by Kennedy Hamblen // November 07, 2022
My name is Kennedy Hamblen, and I’m a ’23+1 majoring in English. If I’m not stomping all over campus wearing my big headphones, you’ll find me working at admissions, reading pretentious fiction, or cooking (probably a stew or soup). I’m relatively late to the indie music game, as I grew up listening to Kenny Chesney and Coldplay. Oh, so much Coldplay. I used to stream albums on shuffle, that’s how little I knew about music. When I was seventeen, an internet friend suggested I check out this band Sleater-Kinney. I listened to The Hot Rock front to back (yes, I’d figured out not to hit shuffle), and my world was blown open. How could music sound like this? So weird, yet so beautiful? It was as if someone had taken my angry seventeen-year-old heart and popped it into the car CD player.
You probably don’t know about Sleater-Kinney—but you should. An outgrowth of punk rock’s riot grrrl scene, the three-woman band’s shift into a more expansive genre has left them badly underrated by lovers of 90s music and contemporary rockers alike. Like all talented, flexible bands, their albums span a wide range of musical styles, themes, and production choices. Their earliest work, like their self-titled album, is classic Bikini Kill messiness with a twist of edgy duetting between Carrie Brownstein and Corin Tucker. When Janet Weiss of Quasi joins the band, the drums become intricate and powerful, a moving force that propels even the slow(er) songs. Earlier albums like 1999’s fantastic The Hot Rock feature two guitars and no bass, which creates a sparse yet glittering sound I’ve never heard anywhere else. And if you want to scream your feelings out, you’ll find a song (or probably several) for that from any point in Sleater-Kinney’s long career.
But today I want to talk about their best album: 2005’s The Woods. You can ask Anthony Fantano or Pitchfork, and for once they’re both right—everyone thinks this is a banger of a rock album. With immaculate production by Dave Fridmann, The Woods gives us crunchy, echoing guitar solos, the full reverberating power of Tucker’s powerful vocals, the momentum of a runaway train, and all the edge to satiate your inner teenaged goth. The Woods is not just loud—it’s musically sophisticated. It begins with a bang, as “The Fox” tests whether you have the metal mettle to withstand Sleater-Kinney’s sonic onslaught. “What’s Mine Is Yours” is an instant sing-along classic, with a back-and-forth between Tucker and Brownstein’s guitars and vocals, as well as an incredible guitar deconstruction. “Jumpers” and “Modern Girl” are both popular for their stand-alone power outside of the album, and rightfully so. But in my opinion, the star song is “Entertain,” with its booming drums and pointed vengeance against… well, honestly, I sing it whenever someone disagrees with my musical opinions on Reddit. But it’s multiuse against any and all enemies. From that emotional climax we go right into “Rollercoaster,” where Sleater-Kinney hits us with a comical love story too accurately flawed for my personal comfort, all without dropping a moment of their power and loudness. “Let’s Call It Love” is eleven minutes of incredible guitar playing, showmanship the likes of which we don’t normally get from women in rock. Sleater-Kinney knows they’re great, and in case you were still in doubt (for some reason), they will just keep proving it.
If you like gritted-teeth angst and intricate guitar and percussive work—if you wish My Chemical Romance was all women or that Mitski would really shred it on the drums—Sleater-Kinney is the distortion/overdrive using, C-sharp loving, wailing band for you. And in The Woods, they showcase all their best qualities. Musical talent rams headfirst into ear-splitting passion in this well-storied band’s best studio album to date.