The mother-daughter relationship is perhaps the most special of the possible parent-child permutations. “Special,” for some, occasionally being a euphemism for “the worst.” But that’s not really what Tracy Bonham’s signature 1996 single, “Mother Mother,” seeks to achieve with its rage-ridden tone (which merely seemed emblematic of all Gen X-oriented music). To be sure, it isn’t shading a girl’s mother for not being “present” or really “there” for her daughter, but rather, speaks to the self-imposed pressure every daughter feels to “be the best for Mommy.” Even when all she wants to do is pull up her skirt and moon the guests in protest.
The indoctrination to be a “perfect angel” comes at an early age when the onuses placed on young women so often arrive in the form of “harmless” criticism from Mother—“sit up straight,” “you’d be so pretty if you made more of an effort,” that sort of thing. Mother means well, of course, but her own internalized misogyny only ends up damaging her daughter and continuing the seemingly endless cycle of females being complicit in their own subjugation.
All these “off-handed” critiques and “suggestions” from Mother can go to a girl’s head, even when she finally does break free of Mother’s clutches in a magical land called Being Over Eighteen. But what being a “legal adult” fails to hold in terms of cachet is someone who is technically obligated to pay for your life the way that parents are (at least, parents with some sense of a moral obligation… as well as the right to not be forced to have their child due to prohibitive abortion laws, made all the more constricting if they can’t actually afford to have a child). Suddenly, Mother’s nitpicking judgments can feel like a breeze compared to the proverbial real world, where one must pay their own way in pain (like St. Vincent said). Yet, as Bonham suggests in the lyrics of the song, how would she have ever been able to freely smoke and fuck had she stayed at home with Mother’s prying eyes constantly watching her every move?
Released at a time when MTV and VH1 had decidedly different demographics, Bonham was obliged to create two versions of the music video that would accompany the song. In the MTV iteration, it was Bonham’s real-life mother who appeared as the aloof, vacuuming hausfrau. Directed by Jake Scott (that’s right, Ridley Scott’s son), the aesthetic and editing qualities of the video bear the mark of its time, starting with Mother turning on the TV to see the blue-tinted face of her daughter feigning the opening lines to a polite phone conversation (Mother Mother, how’s the family?/I’m just calling to say hello/How’s the weather?/How’s my father?/Am I lonely?/Heavens no”).
As she proceeds to powder her carpet with some needless pre-treating accoutrement (the 90s being filled with such products) before vacuuming, the awkward tracking shot begins—never quite focusing on Mother’s face as she goes about her domestic business while Bonham goes on speaking. And that’s likely the point: to undercuttingly highlight Mother’s total absenteeism and disinterest. Her lack of awareness—nay, a lack of wanting to be aware—of the true state of her daughter’s health and well-being. “The less I know, the better,” as it is said. Along with, “What you don’t know can’t hurt you.” And Mother would surely be affected by knowing the grim realities of her baby girl’s day-to-day existence.
To that point, how many daughters, especially those, like Bonham, who end up in New York, have had this precise type of faux-pleasant conversation in order to assuage Mother’s concerns? To mitigate the dark truth buried just beneath the surface if only Mother would ask. But Mother does not want to ask, knowing full well herself what it’s like to be a young girl away from the nest, so to speak, for the first time. Hence, a lyric like, “If I tell you what you want to hear/Will it help you to sleep well at night?/Are you sure that I’m your perfect dear?/Now just cuddle up and sleep tight.”
The lyrical instances when Bonham cracks and tells the truth—“I’m hungry/I’m dirty/I’m losing my mind”—are then sarcastically negated with the assurance, “Everything’s fine!” But no, the reality is: “I’m freezing/I’m starving I’m bleeding to death.” Yet every time Bonham seems resolved to keep the verity of her life at the forefront, she reverts to the ease of lying a.k.a. “painting a prettier picture” by placating Mother with such fibs as, “Yeah, I’m working, making money/I’m just starting to build a name/I can feel it, around the corner/I could make it any day.”
All of these affirmations are meant more for the daughter in question than Mother herself. Maybe if she keeps repeating these lies to Mother, they’ll have to become true at some point. Right? That’s why Bonham adds, “Mother mother/Can you hear me?/Sure I’m sober, sure I’m sane/Life is perfect, never better/Still your daughter, still the same.” Alas, once Baby Girl gets “sent out into the world,” she’ll be irrevocably changed. And maybe some part of every daughter resents Mother for not fully preparing her for the extent of that alteration in her innocence, for the wolves (often in sheep’s clothing) waiting to pounce.
Nonetheless, “Mother Mother” concludes with Bonham declaring, “I miss you, I love you.” And yeah, most daughters always will feel that way about Mother. Even when she, like Bonham’s in the video, literally and metaphorically changes the channel away from her daughter to see something more “fun,” like some QVC-esque programming about a gemstone. Anything, really, to avoid unwanted reminders that might reflect upon one’s own flawed mothering.
