Label: Sub Pop
Released: May 24, 2005 |
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Released on the heels of being proclaimed the best band in America by Greil Marcus in Time magazine, Sleater-Kinney's previous album, 2002's One Beat, was perhaps their most important album culturally. The political clout of songs like "Combat Rock", "Far Away", and "Step Aside" offered the first clear, thoughtful, and direct address of September 11th and its cultural and political effects in America (sorry, the Boss's blue collar dramatics and Bubba Keith's shit-toed boots don't cut it for me). Much like David Cross's 9/11 commentary on his comedy album released that same year, it was a relief just to hear some evidence of sanity in the ongoing hysteria following the attack. What made the album so good, however, was not its politics so much as its sound-- One Beat marked a significant artistic growth spurt for the band, seeing them play more with instrumentation and style than they ever had in the past, stretching the definition of a Sleater-Kinney song the way lead singer Corin Tucker's belly stretched before giving birth to her son Marshal, the subject of the album's fantastic closer, "Sympathy". (and that's right, she named her son Marshal Tucker, how rock is that?)
But it seems that the change was not enough, so the band changed labels (from Kill Rock Stars to Sub Pop) and hit the woods of upstate New York to record their new album with a producer that admitted he wasn't even a fan of their music (candy-coated psych guru David Fridmann of Flaming Lips/Mercury Rev fame). The result is an album that sounds as important for the band as One Beat was for little leftists stuck in Redville like me. The album is drenched in swashes of gorgeous distortion propelled fervent drumbeats and marks the band's most collaborative, best, and most consistent album to date. Carrie Brownstein's guitar sounds like you have her poster on your wall, her body bent in an end parenthesis at the edge of a stage, hovering over you as you dream of the sweat on her brow, making the band's sound finally big enough for Tucker's siren howl, which she makes more extraordinary sounds with than ever before. Brownstein finds herself in front of the mic more than usual as well, trading lines with Tucker while Janet Weiss beats the girl drummer novelty out of her drumset as Keith Moon pukes approvingly down in rock heaven.
Sure, you could call the last two minutes of the 11 minute live-in-studio behemoth "Let's Call it Love" overkill, but only until the phenominal, same-take "Night Light" kicks in to make it all worthwhile. I cannot recommend The Woods enough; just listen to "Entertain" now and apologize for doubting me later.
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