Who's Who: Women to watch

The go-go's were gone pretty quickly. Will this crop of female talent be around to shape the sound of tomorrow? Here's a list of women whose music may endure long enough for them to be Grammy grannies:

Tori Amos: Amos was a child prodigy and a devout Christian who decided to be a bad girl. She took the traditional feminine role of piano player and infused it with sexual rebellion. She is passionate during performances, complete with sexual bumping and grinding on her stool. She has to move an awful lot to be interesting, though; her sugary, commercial tunes are affected affairs reminiscent of the worst of Laura Nyro and Kate Bush. But on the much-hyped CD Under the Pink her lyrics can be seductive--Icicle concerns a woman masturbating in her room as her family reads the Bible downstairs--as can her image. Past incarnations included a lounge act that she quit in disgust ("What's the difference between that and giving a blow job to the head of Merrill Lynch?") and a stint fronting a soft-metal band that produced the awful disc Y Kant Tori Read.

Babes in Toyland: When the band came out of Minneapolis and was signed by Warners in 1992, it became a symbol that record execs were serious about marketing women who played abrasive, in-your-face punk rock. Even though the group's mainstream debut Fontanelle contains screechy lyrics that seem to attack men, their masculine fans can take heart, because the band insists most songs aren't about guys but are about dishonest people. The Babes hate being labeled women who play like men: "What's the difference between females playing and males playing?" asked drummer Lori Barbero in Spin. "That we don't have dicks?" In a word, yes.

Belly: Tanya Donelly, singer, guitarist and Rhode Island--based founder of Belly, is the space oddity of her generation. Her songs on Star, Belly's recent and much-acclaimed release, are full of fairy tale allegories imbued with images of witches, dogs and moons. Somewhat inexplicably, she claims that Someone to Die For is about a serial killer and Dusted describes a rape victim hooked on smack. It's a stretch--and the effervescent pop sound obscures the lyrics. Donelly was previously in the seminal alternative band Throwing Muses. A gorgeous blonde in oversize combat boots and quirky getups, she has a gender agenda in breaking stereotypes: She scouted for a female bassist, Gail Greenwood, to match the two men in Belly.

Bikini Kill: Ooo, riot grrrls. There's a lot about the movement that sends bad vibes to men: the infantilism and schoolgirl lunch boxes, the words Rape and Slut lipsticked on bare midriffs and the drive to force men from the mosh pit. On the other hand, these four from Olympia, Washington are not poseurs. Singer Kathleen Hanna is prone to jump into the audience to swap child-abuse stories. And the band does have a guy, guitarist Billy Karren. Pussy Whipped, the band's first full-length effort, is a truly inspired CD: Hanna explores her sexuality, including struggles with old boyfriends and, in the kicking anthem Rebel Girl, feelings of envy and lust. They're not beyond a bit of fun, either; at early shows Hanna peeled her top in mockery of shirtless rock stars of the past. Although Courtney Love disses riot grrrls and Olympia in her new tune Rock Star, she had better be careful. With a proper studio at their disposal and Joan Jett as producer, Bikini Kill recently issued a three-song recording that makes Love's Hole sound empty.

The Breeders: Kim Deal is playful about sex, promising "I'll be your whatever you want" to an unnamed "little libertine" on the hit single Cannonball. Kim Gordon of Sonic Youth, alternative rock's mother superior, directed the video for Cannonball, which promptly got elevated to MTV's Buzz Bin; soon thereafter the album Last Splash passed the 800,000-sales mark. Fronted by the Deal sisters--Ohio natives, former lifeguards, cheerleaders, gymnasts and self-described "riot hags"--the Breeders features Josephine Wiggs on bass and Jim Macpherson on drums. Kim started the band with sister Kelley and Belly's Tanya Donelly (who left after the 1992 Safari EP) during a break from the Pixies. The Breeders' breezy grooves, experimental edge and ironic, spacey lyrics propel a form of power pop that makes much (concluded on page 104) of grunge-and-grimace rock seem one-dimensional.

P.J. Harvey: Polly Jean Harvey (P.J. Harvey is the name of her band) left her home of Yeovil, a town of 600 in England, after she released two singles, Sheela-na-gig and Dress, at the age of 22. Harvey's earthy tunes employ ambiguous imagery and chainsaw guitar work to flesh out a world of sweat and tears, particularly on her second disc, Rid of Me (produced by Steve Albini of Nirvana fame). She refuses to deconstruct her lyrics, whether or not she's knocking the joys of menstruation in Happy and Bleeding, the proper stroke in Rub Til It Bleeds or feminism in Man-Size. "I don't spend time thinking about feminism as an issue," she says. "To me, that's backtracking. You can talk about things too much and nothing will be done." She, like Phair, also poses topless or in undies for pinup-style jacket photos. So far she's done things her way: She turned down a prime spot in Lollapalooza and gigs opening for Neil Young and the Cure but agreed to open a U2 show at Wembley Stadium.

Juliana Hatfield: By the time she was 26, Hatfield had already slogged her way through six CDs (two solo, including last year's Become What You Are, and four with the Blake Babies). Lately, she's become more commercial, playing the MTV-style helpless woman. Hatfield complains about being savaged by the press, but struggling artists wish they had her PR person, because Hatfield is everywhere. Hailing from a wealthy suburb of Boston, she's noted for Hey Babe, a CD that dwells on her erotic obsessions (some say with Lemonhead Evan Dando). She's also made some curious statements. In 1992 she told a reporter that she was a virgin. She also claims she has yet to see a female guitarist other than Bonnie Raitt who can play. Guess she hasn't caught Polly Jean Harvey or the Spinanes' Rebecca Gates.

Hoez With Attitude: Sex and dicks and stuff dripping down legs. Welcome to hoe house music. Despite some decent production by Eazy-E of N.W.A., it's hard to take the Hoez seriously on their second CD, Az Much Ass Azz U Want. The obscenity of the lyrics, though, can send listeners scanning for tawdry moments. For sheer eroticism, no sex vid beats the power of the title track. When the Hoez were accused of demeaning black women--particularly by Senator Carol Moseley-Braun (D.--III.)--they proved adept at justifying their steamy lyrics (and pointed out that they worked on Moseley-Braun's campaign). Kim Kenner, a.k.a. Baby Girl, claims they have appropriated the word hoez--much as riot grrrls use "slut"--and redefined it in their own image: Strong, sexy, successful women who just happen to make appearances at strip joints and pose naked inside their CD booklet.

Hole: Even before she got hit with that Yoko Ono rap, Courtney Love was the bad sister of indie rock. The peripatetic punkstress left quite a trail: Born in San Francisco to bohemian parents (her dad wrote a book on the Grateful Dead), she grew up in Oregon, hit Minneapolis for an early lineup of Babes in Toyland, bummed around with Faith No More, landed a prescient part in Sid and Nancy, formed Hole in Los Angeles with guitarist Eric Erlandson and then married Kurt Cobain and became famous. Becoming famous may have pissed off her hardcore competitors more than did the release of Hole's first CD, the copycat, screechy-scrawly Pretty on the Inside (co-produced by Kim Gordon). Then came the fight with Axl Rose backstage at the 1992 MTV Awards, the Vanity Fair article that said she used heroin while pregnant and her quote in Out: "I've slept with about 15 women." Live Through This is an excellent disc that shows her mainstream roots--an appreciation for Chrissie Hynde and Stevie Nicks. Until the suicide of her husband and the drug death of Hole's bassist, Kristen Pfaff, Love's visibility fueled interest in other female rockers. What happens when she comes out of mourning is anybody's guess.

Liz Phair: Her current success has left Oberlin College grads scratching their heads in attempts to picture their former classmate. At a time when most musicians play as much for the scene as they do for the music, Phair is unique. She never played live until she finished her album; at home in Chicago she recorded some songs, passed cassettes around and was signed by Matador. Exile in Guyville was taped, but the order of the songs was changed after she heard the Stones' Exile on Main Street for the first time. The title is also a dig at the testosterone-charged, small-venue proving grounds of macho rockers. In her songs, Phair grapples with problems of womanhood and the rotten side of love and romance. Her tortured-sexpot image--from the flash of nipple she shows on her CD cover to the pinup-style inside shots of a model who could be her twin--is even more of a clever ruse. "Men are a lot more freaked out by my work than women are," she says. "Men are not aware that these graphic takes on sex are things that nice women from good families are thinking. It unsettles them."

L7: "We're taking our music to the people and if we get to do some shopping along the way, that's really cool," L7's singer Suzi Gardner explained two years ago. "If we get laid, that's the cherry on the whipped cream." Babes in Toyland, 7 Year Bitch and L7 were the first successful all-girl bands in the early Nineties to develop a monster metal sound. They actually scored a mainstream hit in Pretend We're Dead and were applauded for their involvement in the Rock for Choice concerts. Their live act can get raunchy: At 1992's Reading Festival in England, guitarist Donita Sparks responded to heckling by spinning a small missile on a string and tossing it at the audience. "Eat my used tampon," she cried.

Salt-N-Pepa: As Salt-N-Pepa, Cheryl James and Sandra Denton are the biggest-selling female rappers--bigger than Yo-Yo and Queen Latifah. Eight years ago, they scored a hit with the single Push It, which was nominated for a Grammy. In videos, they offer plenty of cleavage and wriggling behinds while their lyrics point to female empowerment and poke fun at the cartoonish posing of male rappers. (Salt-N-Pepa are PG-13 compared with the X-rated Hoez.) Their earlier hit Let's Talk About Sex established them as social critics. On their latest CD, Very Necessary, they follow through with a message about AIDS. Their best mark of independence may be the success of their single Shoop, which they released over the objections of longtime producer Hurby "Luv Bug" Azor (whom they met in Queens when they worked at Sears with another future star, comedian Martin Lawrence).

7 Year Bitch: Four Gothic vampires from Seattle who rode grunge's flannel shirttails to prominence and haven't done much since. Shortly before the release of their CD Sick 'em, guitarist Stefanie Sargent died of a heroin overdose. They're anything but polished and that's OK with them. "Women are doing their own thing," says singer Selene Vigil, "and don't feel they have to be Barbie dolls or have a rock-slut image." Because the band is mediocre at best, many in the industry point to it as evidence that women don't have to be exceptional to get a recording contract.

The Spinanes: This duo of guitarist Rebecca Gates and drummer Scott Plouf sports the buttondown, thrift-shop intellectual look--it's a facade that sets up the sucker punch of Gates' furious strumming. Their clean-cut demeanor and big, noisy sound has earned them the tag of nice-core. It's punk with a diploma. Earlier this year they shot to number one on the college charts with their first full disc for the Sub Pop label, Manos. At one show Gates warned, "Here comes the world, so fucking understand and suck it."

"Rock Star" "Now you shouldn't even get into/Who I'm giving skins to/It's none of your business"--Salt-N-Pepa, "None of your Business" Lick my leg/And I'm fire/Lick my leg/And my desire"--P.J. Harvey, "Rid of Me" "The highest paid piece of ass/You know it's not gonna last/Those magazines end up in the trash"--The Juliana Hatfield Three, "Supermodel" "In Olympia/Where everyone's the same/We look the same/We talk the same/We even fuck the same"--Hole.