It's difficult to describe a masterpiece. You must find the strength and courage not to utter nonsense driven mostly by the emotional transport it exerts. Well, I've firmly decided to do it, not caring about how many exaggerations I'm about to write.
The Babes in Toyland reached their compositional pinnacle with "Fontanelle," their third effort considering the debut "Spanking Machine" and "To Mother," EP of '91. They achieved an impressive lyrical and melodic maturity and a remarkable qualitative leap compared to the aforementioned works: while these last ones had a decidedly punk imprint, albeit with grunge and noise-rock diversions, "Fontanelle" is characterized by an original and heterogeneous style, while staying within the confines of alternative (that is, without overdoing the experimentalism... for that, one can refer to "Painkillers," EP of '93). The most disparate genres are touched: punk, grunge, but also no-wave, noise, and blues, yet none of these labels manages to better articulate what Babes in Toyland practically invented with this album. What strikes the most is the visceral quality, the genuineness of what Kat Bjelland and her associates express in words and music: true life, theirs, not the one they would like to live or pretend to live. A life that never reserved anything positive for them (except, belatedly, fame): Bjelland met her mother only at the age of 19 and her figure continues to haunt her; Lori Barbero, on drums, underwent sexual abuse and suffered from drug and alcohol addiction, all moral and physical violence translated into their art, which in "Fontanelle" is particularly sublimated.
The tragic sound of Lori Barbero's drums begins "Bruise Violet," where Bjelland's voice alternates between desperate-angry and angelic-disillusioned tones. The lyrics are a tirade against ex-bandmate Courtney Love ("You, fucking bitch, well I hope your inside's rot"): there was never any good blood between the two, probably due to the fact that Kat expelled Love from her bands several times (for which, incidentally, Love dedicated a verse to her in the song "Good Sister/Bad Sister" which went: "I'll be the biggest dick that you've ever had/Hey, want it bad, you want it bad"). Beyond the textual importance, "Bruise Violet" ranks high on the album for Bjelland's guitar style, vaguely metal and very spasmodic, and Barbero's decidedly innovative way of playing the drums: for her, the kick drum, snare, and high-hat are complementary, not essential. But the absolute peak is represented by "Right Now," dominated again by Lori's tribal rhythm and a grave, powerful, tragic bassline that supports the verse along with Kat's whispers, denouncing the pain felt for the absence of a maternal figure in her life. A pain entirely externalized through the power of the chorus, in which Kat, with graceless and inhuman screams, quietly blames her mother for the shitty adolescence she had to endure because of her ("I'm in the right, now") and is invigorated by an emotional, exaggerated, hard guitar riff. In the bridge, Bjelland is an angel singing over sharp metal guitar passages and the devastation of the drums.
In "Bluebell" the vocal register is that of a sassy child turning into a wicked witch. In fact, this is also the essence of her kinderwhore look characterized by contrasting elements like childish dresses and tattered stockings. Another episode of lyrical relevance, in which Bjelland claims the right to be respected by man, self-imposing assertiveness: "You're dead meat, motherfucker, you don't try to rape a goddess." Perhaps the most immediate track, so to speak, is the devastating grunge of "Handsome & Gretel," where Kat's screams rise above everything, accompanied by a simple but frighteningly effective guitar riff. In the lyrics, the leader shows she's not exactly a good girl: "I've got a crotch that talks, it talks to all the cocks, it's been twelve city blocks." The originality of Babes in Toyland is evident in a piece like "Blood": a schizoid guitar like few others, rampant screams, an unconventional drum, and sarcastic-mocking lyrics are ingredients no other riot grrrl will be able to procure.
Lori Barbero is also an appreciable songwriter; she demonstrates this in "Magick Flute," a piece that perfectly blends punk and blues. The irresistible bass line by Maureen Herman (in my opinion the best bassist in foxcore, alongside Elizabeth Davis of 7 Year Bitch who often drew from her nonetheless), which follows the drum in its own way to constitute the martial rhythm section. In all this, Kat "limits" herself to creating beautiful guitar phrases, between anxious and mewing. However, she will be the absolute protagonist in "Won't Tell" and "Spun," where childlike vocal attitudes again alternate with unimaginable peaks, which have left many riot grrrl with open mouths. "Quiet Room" is instead an instrumental episode represented by a very long guitar arpeggio intertwining with Maureen Herman's enchanting bass play, recreating a magical, almost medieval atmosphere.
The few but extremely relevant experimental moments: "Jungle Train" is so disturbed among the guitar noises, Kat's evil witch screams, her whispers overlapping with the literal vomit of guest Stu Spasm, leader of Lubricated Goat and at the time Kat's husband; "Gone" instead is an intimate outburst of the singer and sees glass bottles shattering over a distorted rhythm guitar base and regrets that are both whiny and moving.
Towards the end of the album, the masterpieces are concentrated: "Pearl," with its disdainful approach, guided by a rough and sharp guitar; "Realeyes," where Maureen Herman's bass again amazes (ah, if only I could find a bassist like that for my band!) and the thrilling "Mother," the most heartfelt and complex at a psychological level, pure psychic-physical violence transmitted in full through the singing and instruments, more tense than ever. The text reveals Kat's soul disturbances, who at first throws fierce insults at her mother and finally identifies with her; not even Freud would understand it anymore.
The greatness of Babes in Toyland lies in telling themselves, in authentically expressing what they feel, perfectly combining technical skill and "artistic nature".
Tracklist Lyrics and Videos
01 Bruise Violet (02:52)
You got this thing that really makes me hot
You got alot and more when you get caught
You got this thing that follows me around
You fucking bitch well I hope your insides rot
Liar
Liar
Liar
You see the stars through eyes lit up with lies
You got your stories all twisted up in mine
You got this thing that follows me around
You were born with glue instead of spine
Liar
Liar
Liar
Of thee I sing
Tied to a string
You got this thing that follows me around
You got this thing that really makes me hot
You got alot and more when you get caught
Bruise Violet
Bruise Violet
Bruise Violet
02 Right Now (02:19)
Pray the one my soul to keep
servant�s service
too scared to sleep because of the creep
scarred surface
well in the right now
when I'm next to your head I see white
heaven�s presence
mother dying all of the time
my sickness
well in the right now
we'll take you
we'll take all of you
well in the right now
04 Handsome & Gretel (01:50)
Gretel said I know what's in your head
I vacuumed out my head
I know you're feeling bad you f**king bitch you cunthole bitch
I thought she meant it yeah
She really jacked my head
She went and done it
Handsome gretel
My name is gretel yeah
I've got a crotch that talks
And talks to all their cocks
It's been 12 city blocks you f**king bich
Gretel said "oh you feel so bad
I know you feel so bad"
I thought she meant it
Handsome gretel
I vacuumed out my head
Jumping from bed to bed my name is gretel
A soul of metal
My name is gretel yeah
I've got a sloppy slot
Handsome gretel
Say violets hang around with toilets and look smack at us
And symbolize everything that is disgust and mistrust
Licorice eyes
Pin me down
Thighs
Asphixia
My thighs are vices yeah
He is a stupid man
I love him all I can you f**king bitch
Addle girl
She pulls out all her curls
She is a stupid crotch
That's been 12 city blocks
05 Blood (02:44)
I never thought you'd explode through my eyes
I never ever was amused
Dear liver down on your knees
I never wanted to be alone
Good God
I'd love to...
I had to
I never though you'd implode through my mind
I always wanted to be infused
I lied psychic spy
I never wanted to be alone
Good God
I'd love to...
I had to
You are real
Sometimes
You are unreal
Ceilings peel
Sometimes
I never though that you'd explode through my eyes
I never ever was amused
I lied psychic spy
I never wanted to be alone
I'd love to...
I had to
07 Won't Tell (02:27)
I won't ever tell on you
Ever see me do
I wait forever for you
Figure out your problem with me is you
I won't ever be like you
Ever see right through
I wait forever for you
Figure out your problem with me is you
I won't ever tell on you
Ever see right through
I wait forever for you
Figure out your problem with me is you
You come running through
Figure out your problem with me is you
I won't ever tell
11 Jungle Train (02:15)
Rip strike
let me enter you
you entertain center
entertain you with my pain
rip strike
black eyes
your side - capsized
revel and strike
got my love in a pocket gonna hock it fo my
life
fall short
rip strike
12 Pearl (01:56)
Little Pearl
She was this girl
Her thoughts and notions in a whirl
This girl, Pearl
She was pretty quick
Found her stick
Filled it thick with...
Black sugar shit
Ole black glasses
Spoonful molasses
Drinking wine
Killing time
Burn it black with a candle
All bent at the handle
Devil spit
Makes Pearl Sick
Black sugar shit
She had a name
Her name's insane
A little maid picks away at her brain
To much disdain
Her brain remained
To think thoughts all axe and mame and
Black sugar shit
Black sugar
I live inside...
Off with their heads
For I'm staying in bed
I'm sick of that blackbird
That shark's in my head
Black sugar shit
Is shit
14 Mother (03:12)
Mother...
Mother...
Mother...
Mother...
Mother...
Mother...
Mother...
Mother...
Mother...
This is my life
Sister
Come and take my life
You are obscene and you know it
I run from me and it shows
That's what you like me for, huh, sister
Crawling now on the floor, do you like it, sister?
Mother...
Mother...
Mother...
Mother...
Mother...
This is my life
Sister
Come and take my life
You are obscene and you know it
I run from you and it shows
That's what you like me for, huh, sister
Crawling now on the floor, do you like it, sister
Mother...
This is my life
Sister
Come and take my life
You are me...
You are me...
You are me...
You are me...
Mother
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