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For better or for worse, rock and roll has been flooded by testosterone since the time of its conception. Men built this ship, and men sail it. In light of this patriarchy, it might seem easy to dismiss women as a footnote to monolithic rock figures like The Beatles, Bob Dylan, The Ramones, Nirvana, and so many other giants of the past and present. Even those who do break through are often doomed to be singer-songwriters or pop divas. Like it or not, men are doing most of the behind-the-scenes maneuvering. As the editors of Rolling Stone Magazine wrote in October of 2002, “Rock radio won’t even touch female artists, while the pop factory keeps churning out sound-alike clones, and ambitious musicians with something to say find themselves out in the cold.”

Despite all of this, women have undoubtedly made some of the most passionate and powerful music ever written. Female songwriters have penned songs so eloquent and so poignant that it would be almost impossible to think of a man writing the same way. Women are vital. They form a piece of the skeleton of rock music and when they are ignored the musical universe seems much less complete. Rock and roll needs women.

Good songs transcend the barriers of race, class and gender, but we have seen many moments of transcendence in songs written by women that have yet to be equaled by the men who have always controlled the game. Among these unique women are Joni Mitchell, Lucinda Williams, and Bjork. These three have carved out paths men would fear to tread, making statements that only women have made – statements that only these women could have made.

Joni Mitchell is a genius. As the previously mentioned issue of Rolling Stone describes, “Joni Mitchell always has been, and always will be, utterly irreplaceable.” The sound of her voice suggests poetry, beauty, and clarity. Her words and her winding melodies are weighed down with sadness and longing but lifted like smoke by their bittersweet acceptance of beauty. In “A Case of You,” she sings, “You’re in my blood like holy wine. / You taste so bitter, and so sweet. / Oh, I would drink a case of you, darling, / And I would still be on my feet.” These lyrics drip with emotion and the sound of her inimitable, heavenly soprano magnifies the meaning of her words immeasurably. I don’t know who else could sing these songs as well. I don’t think anyone could. I don’t think anyone ever will again. To imagine Bob Dylan, Van Morrison, James Taylor, or any other male singer-songwriter trying to pull it off is ridiculous. They’d fall on their faces. Mitchell’s songs transcend discussions of men and women – all good songs should. “Blue,” her landmark album from 1971, is a plaintive reminder of the beauty that exists in joy, love and sadness. Along with “Court and Spark” (1974), which is a bit more upbeat and melodic, “Blue” is usually considered the pinnacle of her artistic achievements. However, Mitchell continues to write and record fine music to this day.

Lucinda Williams has been recording her fusion of country, pop, rock and folk for about 20 years. Starting with her 1980 album “Happy Woman Blues” and onward through 2001’s “Essence,” every record she has made has been greeted warmly and appreciatively by rock consumers desperate for music with feeling. Her records are filled with yearning for the past, hope for the future, restlessness in the present and a reminder of the most unshakeable truths of the human condition. The songs are quaint and unpretentious. She doesn’t reach too far to be profound but still she strikes nerves that very few in music history have struck. Lucinda will make you cry not only in sadness but in awe of the beauty of this “Sweet Old World” (the title of her 1992 masterpiece). The All Music Guide (http://www.allmusic.com/) calls that album a “gorgeous, elegiac record” that “expands Williams’ ample talents.” Also brilliant is her Grammy-winning “Car Wheels on a Gravel Road” (1998).

Bjork, compared to the other two, is a very modern phenomenon. Her music is laced with electronic beats, computerized sounds, and unorthodox chord progressions. She writes simple lyrics that are almost childish but her words are so rich in imagery and idiosyncrasy that they come across as strangely profound. With a voice at once like an ice pick and a soothing massage, she creates music that is wholly unsettling, entirely original and uncommonly beautiful. Ryan Schreiber of Pitchforkmedia.com, a respected online music magazine, calls Bjork “a true genius” who “[takes] music to the next level.” In my mind, too, Bjork is an artist without peer. It’s difficult to describe the experience of listening to “Post” (1995) or “Homogenic” (1997), but these albums hold together masterfully as focused artistic statements. In “The Modern Things,” a song from “Post,” she sings, “All the modern things / Like cars and such / Have always existed. / They've just been waiting in a mountain / For the right moment.” So it is with her music. It’s as if it has been floating in the air, waiting for someone brilliant enough to make it heard. For anyone who suggests that original rock music is a thing of the past, listen to what Bjork has to say about it.

The testosterone-soaked establishment needs to let these women in, because with their voices our music is much richer, much more complete and much more human. For every John Lennon, we need a Joni Mitchell. For every Jackson Browne, we need a Lucinda Williams. For every Radiohead, we need a Bjork. Let the women of the past and future be heard.