Back after an eight-year hiatus, Sleater Kinney lash out a ferocious and powerful statement of intent on their comeback album
Anyone lamenting the decline of the guitar album needs to hear this rude and riotous reawakening from one-time Washington riot grrrl act Sleater Kinney. Their first album since 2005’s arty sprawl The Woods is a tight and focused set that reaffirms the primacy of the riff and puts righteous anger firmly back on the dog-eared rock agenda.
The former practitioners of gnarly, confrontational feminist punk (what Courtney Love delicately called “angry vagina music”) remain an attack force of real power. On No Cities to Love contrasting vocalists and guitarists Carrie Brownstein and Corin Tucker and superlative drummer Janet Weiss make an early bid for album of the year.
Prickly opener Price Tag takes a sardonic sideways look at the daily blue collar grind and the tyranny of consumer culture. In a resigned yet urgent growl, Brownstein lashes out a tumble of words like Jane’s Addiction’s homage to shoplifting Been Caught Stealin’ in reverse. For sheer adrenalin rush, it hits hard and No Cities to Love does not let up over its super-taut, tensile 32 minutes.
Sleater Kinney remain an attack of real power
On Fangless they sound both damaged and fighting fit. Tucker, who sounds naive and lost compared to Brownstein's cynical snarl, yelps “I’m sick for you like a rabid dog” as a chugging New Order-like synth takes you by utter surprise. Surface Envy swirls in a turmoil of desperation as inventive guitar runs and nagging riffs whip up levels of pure excitement. It’s the shiniest and hardest jewel here.
The herky-jerky push and pull of New Wave sounds like a strange hybrid of The Go Go’s and Altered Images as a killer pop melody emerges from the crazed roar and throttle of the guitars and nimble bassline. The exhilarating guitar excursion of Bury Our Friends has the martial punch of Franz Ferdinand while Hey Darling sounds like a once-loved nineties anthem blasting from a passing car stereo at random.
Those short sharp and snappy guitar workouts - fuzzed up, detuned and cacophonous - give way to apocalyptic dread on the last song, Fade. Weiss pounds out a death metal tattoo worthy of Sabbath on a track that seems to be hexing Sleater Kinney’s re-union before it’s even taken flight - “If we are truly dancing our swan song, darling/Shake it like never before.”
Swan song? Don’t believe it. Sleater Kinney’s return had to be special. No Cities to Love is more than that - it’s damn near supernatural.
Alan Corr
