Creating a Photo Album surrounding a central theme of the Civil War

The Miracle of the Civil War Amputee

The American Civil War was devastating to the young country, leaving over 620,000 men dead - more casualties than any previous American war (Kao). Not only did the remaining citizens have to recover from the massive blow to the population of young men, but they also had to find ways of coping with the returning soldiers, many of them amputees and unable to work, independently care for themselves, or provide for their families. Between 30,000 and 50,000 men survived the horrors of the war, but left their limbs on the battlefields (Kao). How did society adapt to this new class of citizens? These men were both a physical reminder of the devastation of the Civil War and a representation of the advancement of medicine; the photographer of amputees chose to emphasize the latter over the former. In the photo album I constructed, I organized the photographs chronologically; that is, in the order of the life of an amputee. First, the exhibit of the femur, shattered irreparably. Next, two images of the amputation taking place, followed by images of the resulting amputee. Last, the amputee in society and his life after the war. The images of the amputations are sterile, organized and calm - blatantly staged, but confirming the photographer’s desire to idealize a modern medical practice. Photographs of Civil War amputees all follow a tradition of exposing as much of the scarring as possible. To the 21st century eye a graphic portrayal of amputation is brutal and disturbing; however, in the 19th century, these images were instead a manifestation of the advancement of modern medicine in that the subjects had survived an injury previously though to be fatal. The photographer’s role in documenting Civil War amputees was to provide an idealized account of their social condition by using his photographs not to expose the apparent effects of war, but instead to showcase the advancements of medicine.

I chose the first image in the album, Necrosis and Exfoliation and Deposits of Spongy Callus after a Gunshot Fracture of the Left Femur, as an introduction to understanding the devastating wounds caused by Civil War era ammunition. It is difficult to comprehend the reasons amputation was such a widely used practice; this humbling image of the largest bone in the human body, annihilated beyond the repair of even modern medicine, allows for the 21st century viewer to better understand the death tolls Civil War surgeons were forced to confront. During the war, soldiers used a cone-shaped lead bullet called the “Minie ball;” heavy and soft, it tended to flatten and expand upon hitting bone, causing “large, gaping holes, splintered bones, and destroyed muscles, arteries and tissues beyond any possible repair” (Goellnitz). Surgeons considered soldiers with head or cavity injuries hopeless. Of the wounds recorded in the Civil War, over seventy percent were to the extremities and, at under fifteen minutes per operation, amputation was the quickest, easiest, and therefore most common treatment of an injured soldier (Anonymous, “Civil”). Conditions for surgery were crowded, loud, dirty and unsterilized; if a patient survived the initial shock and blood loss, he was likely to develop infection such as pyemia or tetanus, each having a mortality rate of around 90% (Goellnitz). The purpose in including these statistics and this background is to establish that these men were not expected to survive. Amputee victims were, of course, a harsh reminder of the devastation of the Civil War, but were also living exhibits of society’s advancements in medicine. The photograph of the obliterated femur is a cold reminder of the mortality of the Civil War solider.

The first instincts of the 21st century viewer, upon seeing the graphic images of an amputee is to grimace in disgust, gasp with horror, or sigh with pity.
The photographers of Alfred Stratton, pensioned at twenty-five dollars a month and provided with artificial arms and Eben E. Smith wanted to produce a different reaction from their 19th century contemporaries. These men were living, breathing evidence of a successful operation, thus reflecting on the advancement of medicine as a whole. After the Civil War, the U.S. Surgeon General’s Office collected photographs of particular medical cases and published them as Photographs of Surgical Cases and Specimens Taken at the Army Medical Museum (Anonymous, “Magical”). Specimens: these photographs did not capture the horror of a war veteran in a portrait; rather they were likenesses with the intention of illustrating the advancement of the surgeon’s technique and the miracle of the specimen’s survival. The mortality rate of an upper arm amputation, like Alfred Stratton’s, was about 24%, while a hip amputation, like Eben E. Smith’s, was 83% (Goellnitz). These men, especially Smith, were not supposed to live. But they did. The way in which these men were documented truly shows the photographer’s purpose as showcasing the progression of science. First, the men are positioned so that as much of their scarring is visible. Now, this is used in modern photography as a shock factor, to force the viewer to confront the wounded subject. But, Smith’s likeness even has a mirror positioned behind him to reveal another possible angle of his limb, suggesting not a forced confrontation, but instead a medical curiosity. The mirror encourages the viewer to peer deeper into the photograph to search for the details, rather than being blatantly accosted by them. The presence of the mirror solidifies the idea that this image is not a portrait of a distraught man without a limb, but instead a likeness of his medical miracle. Second, the men are both fully dressed with the exception of their injured limbs - if this were a sensational appeal to the horrors of war, the men could have easily worn clothes that were pinned to show the loss of their limbs. Instead, Alfred Stratton sits with pants and no shirt to show the scars on his arms in order that they might be observed as evidence of medical advancement - the scars serve as proof that he was wounded badly, underwent the surgery and lived. Eben E. Smith is wearing a buttoned-up shirt and a tie, while not wearing pants. He is modestly covered, but not artistically - a simple, awkward cloth protects his privacy. Again, the effect of a missing leg could have been captured while he was wearing pants, but the photographer chose to clothe his upper half and not his lower half to shift the focus to the details of the surgical technique used to sew together his limb. The photographers of amputees meant to document and exhibit these men as trophies, physical proof of the successful advancement of medicine.

Next in the album, there are two images of the scene of an amputation surgery: Battlefield Surgery 101 and Camp Letterman After the Battle of Gettysburg, PA. The photographers of both of these images staged the scenes in an attempt to show modern surgical practices of the Civil War as organized, humane and sterile. But where are the other men, dying on the crowded floor, bleeding and screaming for relief from their pain? There is not a speck of blood anywhere in these images. The men in Battlefield Surgery are in military uniforms - and one is even wearing a hat- while the surgeon in Camp Letterman is wearing a vest and a clean white shirt! The wreath and garland lavishly decorating the tent in Camp Letterman is laughably absurd. There is no panic, fear or adrenaline in these stagnant images. In Battlefield Surgery, the straight horizontal lines of the roof, the top of the carriage and the table compliment the straight vertical lines of the two standing men, the table legs, the front and back of the carriage and the pillars of the structure - there are no diagonals crossing the image to add any element of chaos. This post and lintel type of construction of the scene provides an unnatural, forced sense of stability and firmness to the piece. Similarly, Camp Letterman features a lot of men standing with their feet together and their hands on their hips, quietly staring at the patient - a true battlefield hospital of course would not be this overstaffed and peaceful. The abnormality of these scenes really establishes the presence of the photographers, and their desire to create an image promoting the idealization of the medical practice of amputation.

The last photograph in the album, Washington, D.C. Maimed soldiers and others before office of U.S. Christian Commission shows the photographer’s attempt at normalizing the new class of amputees with which post-war American society was forced to cope. The Christian Commission, provided “goods and supplies” to soldiers during the Civil War, and also after the war was over (Anonymous, “USCC”). True, the amputees in this image are outside of a charity organization, presumably having no where else to go to provide for themselves or their families. However, the amputees do not stand out immediately among the crowd as having a sense of otherness from their peers. They are on the same level plane as the rest of the subjects of the photograph, and truly have the same posed posture and direct gaze as those around them. It even takes a bit of concentration to notice the man without an arm behind the man on crutches. There are women in the photograph with nice dresses along with men in tall top hats, presumably people who did not need to beg for help from the Christian Commission; this illustrates that the photographer did not want these meant o be viewed as equals to beggars, but instead to a higher class of people. These men blend into the crowd of civilians as their equals. Once again, the practice of amputation is idealized through photography; the photographer, through this image, attempts to show that the amputees are reintegrated back into a welcoming society.

It would be very simple for the 21st century viewer to dismiss these images as being grotesque reminders of the cruelty of war. However, I argue that to the 19th century eye, these images of amputees were symbolic of the advancement of medicine. The morality rate for these men was so high, that it was spectacular that they survived, even if it mean a lifetime without limbs. Documenting these men was documenting a modern miracle, not a horrid representation of war. The mutilated femur, the graphically posed amputees, the painfully theatrical depictions of the surgery, and the intentional blending in of the amputees after their reintroduction into society: all of these images represent the photographer’s idealization of the practice of amputation. This operation was idealized by photographers because it allowed for these soldiers to live. And in a war where there were more casualties than any other previous war America had ever seen, an operation that could save lives was a miracle.

Works Cited

Anonymous. “Civil War Amputations.” North Carolina Museum of History. NC Department of Cultural History. Web. 18 November 2010.

Anonymous. “Magical Stones and Imperial Bones: Rare Books, Manuscripts and Photographs from the Collections of the Francis A. Countway Library of Medicine.” Countway Library of Medicine. Countway Library of Medicine at Harvard. Web. 20 November 2010.

Anonymous. “USCC History.” USCC. US Christian Commission: Heroes of Faith During the Civil War. Web. 18 November 2010.

Goellnitz, Jenny. “Civil War Battlefield Surgery.” Ehistory at Ohio State University. Ehistory. Web. 18 November 2010.

Kao, Audiey. “Role of Physicians in Wartime.” Virtual Mentor. 2.5 (2000). Web. 18 November 2010.

Whitman as a True Transcendentalist: Female Sexuality without Check

Even 21st century Americans, who view themselves to be all-inclusive and politically correct, hold women to a sexual double standard. We see men who are comfortable with their sexuality as normal, and sexual women as whores. Of course, this existed in America in the 1800’s, as well. But 19th century Transcendentalists, in their purest sense, were supposed to believe that all people were joined together in their equality with nature; transcendentalism began as a rebellion against religious orthodoxy that resulted in the belief that people shared a spirit with one another and with nature. However, like most philosophy in 19th century America, it did not apply to women as much as it did to men; transcendentalists acknowledged women as sharing that same soul, but women still had to fight for their equality in a patriarchal society. Walt Whitman was an exceptional transcendentalist in that his philosophy did not only apply to land-owning white men, or even just men in general. In the first section of “Song of Myself,” Whitman simply sketches the basics of his transcendental ideals; in section eleven, he expands on this to advocate women’s transcendental unity, who share not only a soul with mankind, but also a sexuality that unifies them. Whitman argues for women’s equality by analyzing them under the scope of transcendentalism; he deconstructs gender boundaries, redefines women as sexual beings and defends their respectability as such.

In order to equalize men and women, Whitman deconstructs gender boundaries by applying strictly engendered terminology across both sexes. He begins in the first section of “Songs of Myself” by defining his transcendental philosophy. He engages the reader by telling him or her, “every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you,” asserting that all people are equal down to their most basic structure (3). Here he does not define gender. Whitman continues this philosophy in section 11, blatantly blurring gender boundaries. Whitman applies the number 28 to a group of men: “Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore / Twenty-eight young men all so friendly” (198-99). But the number 28 is strictly associated with femininity, as it is the number of days in a woman’s menstrual cycle. Already in the first few lines of this section of the poem, Whitman begins to deconstruct gender. He then assigns 28 back to a woman, further emphasizing his indifference to gender boundaries: “Twenty-eight years of womanly life” (200). In these three lines, Whitman mentions defines his subjects by their gender only to then weaken and tear down that classification by ignoring the boundaries of their gender. He continues in this vein, describing men that “float on their backs” (213), alluding to the euphemism for women engaged in sex who “lie on their backs.” Lastly, the scene that Whitman depicts in section eleven is one where one woman fantasizes about many men. This is in contrast to social acceptability that is defined by biological reproduction; one man may impregnate many women and thereby increase society’s population, but one woman cannot benefit society’s growth with any more than one man. That is, it is more socially acceptable for a man to be involved with more than one woman because he may contribute to the stability of his society, but a woman cannot contribute anything to the growth and stability of her society by being involved with more than one man, thereby rendering her promiscuity as wasteful. Now, in section eleven of “Songs of Myself,” Whitman once again turns this idea upside down by granting the female subject of the poem the same sexual privilege as men - she is sexually aroused by a group of almost thirty men. Because this was socially unacceptable for women, Whitman’s inclusion of this image blurs the lines between the sexes. Whitman deconstructs the social classifications of the sexes by applying engendered concepts across the boundaries set by his 19th century society.

After removing the limits of gender classifications, Whitman focuses on equalizing the genders by asserting that women have sexual desires that are equal to men’s, and that they, too, may be defined as sexual beings. In the first section, Whitman describes “nature without check with original energy” (13). Sexuality stems from nature - in other words, sexuality is analogous with nature - and this passage in connection with section 11 defines Whitman’s views of sexuality as transcendentalist. “Nature without check -” the word “check” has multiple connotations that are all relevant to this argument. “Check” can mean “repression” or “restraint,” as one checks his or her emotions; “check” can mean “scrutinize,” as the police may perform a background check or check a suspect’s alibi. And in chess, a “check” is a threat to the king, and consequently a threat to the success of a player. When Whitman comments on his desire for “nature without check,” where nature is comparable to sexuality, he is pleading for the freedom to be a sexual being without being threatened with restraint, examination or social risk. The general context of section 11 shows this: the woman in section 11 is having sexual fantasies about the naked men she sees bathing in a nearby body of water. This woman is a sexual being, just as a man could be; she is not content with living the rest of her life asexually, as her patriarchal society would dictate she do. Whitman describes her desires in the line “twenty-eight years of womanly life and all so lonesome” (201), and notes that she desires male physical contact so much that “the homeliest of [the men] is beautiful to her” (206). Whitman describes the intimate sensual details of her fantasy, as she notices that the “little steams pass’d all over their bodies” (211). She imagines she is there with them - Whitman addresses her, “You splash in the water there, yet stay stock still in your room” (207). The line “they do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending arch” (215) pushes Whitman’s argument in that he candidly reveals the woman’s sexuality. This woman “puffs,” alluding to the rapid breathing of an orgasm, and as “pendant” is another word for “parallel,” she is “pendant and bending” in the movement of sex. This is exactly what Whitman was talking about in saying “nature without check” - he describes her masturbating to thirty men and orgasming with no restraint, without demeaning scrutiny and without addressing her sexuality as socially reprehensible.

In section 11 of “Songs of Myself,” Whitman deliberately includes references to the woman’s character to show that although she is a sexual being, she is still a respectable member of society. He argues that just as men may be sexual without being indecent, so may women; Whitman preserves the female subject’s character and the appropriateness of her sexuality as it is related to the appropriateness of male sexuality. Now, this is not to say that he promotes social restriction of sexuality, but rather that sexuality can exist without being raunchy or vulgar. Although Whitman frankly describes her sexuality, she is a modest sexual being. She does not join them and engage in a thirty-person orgy, nor does she expose herself to them at all. Rather she “hides…aft the blinds of the window” (203) and is thereby sexual without being indecent. Whitman includes important details about her life that preserve her character, so that he may illustrate that sexual women may exist as something other than prostitutes - they may also be high-standing, respectable members of society. This woman is not an immature hormone-driven teenager, but she is a mature adult. Adding her “twenty-eight years of womanly life,” to her years of not-womanly life, or childhood, she should be around forty years old. She is a successfully self reliant woman as she has money and owns waterfront property: she “owns the fine house by the rise of the bank” (202) and is “richly dressed” (203). Her aforementioned loneliness and want for male physical contact (described in the previous paragraph) shows that she is not a prostitute, but has earned her money respectably, by 19th century standards. Whitman intentionally includes these details to prove that a sexual women can be a respectable woman.

Whitman provides a counter-argument: he acknowledged that society does not accept his assertion of the equality of female sexuality, and personally refutes stands against that. He addresses that men are more free to be sexually promiscuous in the last stanza of section 11 of “Songs of Myself,” wherein he claims that men are a separate “they.” Whitman argues that men are free to be sexual without care: “they do not ask” (214) “they do not know” (215) “they do not think” (216). They are free to be sexually promiscuous, as “they do not think who they souse with their spray,” where Whitman uses “spray” as an allusion to semen. Although the woman in this poem who is candidly sexual, is inside, hiding away, without that same freedom. Whitman shows his personal opinion regarding the woman’s sexual freedom as he inserts himself into the poem. He addresses her directly, “Where are you off to, lady? For I see you” (206), showing that he is curious and interested in her expression of her sexuality. But more importantly, directly after Whitman claims to see her, he also mentions that the 29th bather sees her: “dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather, / the rest did not see her” (208-9). Whitman is not only the poet of this piece, he also establishes as a character inside the poem; Whitman is the 29th bather who watches her as she expresses herself as a sexual being . There is no authorial distance here; Whitman is taking full responsibility for what he is writing by inserting himself into the scene. In this way he shows his personal support for this transcendental unity through the expression of sexuality.

In the first section of “Songs of Myself,” Whitman provides his understanding of the philosophy of transcendentalism and then uses that definition to assert the equality of men and women in their sexuality. Whitman believes in transcendentalism, that all beings are connected with each other and with nature, and extends “beings” beyond men. In section 11 of his poem, Whitman deconstructs gender boundaries and replaces them with an equality between the sexes through their sexuality. Whitman advocates society’s recognition of women as having a sexual identity, just as men do, without being labeled morally and socially reprehensible. Whitman is a true transcendentalist in that the “beings” he discusses are without engendered priority; he encompasses women into his philosophy without restraint.

Whitman, Walt. “Song of Myself.” Leaves of Grass. 1891-92. The Bedford Anthology of American Literature. Ed. Susan Belasco and Linuck Johnson. Boston: Bedford / St. Martin’s, 2008. 1240-1286. Print. 



Women is Losers: Janis Joplin’s Impact on Women’s Liberation

Her performance at the Monterey Pop Festival in 1967 is “among the great performances in rock history,” (Hall of Fame) and “one of the very, very heavy moment in rock and roll.” Janis Joplin is considered not only not be among the greatest women rock artists, but a strong contender as one of the greatest rock artists in history, regardless of her gender. She is remembered as “the sixties’ most liberated chick” (Echols 258). Time refers to her as “the most powerful singer to emerge from the white rock movement,” Rolling Stone calls her “one of the biggest female rock stars of her time,” and Vogue dubs her “the most staggering leading woman in rock.” Joplin’s dominance in the music scene did not go unnoticed; she appeared as a musical guest on The Dick Cavett Show, This is Tom Jones, and The Ed Sullivan Show, and was inducted into the Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame in 1995 (Biography). An article on biography.com credits Joplin for “breaking new ground for women in rock music,” but what exactly does that mean? Behind her tough exterior, she was self-conscious, lonely, vulnerable and addicted to almost every drug she tried - how could she be a feminine icon? Janis Joplin existed as two different people: her true self, and her legend. To her closest friends, she was a troubled addict who was plagued by her younger years that were full of harsh tormenting about her appearance. But to her audience, she was a passionate, sexual, white woman singing black blues, and she was holding her own in a male-dominated profession. The importance of examining Joplin’s contribution to women’s state in music lies in distinguishing herself from her legend, and focusing on the latter over the former. Joplin’s legend superseded her true identity; music journalist Ellen Willis asserted that Janis Joplin “mattered as much for [herself] as for [her] music...she was second only to Bob Dylan in importance as a creator-recorder-embodiment of her generation’s mythology” (Hall of Fame). The music scene is notoriously about sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll, and Joplin had no trouble owning that lifestyle as much as her male counterparts did. She greatly effected that music scene, which in turn influenced her audience. Janis Joplin holds her place as a revolutionary of women’s role in popular music by establishing herself as an equal to, or even superior to her male peers, both in her musical performance, and in her liberated sexuality; her influence extended through her music into the suburbs of America to challenge preconceived notions of womanhood.

Janis Joplin was a woman in a “male dominated, sexist culture,” who, in an industry where women relied heavily on male producers, developed herself as an artist. Although the youth were proclaiming sexual freedom, and forming a counterculture against their middle class parents, rock music was still written and performed “almost entirely” by men, with lyrics that “almost universally” label women as objects (Rodnitzky). There was the “inference that ‘chick singers’ were interchangeable,” who were “amorphous, sexual substance that, by definition, needed molding by men” (Dalton 46). Only a few years prior to Joplin’s infamous Monterey Pop Festival performance, Phil Spector was producing girl groups, whose music he had heavy influence on, and tight control over. Janis Joplin created her own musical identity, and was only signed to Colombia, a major, non-independent record label, after her Monterey performance. By that time she had already been performing for almost a decade, and had created a style independent of the meddling work of a producer (Dalton 46). Popular songs had told women that they were sexual objects, but Joplin delved deeper than that in her lyrics. “Joplin told us about the pain of being a woman and how to live with the pain and compensate for it” (Rodnitzky). Vogue magazine points out that “Janis is far closer in spirit to the black heroines of blues than she is to an age when proper young ladies warbled ‘It’s my party and I’ll cry if I want to,” digging at Lesley Gore, whose hit song was produced by a man, Quincy Jones, and written by three other men. Joplin’s independent formation of her identity as a musician is a different path than female musicians were accustomed to, and that identity as a blues musician pushes her even farther away from the female norm.

Joplin not only created herself independently from heavy male influence, but she also took a role that had never been successfully played: the white female blues singer. A Critic in 1994, Karen Schoemer, claimed that Janis was “the woman who made it possible for white girls to sound something other than pretty” (Echols 308). Joplin’s voice was raw, edgy and, at a first listen, a little unpleasant when compared to the gentle cooing of the girl groups. However, Joplin’s vocal performance was about much more than her unique voice. The Rock ‘n’ Roll Hall of Fame credits Joplin with having “one of the most passionate voices in rock history.” Even with her unrestrained, dramatic voice, identifying herself as a blues artist was not easy for a white woman. Steve Katz, a blues guitarist, pegged her as only a “good primitive blues singer,” but, as a white superstar, she was the complete opposite of the poor, black blues artist (Rodnitzky). “Purists” believed that no white person could sing the blues because they could never know “the pain of body and soul from which true blues rise” (“Blues for Janis”). But Janis held her own in this arena, as well. Her road manager, John Cooke, explains that she felt the suffering of the blues: “Janis had the loneliness, the longing for things you couldn’t have” (20/20). Joplin was a “social outcast” for the bulk of her life preceding her fame, and found comfort in the music of blues artists like Bessie Smith and Odetta Holmes (Hall of Fame). Joplin may or may not have felt and sang the blues as well as her influences, but she “certainly came as close to authentic blues as any white singer ever has” (“Blues for Janis”). Janis Joplin had invented herself as a singer of the blues, completely breaking from her girl band predecessors, and blazing a new trail for women in music.

Janis Joplin once said of two of her favorite artists, “Billie Holiday and Arethra Franklin - they could milk you with two notes. They wouldn’t go farther than from an A to a B and they could make you feel like they told you the whole universe” (20/20). Just like Holiday and Franklin, Joplin characterized her performances, not just by hollowly reciting the lyrics someone else had written for her, but by delving deep into her emotions and experiencing those pieces, even if she had not written them. Again, this separated her from the other female artists of the 50‘s and early 60‘s, but it also made her stand out from most of the male artists of that time. She told an interviewer, “If I were a musician, it might be a lot harder to get all that feeling out. But I’m really fortunate because my gig is just feeling things” (“Alone”). But this passionate style was not as easy for her as she would have liked that previous quote to imply. It was emotionally taxing for Joplin to experience those emotions again and again as she performed. “‘Ball and Chain’ is the hardest thing to do,” Joplin said of the most legendary song of her performance at the Monterey Pop Festival. “I really have to get in my head every time I sing it. Because it’s about feeling things. That means I can never sing it without really trying...and it really tires me out!” But as exhausting as it was for Joplin to perform, it was rewarding for her audience to hear something with so much passion. “But it’s so groovy when you know the audience really wants you,” she continued, “I mean, whatever you give them, they’ll believe in. And they’ll yell back at you, call your name and shit like that” (Fornatale 144). Her pain and energy were palpable to live audience members. People describe her performances as a“burning lava flow of energy,” (“Alone”) a “force of nature” (Fornatale 144), and a “maelstrom of feeling that words could barely suggest” (Hall of Fame). Popular female celebrities marveled at her performances: Mama Cass Elliot disbelievingly mouthing “wow” at the end of Joplin’s Monterey performance was captured on film (Fornatale 144), and actress Geraldine Page told Joplin, “most performers give just a fraction of themselves. I can’t remember the last time I saw one ho gave everything they have” (“Alone”). And Joplin’s passionate wailing would inspire future female artists, as well: Stevie Nicks, after seeing Joplin perform, said Joplin “had a connection with the audience that I had not seen before, and when she left the stage - I knew that a little bit of my destiny had changed. I would search to find that connection that I had seen between Janis and her audience. In a blink of an eye, she changed my life” (“Reflections”). Joplin also inspired Joan Jett, who said that during “Combination of Two” “I couldn’t help but go to the mirror and pretend I was a wild woman like Janis, in a rock band” (“Reflections”). Joplin’s passionate performances moved her audiences and inspired future female rock stars because they were like nothing anyone had seen before. In addition to creating her own musical identity, and forming that persona to be something absolutely unique, Joplin gave artistic performances that would move and inspire a new generation of artists.

Joplin’s live events were not reveled for her emotional performances, but also for her fierce sexuality. While female artists were used to being treated as sexual objects, Janis was not just a pretty woman to be looked at. She was the one who demanded the attention, rather than the audience demanding it from her. Her stage became “an arena for her sexuality, a place to advertise her sexual availability and desire” (Echols 140). But Janis “wasn’t conventionally pretty and didn’t put on the usual kind of sexy show.” Instead, the sexuality of her performance came from that raw presence that showed her passion and ferocity. Her emotional exposure “seemed almost obscene compared with the dolled-up, painted femininity of her time” (Echols 148). Joplin performed without restraint; she “sang like a...psychopath. She threw the microphone...she straddled it and threatened to eat it whole; she tossed her head and stamped her foot and punched her thigh and shook her fist at the audience and shivered all over. She wasn’t pretty, she was just plain shake-that-thing erotic” (Thomas). So much for the sweet smiles and stiffly choreographed dances of the girl groups. And so much for the soft strength of Billie Holiday and Bessie Smtih. On her performance at the Monterey Pop Festival, reporter Richard Goldstein from The Village Voice proclaimed that “to hear Janis sing ‘Ball and Chain’ just once is to have been laid, lovingly and well,” (Echols 307) and Joplin’s friend, Edward Knoll, told her that ‘Ball and Chain’ was going to get her “a lot of lovers” (Echols168). The sexual charge that characterized Joplin’s performances reflected the sexually liberal artist herself. Her ability to confidently expose herself emotionally, and consequently display her aggressive sexuality puts her at the forefront of the sexual revolution, giving women who were seeking sexual liberation a heroine.

Janis Joplin lived outside of the sexual boundaries in which most of her gender was confined, but also provided a stable theme of the quest for romantic love in her lyrics with which her audience could identify. She was openly promiscuous, and believed in a sexuality that transcended gender and labels. “Like the rock ‘n’ roll guys, she bragged about one night stands with groupies and rock stars like Jim Morrison and Jimi Hendrix” (20/20). The more socially acceptable definition of the sexy woman was one who is pursued by the man, but who never initiates a pursuit herself (Rodnitzky). Janis Joplin conducted herself as both the hunter and the hunted, and boasted a record of “thousands of men” (Echols 255). Joplin was, in modern terms, a bisexual, but resented the media’s efforts to label her sexuality. “What’s the big deal about defining yourself as this or that?” she asks, “just be it.” Joplin’s sexual ambiguity, her refusal to participate in the comfortable labeling system, is the “epitome of sexual liberation” (Echols 256). Joplin was not only liberated from the rules for women by presenting herself as comfortable with free love as her male counterparts, but she is liberated from the rules for society by refusing to conform to a socially mandated system of categories. Sexual liberation did not come easily for Joplin; she struggled with the relationship between her free sexuality and her desire for romantic love. She confessed to her former lover, Kris Kristofferson, “Onstage I make love to twenty-five thousand people, then I go home lone” (Rodnitzky). Her lyrics mourn over her loneliness an desperation with lyrics like “And when she gets lonely, she's thinking 'bout her man, / She knows he's taking her for granted” (“A Woman Left Lonely”), Why, I need a man to love / I gotta find him, I gotta have him like the air I breath” (“I Need a Man to Love”), “If you don't think that, honey, you'll be lonesome, / You know I'll drown, drown, oh lord, in my own tears” (Drown in My Own Tears) and so many others. Janis Joplin’s sexuality and sexualized performances epitomized a sexual liberation, but her lyrics were about meaningful relationships and heartache. In this way, she served as both a figure for the sexual revolution, but also satisfied an audience’s desire for music with purpose with which they were able to relate.

Janis Joplin’s impact in the world of music trickled down into the American suburbs where, completely unbeknownst to Joplin, feminists were reacting to her identity and young women were redefining womanhood. Many feminists at the time believed Joplin was actually hurting their cause. In fact, women were much more hesitant to accept Joplin’s presence than men were (Echols 307). In a time when Helen Body was singing “I am woman, hear me roar,” and Chaka Khan stating “I am every woman,” Joplin’s palpable suffering, emotionality and vulnerability in her lyrics and performances felt like a step in the wrong direction for women trying to prove their power (Echols 309-10). Although she also challenged notions of femininity, her lyrics affirmed the female identity of “emotional, vulnerable and caring,” which, although it “valorizes the feminine,” it also risks “confirming patriarchal notions of what femininity is” (Reynolds 233). The very qualities that made her famous, and paved a new road for many female artists to come, were also concerning to some feminists; her eroticism on stage suggested that other female artists also had to become sexual icons for men, and her lack of restraint and vulnerability “seemed too dangerous,” (Echols 308-9). With the advantage of a retrospective analysis, many modern feminist writers now rush to claim Joplin as a feminist icon. Joplin was not as direct in her assertion of female strength as Helen Body or Chaka Khan, but she absolutely assisted in the development of the notion of a woman as strong. Rather than imitating the strength and sexuality of men, Joplin “imagined a female strength that’s different but equivalent” (Reynolds 233). Simon Reynolds, author of The Sex Revolt, even says that Janis’s work “testifies to a female rebellion that...counts as a tremendous breakthrough and a triumph.” Joplin was someone with whom many young women could relate; she was “all woman, yet equal with men,” and “free, yet a slave to real love” (Hall of Fame), something many women would desire in the era of the women’s liberation movement. Women were urged by society to put their families before themselves, and constantly delay their own personal pleasures. “Young girls were told to save themselves for their husbands. Wives were supposed to sacrifice immediate pleasures for their children. Even grandmothers had responsibilities to daughters and grandchildren” (Rodnitzky). Joplin’s free, hedonistic lifestyle, along with lyrics like, “And if anybody comes along, / he gonna give you love and affection / I’d say get it while you can, yeah! / Honey, grab it when you’re gonna need it!” (“Get it While You Can”) gave hope of relief to women who sought it. Joplin may not have been a feminist icon during her time, but many modern feminists agree that in hindsight, Joplin embodied a strength and freedom that would influence women throughout the country.

When “pretty, proper and prim was the key to popularity” among young women, Janice Joplin was none of the above (20/20). She was not conventionally pretty, her aggressive sexuality made her anything but proper, and her long, unkempt hair suggested the opposite of prim. Joplin’s physicality - the way she looked and the way she dressed - provided an alternative to middle-class American youth. Her hair was always down, and mostly wild and natural, or, in the cases of some of her live performances, stuck to her face with sweat. This is a far cry from the sleek and shiny hair of the Shangri-Las or the Ronettes. Janis’s natural look inspired some women to abandon the “brush, wash, set, color and spray syndrome.” Others had the courage to grow their hair longer, when previously they thought they had “bad hair.” Now, Janis did not create the natural look, which she absorbed from living in San Francisco, but she did advertise it to a mainstream audience. Instead of girdles and dresses, Joplin wore lose clothing in a variety of color combinations, went without the red lipstick, and usually went braless. Many young women followed her examples. Janis Joplin’s influence was present not only in the music scene, but also at home in american suburbia, where her fans returned from watching her performances to listen to her records.

Janis Joplin is accused of being “oblivious” to the feminist movement with which she was unconsciously interacting (Rodnitzky). But the lyrics to the song “Women is Losers” suggest that she knew of the struggles that American women faced during the 1960’s, whether or not she knew of the movement to remedy those problems. “Women is losers / women is losers, Lord Lord Lord Lord! / So I know you must have heard it, Lord / Everywhere / Men always seem to end up on top, oh!” Janis struggled to form an identity of her own in a time when many female artists were under the smothering control of male producers, but developed the unique voice of a white woman singing black blues. She faced criticisms for not suffering enough. Her performances, both passionate and sexual, ignited popularity and opened doors for women to sing emotionally rather than beautifully, and to sing without restraint. But again she was criticized, this time for showing too much suffering. Joplin’s liberal sexuality not only challenged the double-standard of sexuality for women, but also presented a woman who was able to be sexy while also aggressively hunting down men for her conquests. Her attachment and vocal desire helped her to maintain some traditional femininity to allow for a slightly less liberated audience to relate to her. Joplin’s self-serving, hedonistic lifestyle would hit chords close to American suburbia, where many women were confined to a life of selflessness. And even Joplin’s fashion and physicality would influence her audience. Although Joplin was not intentionally acting on behalf of feminism or the women’s liberation movement, she fought criticism almost every step of the way to bravely blaze a trail for women through a male-dominated world.

Works Cited

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Dalton, David. Piece of My Heart: A Portrait of Janis Joplin. New York: De Capo, 1985. Print.

Echols, Alice. Scars of Sweet Paradise: The Life and Times of Janis Joplin. New York: Holt, 1999. Print.

Goldstein, Richard. “Ladies Day, Janis Joplin.” Vogue. 1 May 1968. Janisjoplin.net. Web. 31 Jan. 2011.

“Janis Joplin.” Biography.com. Biography Network Website, 2011. Web. 30 Jan. 2011.

“Janis Joplin.” Rolling Stone Online. Rolling Stone Magazine, 2001. Web. 29 Jan. 2011.

“Janis Joplin on 20/20.” YouTube. YouTube, 2006. Web. 1 Feb. 2011.

“Janis Joplin Biography.” Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Museum, 1995. Web. 30 Jan. 2011.

Reynolds, Simon and Joy Press. The Sex Revolt: Gender, Rebellion and Rock ‘n’ Roll. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1995. Print.

Rodnitzky, Jerome L. “The Southwest Unbound: Janis Joplin and the New Feminism.” The Feminist Art Journal. 1 Jan. 1977. Janisjoplin.net. Web. 31 Jan. 2011.

Thomas, Michael. “Janis Joplin: Voodoo Lady of Rock.” Ramparts Magazine. 1 Aug. 1968. Janisjoplin.net. Web. 1 Feb. 2011.