As someone who was merely aware of the band in itsheyday, I was mystified by the effect that the Sleater-Kinney reunion had on me. It certainly didn't hurt that No Cities to Love, the first CD from the group in 10 years, was called one of the best releases of 2014, or that tickets for this show were snapped up in fewer than 10 minutes after they went on sale. Once I heard "A New Wave" from that album, I had to admit that I was quite smitten and understood why.
For those who don't know—and I will be the first to admit that I was one of you up until four weeks ago—Sleater-Kinney emerged in 1994 with a distinct female voice and attitude that ignited the riot-GRRRRRRRL movement while preventing the hard-rock/grunge scene from fading as a laughable trend. After seven highly celebrated albums ( and plenty of upfront estrogen to smack down the rock industry's tendency to celebrate male chauvinism ), Corin Tucker ( vocals/guitar ), Carrie Brownstein ( vocals/guitar ) and Janet Weiss ( drums ) went on indefinite hiatus.
In the decade since The Woods ( 2005, Sub Pop Records ) they've all participated in other projects musical and otherwise ( including Brownstein's role on the TV show Portlandia ) but there was never any drama or tension in the break up.
Sleater-Kinney saved the tension for the music and the opener on the new CD. "Price Tag" kicks off with Tucker and Brownstein's warped guitar chords dueling it out while creating a spine for the song. Tucker sings like the fate of the Western Hemisphere depended on it, and that song is like an intoxicating wave of pure arid heat. "No Anthems" takes the same design in a more measured, coiled and seductive lurch before it blooms into an epic of barbed thunder. "A New Wave"—with those whiplash guitars, upfront aggressive harmonies, over-the-top propulsion and an addictive chorus—is a big loud bliss out of a tune. ( It's no wonder that the video features animated children dancing spastically to the song. )
I could go on and on about each and every track on the CD as offering something new and exciting but, really, that IS the point here. No Cities to Burn, track for track, has so much energy, bite, muscle, passion and precision that it fully justifies the buzz.
Now about that "buzz": The excitement about the CD had nothing to do with the band's label or the manipulations of a PR firm. It was created by sincere fans who really have been waiting for a second chapter in the Sleater-Kinney history. Even the music critics who have raved about No Cities to Love betray themselves as long term fans, and as someone who has witnessed this euphoria from a distance, I can see why.
All of which brings us to that sold out show at The Riviera on Feb. 18. If sweet Jesus walked across the Lincoln Park lagoon and Moses parted the iced waters before him, they could not possibly command the furious joy that greeted Tucker, Brownstein and Weiss when they got onstage. Once Tucker bit into the first verse of "Price Tag," an unenlightened spectator ( like myself ) could assume that it could not get any better than that. ( "OH DAMN!!!," is all I could say ). By the third song, "Start Together," it was pretty clear to me that I had found "enlightenment" big time.
What sounded full and thrilling on CD was amped up to monolithic proportions onstage, and it forced me to see and hear the beauty of Sleater-Kinney in all the band's glory. Eschewing a bassist, Tucker and Brownstein have tuned their guitars to a lower scale ( which explains that wobbly thunderous interplay ) while Weiss, for all of the punch and snap in her playing, actually embraces detail and nuance. This group "live" is the very definition of the word "cohesion." "No Cities to Burn" charged out like a flash flood ( and had the most ironic lyric of the night since Feb. 18 was the start of a record-breaking arctic freeze with the chorus, "It's not the city but the weather we love!!!" ); "No Anthems" and "Youth Decay" steamrolled the SRO crowd; and "Gimme Love," "Jumpers," and "Entertain" were like getting jacked up by a pack of wild monkeys with socks filled with wet sand and loving it.
Oh my: It's only February, but after seeing Kaki King and Sleater-Kinney within a week I am ready to call it a year.
Well, not quite: After checking out the second installment of Glitter Creeps for 2015, the queer-flavored blowout at the Empty Bottle on Feb. 19, I will have to bite my tongue. If anyone had the notion that Donnie Moore's monthly event was a confab of bohemian, scruffy, candy-ass attendees, this edition debunked that. If the January version featured female-fronted queer rock, this show was all about beards, stud-muffin swagger, queer goofy-nerd masculinity and sweaty body contact in equal measures.
The first band, Nervous Passenger, poured out hard, sloppy, thudding rock and gayboy frat goofiness with vocalist/guitarist Stephan Jurgovan whining about being sick ( "I DON'T FEEL SO WELL..." ) and a leering Nnamdi Ogbonnaya on bass hawking his flavored condoms. None of that silliness stopped them, Brandon Smith ( drums ) or Johnny Walter Wilson ( guitar ) from stomping through a set that threatened to tear a hole in the ozone. The headliner, Meat Wave, featured vocalist/guitarist Chris Sutter, who displayed the advantages of unrefined talent; between his scrappy, paint peeling falsetto and positively beastly bass growl, this guy could strip the meat off of a braying lamb in seconds with just that voice.
My favorite was Mr. Ma'am, who project a dirty oiliness that clearly would not go down well in church on a Sunday morning. With recent addition Tommy Noir on bass, Mr. Ma'am has a grimy, almost pornographic vibe which emanates from the vocals and slutty chords of front man Andy Ryan. The man sounds like Johnny Rotten on a queer bender after a night at the Ram Bookstore, and that aroma points right back at the heart of rock 'n' roll; danger, sex and abandon. If drummer Frankie Mars hadn't broken up all that filthy humidity with her crystalline "Creepers," there could be no telling where the night would have ended.
Actually, it was pretty clear where this night ended when the slam-dancing broke out in full force during Meat Wave's set ( to the guy on crutches ... I'm glad that you are ok and that you had a really really "good time" ), but you couldn't really ask for more. Glitter Creeps is a new, edgy, all inclusive, queer-flavored monthly escapade that Chicago's LGBTQ scene sorely needs. Bless Moore and The Empty Bottle for that.
