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One Beat Sleater-Kinney Kill Rock Stars, 2002
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Reviewed by Brian James
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Sleater-Kinney, being indie rock media darlings, have many things going for them, but they have at least two major things working against them. First, their name scarcely rears its head in a sentence that doesn't also contain some reference to their female and/or feminist persuasions, this leading to fierce, polarized prejudices that threaten to overwhelm any genuine responses to their music. Second, their hype has grown to such mammoth proportions that it must be excruciatingly difficult to know what to do when standing at the center of such a buzzstorm. With regards to the former strike, it's hard to feel too sorry for Sleater-Kinney, being that they remind their audiences of their gender at least as often as, say, Led Zeppelin did with theirs. As for the latter, the band seems to have thus far survived without so much as a critical scratch, with rave reviews falling upon them like the drizzle of their native Seattle. But this, along with their carefully cultivated anti-image image (publicity shot after publicity shot features the three Kinneys glaring indifferently away from the camera in oh-so-gritty locales like street corners and bathrooms) make the Sleater-Kinney phenomenon more than a little insufferable. Not since the heady days of Nirvana have we seen a pop franchise with a more ironclad defense against hoary cries of sell-out, etc. And not since Nirvana have we seen so many superlatives so recklessly sprayed. On their new effort, One Beat, Sleater-Kinney has made a disc that many believe to be their best yet. While that may be true, they are still far from earning their unending accolades. This is not to say that One Beat is a bad album -- it isn't -- but Sleater-Kinney probably won't be able to make a great album without a moderate to major overhaul of their basic approach. In spite of conventional thinking on the group, nominal
frontwoman Corin Tucker is the real weak link of the trio.
Her artless wail, streaking with precisely zero variation
throughout the duration of One Beat, has been hailed
as proof positive of the band's passion, but if shrieking is
the only criterion being employed, rock connoisseurs should
save a spot in their pantheon for the likes of Sebastian
Bach. Even judged on her own terms, Tucker is subpar.
Listening to her sing is like watching a boxer dealing blow
after blow to a punching bag that never moves. She has
neither the grit nor the sheer power of Janis Joplin, and
while that may be easy enough to forgive, what's more
inexcusable is the fact that her vocals are so far divorced
from nuance that it makes Joey Ramone look like Van
Morrison. Never is this more apparent than on the intro to
the closing "Sympathy," a brief mellow interlude shattered
by you-know-what shimmying boorishly on top. Tucker further
drags down the proceedings with her lyrics (if Rolling
Stone is to be believed, she pens the bulk of them).
Though self-conscious anthems abound, the most infuriating
moments come on "Combat Rock": They tell us there are only two sides to be on This dorm room faux-sagacity and sophomoric frothing will, if justice prevails, be deemed inadequate to earn Tucker a Voice-of-a-Generation badge, and I would venture to say that Dubya & Co. are not the most risky targets ever picked by indie rockers with rabid leftist followers. I don't know where the protest song has gone, but I'll know where to look if I want to hear a smarmy one. It will hardly matter, however, that Tucker here commits the same sins she always has. Sleater-Kinney fans that have absolved her so far will likely find much to like about One Beat. Janet Weiss continues to bring her refreshingly skewed drumming to the table, and Carrie Brownstein serves up enough meaty hooks to keep the affair relatively lively. Some retro-synth touches offer up a nifty surprise and serve to leaven the dense, chunky guitars that wear much better for this curveball. Weiss has worked to become a strong backup singer, and when the entire band is harmonizing, it provides a manna-like break from solo Tucker. These contrasts, unfortunately, are still too rare, and the creeping monotony of One Beat grows more than a little thin by the time it clomps across the finish line at just under 45 minutes. Nevertheless, it should be noted that Sleater-Kinney has committed some promising material to tape on this album. Perhaps someday soon, they'll make their London Calling, but I imagine that in order to do so, they'll have to defy the sycophantic audience sitting at their feet. If that day ever comes to pass, I'll be the first to raise my glass in salute. I may even toss a superlative their way. | October 2002
Brian James is a freelance writer and musician based in Chicago. His writings pop up here and there on assorted music sites. |
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