Boys with bras

Put a guitar in a woman's hands and let her play. If she gets good, damn her with feigned praise à la Patty Larkin's ditty, Not Bad for a Broad.

'Girls with guitars' sounds like 'bros with bras' -- not what you'd expect but, hey, kinky's cool, it's still a free country, man. Let 'er play -- she's not hurting anybody and it looks kinda sexy, no?

Pop culture says there's no such thing as bad press. Janet Jackson's name recognition got a respectable jolt when her body amour faltered on the football field. OK, maybe not so respectable, but the jolt was real, ask a zillion bug eye witnesses.

So, is the female guitarist blessed or cursed by the music writer's ubiquitous chant: gee, the dame's got a strat strapped around her gilded frame so what the heck, let's write an article about THAT!

More pop wisdom: sex sells. My elderly dad expressed amazement that a mini skirted glamour girl at the auto show knew all about transmissions and fuel efficiency. Huge convention hall, car lovers agog over white wall tires and shapely legs in good working order. Sexy makes the world go round, that's show biz baby.

Maybe.

Then there is art, and tools that fuel the art, hands and minds and guts that use the tools well. Listeners who respond to the depth of a performer's skill honed over decades thank the writer who plucks the genderless nerve with imagination and skill.

Last night at band practice I fumed, 'if I see one more 'chick with guitar' article I'm gonna puke! When you see a woman player, do you think Oh my God, I can't believe she's got a guitar in her hands?'

'It's just an angle for a story,' says the elegant bassist. 'It's a stupid angle.'

'When I see a female guitar player,' says the eloquent drummer, 'I prob'ly think I want that guitar.'

Thanks, amigos. I needed that.