Sleater-Kinney
All Hands On The Bad One

THE REVIEW

"All Hands On The Bad One," class of 2000, was among Jerry's most played listens for a month.

The month is the sunny and rainy July of a gray-green Dublin, and Jerry is the mentor, the undisputed boss of the shop where contractually he would be just a simple clerk: in his fifties but looking far worse, exaggerated bags under his small, greenish Irish eyes; skeletal, hair dyed a never-seen-before red and styled à la Johnny Rotten, to add a good fifteen centimeters to a stature already exaggerated as it is. Tie, black shirt tucked into a studded belt, pants really too tight, shabby: shiny Italian shoes, the touch of class. An inexplicable Yankee accent.

A mythological character, in short, a misfit veteran. As for musical culture, a spiritual father to all. Discs of Japan, Talking Heads, Siouxsie And The Banshees, and other New Wave wonders play in the shop under his careful supervision.

Among 77, The Queen Is Dead, and various institutions, almost daily, the fifth album by the Portland trio known (not too much) as Sleater-Kinney carves out 40 minutes of glory: and it deserves it, this attention from Jerry. It deserves it because in "All Hands On The Bad One", Corin Tucker and Carrie Brownstein, vocals and guitars, and Janet Weiss on drums, supported by an already established formula and a mature and absolutely distinctive sound, reveal a depth in songwriting that had been only partially expressed until now: while not giving up the garage edge of their beginnings, especially in tracks like Ironclad, the wild Youth Decay and The Professional, and socially engaged themes with a particular focus on gender equality, Sleater-Kinney manage to infuse the songs with a pop breath that fits perfectly; thus, relentlessly easy listening tracks such as Ballad Of A Ladyman and You're No Rock'n'Roll Fun, barring prejudices, wouldn't make even the most sophisticated listener frown. Not a small quality, among so many trendy revivals and similar sycophancies, and Jerry knows this.

The influences are multiple, and make themselves heard: garage punk, starting with the cover, the Breeders in the pop of Leave You Behind, Kim Deal and her slightly dissonant harmonizations throughout the album, Siouxsie Sioux in Tucker's vocal style, references to Television in the guitar parts, a bit of healthy noise à la Sonic Youth; heavy influences, yes, but perfectly synthesized in the sound of Sleater-Kinney, which manages to sound fresh and original, certainly more offspring than emulator, with their guitars tuned a third below E to compensate for the lack of bass.

Not a masterpiece, it pays for an excessive 'softening' towards the end, perhaps intentional or perhaps due to a suboptimal distribution of the more spirited tracks, but an album to be re-evaluated from a now ex-trio of angry feminists that certainly deserved more fortune, if not with Jerry, the master, the reference point of a multi-ethnic group of inexperienced youngsters, in that happy shop of Ireland.