‘Nameless, Faceless’: Courtney Barnett’s depiction of modern misogyny
There’s a certain slacker energy to the way Courtney Barnett writes songs, to her rambled observations about the world and the drawled delivery she affords them. But her stream-of-consciousness style often conceals something greater. Amidst references to origami and coffee percolators, she tackles topics far weightier than paper animals or coffee beans.
On ‘Kim’s Caravan’, for example, Barnett delves into climate responsibility. She takes us with her on a walk down Sunset Strip to a sandy seat on the shore, intermittently and unexpectedly throwing in devastating truths like the line, “The Great Barrier Reef it ain’t so great anymore, it’s been raped beyond belief, the dredgers treat it like a whore.” Her rambling style seamlessly blends together monotonous, everyday experiences with questions about the state of the world.
Climate change isn’t the only topic that Barnett has dissected within her songwriting. In 2018, she unveiled ‘Nameless, Faceless’, a song that saw her entirely committing to the directive of her accompanying album title: Tell Me How You Really Feel. The dauntless track was released as the lead single to the record and tackled misogyny head-on, telling us exactly how Barnett feels about male anger and the female experience.
“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Barnett taunts in the opening verse, “I wish that someone could hug you.” Over jangly twangs, she debates the potential causes for male attitudes towards women, the “pent-up rage” that they harness. “I’m really sorry ‘bout whatever happened to you,” she sings.
It’s a verse that almost sounds sympathetic, but Barnett quickly packs a punch with the chorus, which juxtaposes the issues faced by men and women. “I wanna walk through the park in the dark, men are scared that women will laugh at them,” she sings, “I wanna walk through the park in the dark, women are scared that men will kill them.”
Her powerful words are borrowed from author Margaret Atwood and show that the pent-up anger felt by men, which often spawns from rejection by women, is nothing compared to the fear that women feel almost every day. Even embarking upon one of the simplest human activities in the world – a walk in the park – can be anxiety-inducing, leading women to keep their keys close or call a friend for comfort.
It’s an experience and anxiety that extends far beyond the walk home. Misogyny still persists across every element of the human experience, from dating to the workplace. While men proclaim to worry about meeting women from dating apps in case they don’t look like their photos, women send friends their locations out of fear for their safety. As Barnett illustrates these differences, she proves that men’s anger is wildly misplaced.
She goes on to illustrate how men continually undermine and underestimate the women around them. “He said, ‘I could eat a bowl of alphabet soup and spit out better words than you,’” she sings, “But you didn’t.” It’s a playful line on the surface, using alphabet soup to soften the blow of the nasty truth: that men will often diminish women’s talents in their own expertise, proclaiming to be more experienced despite the truth.
Barnett has established herself as one of the greatest songwriters of her generation, and yet her male peers will still proclaim that they can spit out better words than her. Defiant and assured in her own abilities, Barnett spits back, “Man you’re kidding yourself if you think the world revolves around you,” before repeating the earlier refrain, “I’m really sorry about whatever happened to you.”
The song fades back into its most powerful lines, into the stark juxtaposition between misplaced male anger and the very real fear and belittlement that women experience every day. Tell Me How You Really Feel was released just over six years ago, and Atwood’s quote stems from before then, but their words remain just as pertinent and vital today.
As long as women still grasp onto their keys while walking in the dark, as long as men continue to misdirect their anger and undercut the women around them, Barnett’s words on ‘Nameless, Faceless’ will remain a devastatingly accurate depiction of the experience of womanhood.
