1/19/2024
Album Eleven is Ten Strong, Thirty-Four Long, More Songs About Our Collapsing World, produced by The Paper Chase Guy. On the surface, a familiar equation.
Sleater-Kinney were halfway through the writing process for Little Rope when Carrie Brownstein received word her mother and stepfather had died in an auto accident while vacationing in Italy. The resultant recording is not a soaring lament or a sour tantrum. Little Rope is, first last and foremost, the whistles of a warrior hobbling along the battlefield.
"Hell"- Some of you have never gotten older, and it shows.
For whatever "trademarks" S-K have seemingly abandoned (the dual vocal lines, the snotty snoots, the jagged journeys to right front quadrants), the yearning choruses are still full-throttle. This here Hereafter is choked with scentless smoke and methanol flames.
"Needlessly Wild"- For Portland's finest to put the word "needless" in a song title given the mess of slop certain former acolytes have found fit to fling in their general direction since the departure of drummer Janet Weiss is pretty bold.
Oh, the song? A self-aware Cars-ian bop, mixing straw and sound under the influence of Grenadine syrup.
"Say It Like You Mean It"- Flexes the lean muscle of the heart one minute, injects a slow-acting paralyzing agent the next. It's easy to wallow and ring hollow, harder to find salvation in the sparks.
"Hunt You Down" - Everything, everything is dangerous. Including dancing. One trip, one slip and it's RIP. Carrie sounds scared the music might swallow her up, and there's something oddly reassuring about so venerated a flyer still demonstrating doubts in their co-pilot.
"Small Finds" - Vibe on red honey, vibe on.
"Don't Feel Right" - There's not thing one inherently wrong with the nag, the catch, the cajole, the hook so thickly-baited the steel bends.
"Six Mistakes" - Probably deserves better verses; definitely not to be confused with Six Murderous Beliefs.
This is racket-gang Sleater-Kinney, and I love love some racket-gang S-K.
"Crusader" - Echoes contain multitudes. Now, more than ever, more than when this album was released, the wretched must die.
"Dress Yourself" - The new-girl march, complete with synthesized chants. One thing this band will never abandon is their belief in sound as the purpose, the panacea, the pretty little monster.
"Untidy Creature" - Carrie did not run from music when tragedy struck; she picked the guitar up and played more than ever before, to know that she could, do it and good, and she also needed her band. Specifically: "I needed to hear Corin's voice."
More of the world needs to hear Corin Tucker's voice. Siren, separator, scintillating. All music, of whatever quality, evokes mortality. A song I love makes me want to live forever. And this, "Untidy Creature," is a song I love, another brilliant album-closer from a band who's gotten especially good at them.
Sleater-Kinney have now released two albums since their drummer's rough, public departure, two sonically and emotionally distinct albums that navigate their unchosen minefields with a dexterity and passion that is admirable at worst. They've dug in here, feet planted in the dirt even as their legs tremble.
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