Sleater-Kinney
All Hands On The Bad One (Kill Rock Stars)
by Marc Hirsh
Sleater-Kinney
All Hands On The Bad One (Kill Rock Stars)
by Marc Hirsh
originally published in Space City Rock, Fall 2000
I have no real reason to think this, but I will arbitrarily declare Carrie Brownstein to be the brains behind Sleater-Kinney, the axis around which the band spins, based almost exclusively on the pictures in the CD booklet of All Hands On The Bad One. The guitarist maintains, in every shot, an air of mystery and rabid intelligence, like she knows more than she's telling, while looking great and appearing to be in full rock-out mode at all times. Despite Janet Weiss's commanding and deceptively subtle drumming and Corin Tucker's piercing warble, there's something about Carrie that suggests that her contributions don't stop at her helical guitar lines and a third of the songwriting. I've developed an intense crush on her, which is destined to remain unrequited.
All of which is just my way of saying that this is a band that provokes strong personal reactions, and albums like All Hands are precisely what fuels the fire. When Tucker blithely turns her back on "girls who are soft for boys who are fearful of getting an earful," we who are not those girls or those boys know that we've made the right choice in putting our musical faith in this bassless trio. I almost always ignore record label copy, but the Kill Rock Stars mini-catalog insert packaged with All Hands nails it when it refers to Sleater-Kinney as "pure firegirl punk." With a respectful eyebrow raise at that last word (the punk spirit's still there, but the sound has mostly moved on), I couldn't come up with a better description myself. When the laser hits the CD, it all but ionizes the air around the speakers.
Despite the relatively low-key hum with which "The Ballad of a Ladyman" kicks things off, it's evident that last year's more reflective The Hot Rock was more of a departure for Sleater-Kinney than a transition, since All Hands hearkens back to the headlong drive of 1997's Dig Me Out in both sound and topic. There's a much deeper maturity here, though, which is surprising only because the usual formula is inverted: All Hands is a celebration (typically more evident of youthful abandon) where The Hot Rock was more of a lament (the usual path of growth and wisdom). Even more astoundingly, a good chunk of the album is dedicated to the glories and pitfalls of rock 'n' roll (always a difficult topic to handle gracefully), and Sleater-Kinney treat it with dignity and respect (if not adulation and awe) without falling into the same trap as the target of "You're No Rock n' Roll Fun," who by elevating it to "a piece of art that nobody can touch" misses the point completely and in fact serves the opposite purpose of diminishing it. If you don't believe such a thing is possible, compare the Nuggets box with, say, Yesyears.
If Sleater-Kinney desperately love the music, they're also keenly aware of the culture that surrounds it and the damage it can do. For them, rock 'n' roll is a life-and-death issue that can corrupt those who would save it ( "You're No Rock n' Roll Fun" ), simultaneously unify and divide its followers ("#1 Must Have," which is to riot grrls what the movie Hype! was to grunge), turn the world against you ("The Professional") and pretty much save your soul if you'll let it ( "All Hands On The Bad One," "The Ballad Of A Ladyman," and just about everything else, actually). If you want a simpler statement of purpose for staying true to your muse than "The Ballad of a Ladyman," you'll have to go back to Dig Me Out's "Words and Guitar." If you're looking for a more articulate one, good luck.
As the band's lyrics become deeper and more complex, the music expands its reach as well, starting with the powerfully clear production by John Goodmanson (who also manned Dig Me Out). Weiss is the obvious beneficiary here, with her drums hitting harder than before (a plus, since Sleater-Kinney's one of the few bands unafraid to find rhythmic, not just melodic, hooks) while she demonstrates astonishing versatility and creativity; check out how she propels the ping-pong riff of "All Hands On the Bad One" instead of just supporting it. The sonic clarity benefits the guitars as well, with Brownstein's lead lines spiraling around Tucker's rumbling rhythm. Each guitar complements the other by carving out a totally distinctive voice that not only adds color and variation but takes the increasingly rare tactic of providing its own perspective on the song.
The intricacy of the guitars is mirrored in the vocals of the women who wield them. Tucker is the main singer, but Brownstein's secondary vocals are just as important in fleshing out the details of the songs. She is another voice in every sense of the word, and each singer inhabits her own space and fulfills a unique purpose despite occasionally coming in at the same time. They've pulled back a bit from before (simultaneous cross-vocals were all over The Hot Rock ), but it's still effective, sort of like the conversation you're trying to have being nudged aside by the nagging thought in the back of your head. Both singers are more expressive and nuanced than they've been in the past (when it was sufficient for Tucker to blast her way through and for Brownstein to be more conversational by contrast), and the addition of Weiss as a third, more traditional backing voice widens the band's grasp as well.
The result of all of the above is that Sleater-Kinney's strengths intersect with alarming frequency. What they've added, I think, is clarity of vision. As Brownstein sings "You can't get to heaven with a three-chord song/they called you a sinner but the people want to sing along" in the rock-n-roll-as-revival-meeting title track , there's a whole world of hypocrisy, irony, temptation, human frailty, beauty and truth riding on those words as her guitar snakes its way around the rest of the band. Even the less straightforward tunes, like the fierce and angular "Ironclad" and the sad and jittery "Was It A Lie?," veer off for distinct reasons, rather than just displaying quirk for quirk's sake. Underneath it all, though, is the fact that Sleater-Kinney sounds as though there is nothing else in the world that they would rather be doing at this precise instant than playing these songs. They culminate in some great rockandroll moments, like the gorgeous harmony towards the end of "Milkshake n' Honey," the bassy tremble of Tucker's guitar coming in after Brownstein's marvelous "You're No Rock n' Roll Fun" solo and the sweet and perfect glockenspiel during the bridge of "Leave You Behind." The latter is quite possibly the loveliest thing Sleater-Kinney has ever done, a heartbreaking pop song about the last moments before the end of a relationship encoded with simple and intricate dual guitar lines that lasts 3:27. It is a perfect single.
If this album has a weakness, it's probably the fact that most of these tracks leave me so overstimulated that a few of them, like the closing pair of "Pompeii" and "The Swimmer," haven't managed to make much of an impression on me in the dozen or so times I've listened to it. To hell with it. All Hands On The Bad One is at least as good as Dig Me Out and at least as good as The Hot Rock , which means that for the second year in a row, my summer will sound, in large part, like Sleater-Kinney. This band can't possibly get any better. Can it?