<!– Link: Sleater-Kinney
Every music journalist on the face of the planet is singing high hosannas for Sleater-Kinney (except maybe the Austin American-Statesman’s Michael Corcoran).
Well, add this site to that chorus.
A lot has been written about the greatness of Carrie Browstein’s voice, or the rawness of the trio’s performances, or the craftiness of the group’s songs.
What it all amounts to is something primal — Sleater-Kinney produce the kind of rock music that taps into an emotional intangibility. But the group also writes some great tunes.
It’s hard not to sing along with the chorus of the title track to All Hands on the Band One. Or the first lines of “You’re No Rock N’ Roll Fun.”
It’s also hard not to pump your arms to such burners as “Youth Decay” or “The Professional.”
Not very many rock bands can channel its raw energy into crafted music. Oh hell, very many rock bands fail to do so. Sleater-Kinney is not one of them.
Listening to Sleater-Kinney is sort of like listening to Igor Stravinsky’s Le Scare du Printemps for the umpteenth time — it’s savagery to your ears that rarely gets tired.