What do Dolly Parton, David Bowie, and Robert Smith of The Cure have in common? For one, an inimitable grasp on the power of glitz. For another, palpable influence upon Pittsburgh’s Bonnie & the Mere Mortals. “Those are the three for me,” says Bonnie Ramone, frontwoman for the project. “That’s canon.” To reconcile the trappings of this trio into one musical project may not seem intuitive, but it is undeniably fun. “People who love our music, they all love it for different reasons.” Different—and good.
Ramone grew up on a cattle farm on the border of the West Virginian panhandle and began making music before she could remember—“mostly, in foot-stompy, rural white people churches,” she says, laughing. “When I was ten years old, I told my guitar teacher that Nirvana was my favorite band of all time, that I couldn’t wait to see him in concert someday. We were so far out in the sticks, I didn’t know he was no longer alive.” Ramone describes her childhood self as somewhat of a loner, a Goth kid content to sit in a tree reading Edgar Allen Poe or idolizing shadowy rogues like Johnny Cash and John Prine, a gritty misfit amidst country conventions. She started her first band at age fourteen and left for tour before she could legally vote. Though the music she makes has varied dramatically— from Grunge Rock to Southern Gothic to Metal to Appalachian Folk to Country to Pop—her philosophical approach has been steadfast.
Take Me to the Moon (due out August 29th) radiates with resilient joy. The album’s title track is a cosmic western, a Bowie-esque actualization of a brighter future, with a wink of intergalactic escapism. “What’s going on in our country, the world, it can all feel really hopeless,” Ramone says. “It sometimes feels crazy to be making independent art in a time like this. But I think it’s important for people to know that you’re still allowed to have dreams.” Ramone’s honeyed vocals and evocatively rippling guitar, backed by cinematic harmonies, create a sense of surreal, epic hope. “I want this song to help people believe we can make things happen. I’m gonna take my best shot and I think everybody else should too.”
Today, Glide is offering an exclusive premiere of the standout track “Bechdel Test” (named for the contemporary film criterion by which two named female characters must talk to each other about something other than a man), which began as a question from Ramone to co-writer Sophie Gault: “Is there a female duet that passes?” Together with Amy Martin, and Wendy Clay Alfredson of Dear Marsha, they crafted an anthem, a collaborative and cathartic bar sing-along saturated in poignant cultural touchstones—the darkly expositional moment in music industry history known as ‘Tomato-gate,’ the timeless power of Whitney, Alanis, Shania, Cher, the endless fight for reproductive rights to name a few. It’s an unabashed romp that aims ferocious howls and generational wisdom at dismantling the “little lady singer” trope—And no we don’t need help carrying our guitars / We’ve been carrying our burdens for years / All we need is a clear road and a melody / That passes the Bechdel test. The result is a sweeping work of Americana with playful lyricism, soulful harmonies and vocal interplay, and a Western sound that also feels inspired by folk-rock hits of the 90s.
Bonnie Ramone describes the inspiration and process behind the song:
“This song began with my co-writer Sophie Gault and I trying to think of a female duet that passes the Bechdel test. Coming up with nothing, we teamed up with Amy Martin and Dear Marsha, to put together an anthem. From ‘Tomato-gate’ to ‘A League of their Own,’ we wanted to jam pack this song with history, stories, generational wisdom, and community. We talked about the struggles of being a woman musician, sharing all the stories we have of being written off or made to compete. From ‘Are you sure you can carry that?’ to ‘Wow, you’re actually a guitar player’ to ‘Sorry, we already have a woman on the bill.’ Well, we won’t play that game. We lift each other up.”
LISTEN:
