Bratmobile was one of the sparks that lit the Riot Grrrl fire -- and not just because this Olympia band played in one of the first riot grrrl shows. Their first and only full-length pops and hisses around churning DIY guitars and lightning-tongued lyrics that tackle weighty issues like race, gender, scenes and screwing. Allison Wolfe's vocals veer from studiously childlike to stabbingly monotonal. In short, they earn their name. Raw, ferocious, messy and playful, this self-professed "fake band" is as punk as it gets on cuts like "Bitch Theme" and their searing cover of "Cherry Bomb."
Sleater Kinney's fourth LP is no less powerful than their previous albums -- it just takes longer to realize it. Less overtly political and anthemic than its predecessors, The Hot Rock finds new layers of complexity and emotion. "The End of You" features some of Carrie Brownstein's finest guitar work, while Corin Tucker's vocals are nothing short of stunning.
If anyone ever questions a female's ability to rock, crank Wild Flag and watch them weep. The quartet comprises vets of the grrrl-power '90s: Carrie Brownstein (Sleater-Kinney), Mary Timony (Helium), Janet Weiss (Quasi) and Rebecca Cole (The Minders). Opening with "Romance," a flirty pop-punk hand-clapper, their debut quickly shifts into proggy acid-punk (see "Glass Tambourine"). Brownstein's and Timony's vocals and guitars slither around one another with self-assured defiance, as Weiss pounds and Cole's keyboards hypnotize. And they do it all with just the right touch of Go-Gos girliness.
One of the riot grrrl generation's most affective debuts, Heavens to Betsy's only LP, 1994's Calculated, is fierce, menacing and quite uncalculated in its raw passion. Before forming Sleater-Kinney, singer-guitarist Corin Tucker honed her chops alongside bassist-drummer Tracy Sawyer with this impassioned, lo-fi, sludgy garage rock band that transports you directly into the tormented head of a young woman trying to make sense of sex, relationships and her hopes for changing the world. "No man is gonna rule my life," Tucker doggedly declares. No gloss here, just straight-up frankness and fury.
In the early '70s, an era when rock stars were boys and feminists thought rock was inherently sexist, all-woman rock band Fanny tore it up. Since then, Fanny has all too often slipped into the abyss of obscurity that devours many
girl bands -- especially queer, half-Filipino girl bands (like Fanny) -- in the heavily male, heavily whitewashed history of rock. But in 2002, Rhino reissued Fanny's albums in a behemoth of a box
set that's crammed full of ferocious covers (check out their version of Ike Turner's "Young and Dumb") and blistering blues-rock originals.
We could write this whole review about one track: With its sultry, sinister strut and gospel of going down, "Swing Low" perfectly embodies the thick, sexy slice of garage rock The Gossip was serving back when it was still "The." But there's plenty more to discuss on their fierce debut, like Brace Paine's down 'n' dirty guitar; the chugga-chugga, hubba-hubba "Southern Comfort"; the Arkansassy heat that drips off every cut; and Beth Ditto's insatiable caterwaul. Sure, the tempo veers off-course at times and the mix is very lo-fi. But this is punk, y'all, Southern-fried and queer as hell.
The Slits were one of the most original bands to come out of the Brit punk scene. Their combination of guitar primitivism, jungle drums and dub reggae was about the weirdest thing happening in 1979. Ari Up's vocals are always totally awesome, but on the cover of "Heard It Through the Grapevine" she really tears it up.
Forget Bricks Are Heavy; Smell the Magic captures L7 at their squalid, furious, slightly self-parodying best. (Is the title a Spinal Tap reference? You be the judge.) Lyrical quality varies -- bad girls don't give warnings before they shove -- but "Fast and Frightening" makes up for that with lines like "Got so much cl*t/She don't need no balls." And when those sludgy guitars kick in, it sounds like somebody's taking a chainsaw to the recording equipment. Yum. Johnny Thunders may have died penniless and drug-sick, but he left behind a few daughters. Check out the final three bonus tracks.
Riot grrrls were not just born out of the Pacific Northwest. These Midwestern Babes spewed their vitriol via incendiary guitar rock and lyrics as blistering as, say, "You f*ckin' b*tch, well I hope your insides rot!" (on "Bruise Violet," a song allegedly about lead singer Kat Bjelland's ex-bandmate Courtney Love). Babes in Toyland sacrificed nothing for their 1992 major label debut: Bjelland's vocals (which go from baby-doll purr to mirror-shattering scream within seconds), alongside the band's mix of agitated punk and swampy grunge-metal, have the power to make even the baddest boys cower.
Spearheaded by Bikini Kill's Kathleen Hanna, Le Tigre helped steer the "huge strong mass(es) of feminist fury" into the digital age with their minimalist electro-punk "rollerskate jams." The trio's sophomore album revels in primitive drum-machine beats, buzzing guitar and glitchy synths. Tracks like "Shred A," "On Guard" and "My Art" mingle in shout-along punk, while "Fake French" grooves at a near-dub-like cadence, and "Dyke March 2001" works in cheerleader electro-pop. But they remain as defiant as ever: "Go tell your friends I'm still a feminist/ But I won't be coming to your benefit."
Formative riot grrrl act had a lot to be pissed off about when making their second album: in the two years preceding this release, original guitarist Stefanie Sargent overdosed, and friend and mentor Mia Zapata was brutally murdered. But rather than dissolving into unchecked venting, the band channeled their anger into eleven focused, ferocious tracks. Named in her honor, the album is a tribute to Zapata, and the fierce, bristling "M.I.A." comes at her killer like a feminist cougar, pummeling him with vocalist Selene Vigil's formidable punk-rock Sprechstimme.
The landmark first album by teenage girls The Runaways (singer Cherie Currie was 16 when this was recorded) kicks things off with the astonishing glam/punk/hard rock hybrid "Cherry Bomb." From there, Currie moans pretty much every two seconds (undoubtedly at the insistence of sleazeball/semi-genius Kim Fowley) and a 17-year-old Joan Jett drops guitar riffs as close to Aerosmith as The Stooges. '80s metal goddess Lita Ford plays lead guitar, and the band covers The Velvet Underground. How The Runaways didn't take over the world is anybody's guess.
Hole's career was both helped and hindered by its Kurt Cobain connection, and Courtney Love's emotional instability. What shouldn't be overshadowed was the band's searing feminist critiques, especially on Live Through This, which took on the frustrating, damned-if-you-do, damned-if-you-don't problem sexuality presents to women, especially women in the public eye. Hole offered a pop version of Riot Grrrl: Revolution Girl Style Now!
Almost all ten throatily delivered songs on this San Antonio trio's third album are covers; seven of them first appeared on seven-inch vinyl early in 2010. The wide scope tells you a lot: Patsy Cline country and George Harrison Beatles quiet-then-loud; Chicano martyrs Selena (polka-rock tejano, sung in Spanish) and Ritchie Valens (blitzkrieg-bopped Ramones-style); artsy romanticism from the Velvet Underground, Bowie and Joy Division; a Buffalo Springfield protest heavied up for a pivotal historical moment--which, for the Mexican Americans and gay women in this band, 2010 certainly is.
In many ways, Team Dresch's debut is an insider's album. It's poised at the intersection of queercore and riot grrrl, two insular, indiest of indie scenes. And it's jam-packed with identity politics and inside jokes -- the title itself is a reference to a Sapphic coming-of-age Mariel Hemmingway vehicle that's become a cult film among queer girls. But don't waste time feeling left out, or you might miss the many, deep pockets of undeniable, universal appeal: Kaia Wilson's sweet, sweet vocal spasms; the wide and well-crafted stylistic variety; the sophisticated skill of "Fake Fight."
