The Feminine Musique: Hell Hath No Fury Like a Neoclassical Woman Scorned

With powerhouse vocals and thunderous piano keys, these leading ladies of experimental music are unleashing their righteous wrath on the world.

The Feminine Musique is a series where writers analyze portrayals of women in music.

Written by C.S. Harper

Photos courtesy of Austin Young and Emily Birds

Content Warning: This article contains language on misogyny, death, suicide, and sexual assault.

Female rage has become all the rage (no pun intended). Thanks to phenomena like the movie “Pearl,” the concept of the villain era, and angry girl playlists, unbridled feminine anger sits at the forefront of pop culture. Despite the increasing visibility of rightfully angry women in a post-Roe world, the misogynistic label of female hysteria still often gets slapped on femmes who amplify their voices. Moreover, playlists that spotlight female wrath often go hand-in-hand with so-called femcel music (think Fiona Apple, Hole, and Mitski) — the soundtrack for women who think they’re so different or even worse than other girls, perpetuating the myth of women hating each other. All of this is to say: Angry women deserve better representation.

Perhaps the key to doing justice to the feminine seether lies within the femme avant-garde musicians. Typically known for their pleasant string arrangements and piano sonatas, classical music is turned on its head thanks to the brilliance of artists like Lingua Ignota and Diamanda Galás. Though these musicians come from different eras, each of them brings a unique and innovative take on the genre to express their disaffection with the patriarchal world.

Photo courtesy of A.F. Cortés

Kristin Hayter, the better known of these artists, has also had the shortest career — she’s set to retire her project Lingua Ignota in 2023, citing the toll it's taken on her mental health. Debuting in 2017, Hayter quickly rose as a favorite in experimental and metal circles with the release of her sophomore album, All Bitches Die. Originally consisting of just four tracks before its 2018 re-release, the record focuses on murder ballads inspired by Angela Browne's 1987 book “When Battered Women Kill.” Rather than using the typical sexist undertones of traditional murder ballads like the Louvin Brothers’ “Knoxville Girl,” Hayter subverts expectations by focusing on violence perpetrated by victims. In her words, she reframes “male-dominated and patriarchal models,” leaving feminist thought out of her music to “approach the topic of survival in a way that is arresting and unconventional.” By refusing to align herself with any feminist schools of thought, Hayter portrays female rage in its rawest form: as the result of a misogynistic society.

The California songstress exemplifies this ideology by sampling Aileen Wournos throughout the record. Although Wournos isn’t exactly heralded as a feminist icon, Hayter paints her as a sympathetic figure by contextualizing her fear in “Holy is the Name (Of My Ruthless Axe)”: “"All that pain / I thought to myself, I gotta fight, I'm gonna die (...) I shot immediately.” Hayter goes on to channel her rage in the chorus, solemnly singing, “All my rapists lay beside me / All my rapists cold and gray.” Though a majority of women won’t relate to this murder ballad by experience, most women can sympathize with the overarching theme of being victimized by a man.

From her breakout record, Hayter continues exploring feminine suffering in her subsequent albums, CALIGULA and SINNER GET READY. This time, she frames her rage within the Christian tradition, using Catholic imagery to convey her woes. In CALIGULA, she takes inspiration from the cruel eponymous Roman emperor to side with the devil (“Satan, fortify me”) in her quest to avenge her pain. “How do I break you / Before you break me?” she shrieks in quasi-pig squeals. In SINNER GET READY, she harnesses the power of God to defend herself from her abuser, singing “I am relentless, I am incessant” in opener “THE ORDER OF THE SPIRITUAL VIRGINS” and later begging a higher power to kill the perpetrator of her abuse in “I WHO BEND THE TALL GRASSES.” After rejoicing that she is “covered with the blood of Jesus,” she is redeemed from the sin of killing her abuser and proclaims that “Paradise is mine” in “THE SOLITARY BRETHREN OF EPHRATA.” Although Hayter’s trilogy ends on a grim note, it brings compassion to survivors by contextualizing their pain and cultivating sympathy for their anger.

Photo courtesy of Frans Schellekens

Hayter cited Diamanda Galás, a fellow powerhouse singer, as one of her inspirations. Beginning her career in 1973, the Greek-Egyptian-American soprano is one of the pioneers of neoclassical avant-garde, blending blues, noise, and opera through her chilling vocals and use of classical instruments. She's spent the past several decades not only screaming against the patriarchy, but also advocating for AIDS awareness.

Armed with her four-octave vocal range, Galás’ wrath has dimensions, ranging from a wounded melancholy to an unbridled fury. In "Gloomy Sunday" off her 1992 album The Singer, she explores an emotion adjacent to anger: grief. Known as the “Hungarian Suicide Song,” the track mourns the horrors of war, as the narrator contemplates suicide following her lover’s death. In low, guttural tones, Galás solemnly sings, “The grief that I knew was beyond all consoling / The beat of my heart was a bell that was tolling.” Although there may not seem to be anger in these lyrics on the surface, the operatic starlet’s delivery evokes stifled rage, as she reaches some of the lowest notes of her register in a goosebump-inducing vibrato.

“Let My People Go,” part of a trilogy of albums that lament the AIDS crisis, also exemplifies Galás’ ability to seamlessly navigate a myriad of emotions in the face of tragedy. She sings from the perspective of a dying AIDS patient, who feels as though “the devil has designed [their] death.” She repents for her sins to the Biblical messiah, singing “Oh, Lord Jesus / Do you think I served my time?” with spite in her voice. Even though the end is near, she faces death with tenacity, invoking the strength of the LGBTQ+ community: “Oh Lord Jesus / Here's the news from the new from the fires below / The eight legs of the devil will not / Let my people go.”

In the humorously titled “Wild Women with Steak Knives,” Galás explores another dimension of rage by delving into the much-dreaded hysteria stereotype. For nearly three minutes, she speaks gibberish and makes a wide assortment of animalistic noises, showcasing how women can become unintelligible when overcome with anger. She eventually pulls herself together as she demands the listener to help her make sense of her identity in her disoriented state: “I want you to get down on your knees / And I want you to ask me: / What is my name?” Later on, she makes her lust for vengeance clear: “I have been looking for a killer.” However, she later reveals that she’s looking for her own killer, as she condemns herself to death. Though a perplexing track at first, “Wild Women with Steak Knives” showcases the effects of a delirious mental state and dives deep into the mind of a victim of violence.

The discographies of Lingua Ignota and Diamanda Galás have much to reveal about despair, violence survivors, and of course, rage. By supporting these musicians and delving into their lore, we can come to better understand and appreciate feminine anger.