While we know well it is not unusual in popular culture studies for the scholar him/herself to be a fan of the phenomenon they are studying, I must begin with a caveat: I am exactly the kind of Tori Amos fan whom Adrienne Trier-Bieniek has interviewed and observed for this book. The portrait that Trier-Bieniek carves of Tori fans (we are on a first-name basis, as is Trier-Bieniek) could easily be a portrait of me: an early middle-aged to middle-aged Western feminist woman, who connects with Tori Amos' music on a personal level, travels great distances to her concerts, and has used or uses her music for recuperation (from trauma such as sexual violence, abuse, loss, eating disorders or depression). In addition, I have also been interviewed for another Tori Amos study (Jalkanen Reference Jalkanen, Kovala and Saresma2003), and remember a similar feeling of pleasure at being allowed to share my fan experience with an engaged listener that Trier-Bieniek (p. 10) records many of her interviewees mentioning. A fellow feminist scholar (albeit in the humanities), I shall thus do my best to evaluate Trier-Bieniek's timely study of the feminist music icon and her female fans in a fair and uncompromising manner, as hard as it may be.
In order to not sound too gushy (as that mode easily presents itself in the case of this important book), let me consider Trier-Bieniek's choice of standpoint feminism as her approach. While it is obvious that standpoint feminism would serve well to describe a study focusing on women, by a woman and for women (as the old standpoint feminist adage suggests), the problem is in the framework's inherent limitations. Time and again, Trier-Bieniek has to defend her decision to focus on women alone (p. 15), but she does not fully explain why it is essential to do so. She states that her female interviewees considered Tori's music to speak specifically to women (p. 41), but this could easily be refuted by the choice of a different demographic, as gay and straight men alike are known to form a considerable part of the fanbase. To be fair, Trier-Bieniek acknowledges this: ‘Certainly, Tori has male fans who are connected to her music’ (p. 41), but dismisses the point quickly. As necessary as standpoint feminism was and is to highlight the importance of focusing on women's experiences because of their neglect by the patriarchal history of philosophy and scholarship (and the music industry; p. 4), its limitations are revealed the minute difference comes into play.
As trite a question as ‘where are the men?’ is when doing feminist scholarship, I fear that there are times when it is warranted (not by patriarchal dinosaurs, mind you). Standpoint feminism's exclusivity reveals itself when differences between women are introduced, or when highlighting alliances across differences (such as between gay men and straight women sharing Tori as an icon and forming friendships and networks over their fandom). To wit: in Trier-Bieniek's material, Britney Spears is frequently articulated as Tori's antithesis; where she becomes constructed as the flipside of the lucky coin that is Tori Amos, Britney is mindless, vapid and empty of empowerment (pp. 50–51). This juxtaposition of two different types of women exposes the model's vulnerability in the face of difference, particularly as a result of the personal relation fans feel to Tori – and conversely, do not feel to Britney. As critics of standpoint's political essentialism show, considering women as a group is contested and not straightforward. Experience is ‘always already an interpretation and is in need of interpretation’, as feminist historian Joan Scott (Reference Scott, Butler and Scott1992, p. 37) has famously remarked about the emphasis on an all-encompassing and shared experience advocated by standpoint feminism. It by default fails to include all women, such as anti-feminist enemies like Britney.
Another place where standpoint thought falls short as an approach to account for the fan experience is the focus on emotions and affectivity. When standpoint feminist ideas were conceived, the affective turn of feminism (Koivunen Reference Koivunen, Liljeström and Paasonen2010) was not even in its infancy. Yet, Trier-Bieniek insists on relying on the dated frame when analysing the capacity of Tori's music to heal and offer solace and therapy in the section where she discusses music and emotions (pp. 58–76). The writer would have done well to introduce feminist thinkers engaging with emotions such as Rei Terada, Sara Ahmed, Elspeth Probyn or Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, in order to examine the ways in which the affective potential of music serves as therapy and how fandom is by its very nature an affective mode of experience. Affective feminist thought would have offered concepts and a vocabulary to express what Trier-Bieniek essentially wants to say: that being emotionally moved by the music of Tori Amos is also what attaches her fans and then builds a community or an experience of belonging that helps cope with trauma and deal with injustice like rape or abuse (see Ahmed Reference Ahmed2004). Furthermore, many of her interviewees, just as the writer herself (pp. 104 and 106), have turned to feminist activism thanks to Tori Amos' music and her involvement in RAINN (Rape Abuse and Incest National Network), demonstrating in practice how emotions and politics are inextricably linked.
Despite my (self-enforced) criticism of Trier-Bieniek's theoretical choices, there must be few things more enjoyable than to feel at home when reading, nodding in agreement like to the beat of good music. Trier-Bienik's book is yet another dwelling place for those of us who ‘use the music of a feminist artist for emotional support and/or healing’ (p. 127), and the author should not feel the need to defend herself too much in choosing a topic that some might consider frivolous (p. 142), for I cannot even begin to fathom who those people could be.
