and learned how to skank. I wore either a chelsea or a mohawk, a dog collar, torn fishnets, bright hair. You know, the usual.
One night, my friend Matt’s uncle drove us to the Princeton Record Exchange. We walked around for awhile. I saw Matt pull out a familiar LP–Germ Free Adolescents. “Hey, I remember that!” I said. We briefly bickered over who would buy it. He didn’t even have a record player (I had both my ancient Fisher Price one and a stereo I’d bought from the Salvation Army), but in the end, he won. He saw it first. I pouted and sulked, went home, and got on Napster.
The next day I went to school with “I am a poseur” sharpied to my forearm.
Because I was a poseur, of course. It was the turn of the new millennium in suburban New Jersey and I was doing my damndest to look like it was 1977, cutting up my T-shirts and safety pinning them back together. I knew that just as well as the kids who teased me knew it, but it was a way to feel ownership over how weird I was, and I liked it, too. The bright colors (a few kids shouted, “Hey! Rainbow bright!” at me in the hallways, and I just smiled). The craftyness. The Dollar Store lipsticks in blue and green.
Poly Styrene helped me take ownership of that. Yeah yeah, I said, sure, I’m a poseur. But so was she and so are you. What was I supposed to listen to, Powerman 5000? Anyway, this–this look, this music–made me happy. I figured that counted for something.
There was something about her–something that spoke to teenage girls in a way that the boy music of our own eras just didn’t. I hope that girls continue to discover her, that she’s always this spot of bright new wickedness and ownership. I hope she continues to make them feel thrilled.
Phoebe
Phoebe is a 20-something writer who lives in New York State with her husband and cat. She is a dork, not a geek or a nerd.
Her debut novel, Starglass, will be released from Simon and Schuster Books for Young Readers in Summer 2013.
4 comments
What an awesome memorial post. It really is strange how a death affects you, even for someone who don't see every day, or even really know. Reminds me of when Heath Ledger died for me. I wasn't an especially big fan, I didn't have posters of him on my wall, I didn't go see all his movies. But there was something about him that was intimately connected to my teenage years, and I couldn't help feeling like that part of me died when he did. It's a strange feeling.
Her music will live on.
Definitely, Steph. It's funny how some people just become part of the background to a certain time in your life–but an important part, nonetheless.
Very touching Phoebe.
Marianne became a friend of mine when I began my professional music career in London way back in the nineties. We met by circumstance at the SoHo Krishna temple.. (Quite simply, if you need peace , tranquility & the best food in central London there's nowhere quite like it ! ). Afterward we went to an old Rock bar for a beer, or two (!) and talked music. She was a delightful lady with a real "Atom-heart Mother" vibe to her. She wasn't in the entertainment industry at that point and was in fact on her way to found an organic tea plantation in India. She imparted some sound business advice and kept in touch till quite recently.. I Know that she'd be tickled to hear her music still delights and inspires.
Best Regards, Glyn Kerry Groves.
Thanks so much for sharing your story, Glyn. And I'm so sorry that you lost your friend.