Every now and then, I stumble upon past treasures that have been hidden under the layers of time. Lately, I discovered Justine Frischmann’s name, in a Guardian interview with Damon Albarn.
I’m not sure if it’s because I grew up in the 90’s but something about the decade conjures up a cringey feeling for me; setting the rise of grunge aside, dare I mention the whole Oasis VS Blur rivalry, John Major, the Spice Girls and the new feminism, Peter Andre, the fashion…. *shudders*
But it seems Justine, and her band Elastica, must have missed my young radar at the time. When I think of women of the nineties I think Courtney Love, Gwen Stefani, Janet Jackson… riot grrls and tomboy style, whilst still pulling off red lipstick.
And then there’s Justine…
Having dated Brett Anderson and founded what would later be a hugely popular band called Suede, which she then left in the early 90’s to start a new band called Elastica. With help from a Radio 1 DJ, and her relationship with singer of Blur, Damon Albarn, Elastica became the fastest selling British debut in history, and was also nominated for the Mercury Music Prize in 1995.
Justine was a female the 90s embraced, not vice versa. She had a cool confidence that didn’t ask for attention or show off. For a decade that arguably gave feminism it’s rebirth after the 60’s burn-your-bras lash-out to a constrictive society , to the 90s ‘girl power’ mini skirt midriff explosion; Justine mostly wore black, boyish clothes and didn’t need those previous cliché’s to show she was equal to her male competitors, whilst treading on their record sales.
She had parts of a ‘ladette’ personality in the way she speaks, swearing and ignoring any ladylike etiquette, she didn’t wear make up and had greasy hair but was still seen as sexy:
In response to Liam Gallagher’s “I wouldn’t kick that Justine out of bed”, in midst of the noisy Blur and Oasis spats she was quoted:
“What a sad cunt. I mean, I’d think he was being ironic if he wasn’t so fucking thick!”
And on her short hair? “I had long hair for years. Then I split with a boyfriend and cut it all off. It was a liberating thing’ cause he really loved my long hair.”
Surely this would have deterred men, but it didn’t.
Elastica’s music is alternative rock singed by britpop, with no songs over 4 minutes. Justine claimed she had always liked humor in music, which explains some of her rude lyrics (eg. Vaseline, Your Arse My Place) and her departure from Suede and their “long and indulgent…no fun” anthems. (Smith, A. 2002. Elastica Limits)
Eventually, after the exhaustive touring in the US, tensions grew in Elastica; bassist Annie Holland accused Justine of being “not human”, whilst guitarist Donna Matthews and drummer Justin Welch fell out bitterly from becoming romantically involved with one another, with Justine doing much of the cleaning up.
Then rumors began to circulate Elastica were getting mixed up in heroin, which Justine admits later was true, whereas Damon Albarn, although shamelessly blatant in some Blur lyrics, has never openly reflected upon this particular period of his life with Justine.
After the end of the 90s, it was released to also be the end for Elastica. The movement and hype of the decade had also moved on, like all decades seem to, as if they all have a time limit and an expiry, a life cycle, to reflect the culture and lifestyle of that era, to then move on to the next.
Which in effect causes as previously mentioned; a layering of different times, on top of one another, concealing different faces and their life’s once famously known, hiding in particular here, musical gems.
After the confirmation of Elastica’s retirement there is little news of Justine’s presence in music. The last piece of news released about Justine is about her visual art exhibit in America, where she moved to after the 90s and her split with Albarn, she later met and married her teacher, a science University professor.
After years of hearing the song ‘Tender’ by Blur and now discovering Justine, this has led me to uncover a whole new light to the song as Albarn had written it after their split, which has made it increasingly more poignant for me – a girl who usually turns her nose up to 90 indie bands such as Blur.
Instead of formerly thinking of it as a crowd-pleaser song, it now evokes new feelings for me when I listen to it; some of heart ache and vulnerability, but mostly of a new chapter in life, from not looking back and finding peace. It’s as though the song has quietly opened up and revealed it’s depth, something, surprisingly, I never expected a Blur song to do to me. And something I had never expected to come from the 90s…
Recently, I’ve been thinking a lot about the time between break-ups, and getting over that break up, being much like airports.
Please excuse my somewhat of a “Carrie Bradshaw” statement echo here, I know it’s a bit cringeworthy but hear me out for a second. Imagine the excitement of a relationship, with all the butterflies, all the smiles and magic, much like the moment you get on that plane taking you to a glorious new country you’ve never seen before! Adventure and fun awaits!
Alright, this isn’t what I had originally thought when comparing this, and I can feel your eyes rolling at me already. But, hear me out for a second, I’ll go straight to the point. When the magic and fun is over and you’re flying back home, you start thinking about what life you had before; how dull England can be, how you really don’t want to go work and what shift am I on… – yadda yadda yadda!
Sort of like thinking about your life before that relationship took off, no?
As if in a dreamlike state, you mindlessly walk through passport control and reach baggage reclaim. This is where you need to pick up the pieces that you knew before the holiday (relationship), you knew during it, but maybe with some extra “crap” you picked up over there.
But this bit, for whatever reason, takes bloody ages! Constantly looking for your stuff amongst other’s, that 28 inches by 21 that makes up you and your belongings; until it finally comes bouncing back onto the rickety old track of the conveyor belt. And then it takes a lot of strength to hoist that bag up of there, (well it does for me anyway!..)
And you’re onto the waiting room, I guess if you’re getting picked up or, like me, waiting for a train!
Someone once told me that time in an airport does not exist. As soon as you’re in building/space that makes up an airport; the only time you know is the time of your flight, or check-in time, or how much time you have to get a sandwich. Time is not like the time you know outside an airport, time goes slower, much slower. An airport is like a dream-like purgatory – the constant wait to reach somewhere better. That endless waiting to get to gate 23, or lounge check-in, or your train home.
For something that may not take that long, it drags, or seems to, and once you finally get there, to the next point – that wait is forgotten about. Just like you forget how long it took to get over the last break-up, or how slow it seems to go when you’re waiting (and wanting) to get over someone.
And flights get delayed, or even cancelled… Or if like me you’re a bit forgetful and you’ve got to go back to baggage reclaim to check you’ve picked all your stuff up, to make sure you’ve really got everything this time before moving on.
I think I’m still in the waiting room at the moment, with some extra baggage I’m taking home. “Time is a healer”, and I’m biding mine until this wait becomes something like it had never happened…