STERLING, Va. — Well-meaning local mother Marla-Sue Crenna reportedly left a record-breaking lull in the story she was in the middle of telling as she attempted to get all the details correct, exasperated sources confirmed.
“I know it was either a Tuesday or a Saturday…Or if it wasn’t either of those it was a Wednesday. But, then again, it was around 7:15, which is when I typically go to Zumba, so then it couldn’t have been a Wednesday,” said Crenna, still searching in vain as if it were of any importance. “Oh! Or wait, now…could that have been the week Zumba was canceled because the room was double booked! But it was most certainly 7:15, or, well gosh, even 7:45, now that I think about it. Hmmm. One moment, let me ask your stepfather, he might know, he’s good with these things.”
Family members being told the story report exceeding frustration with Crenna’s almost pathological desire to get the details right.
“I’ve tried telling her over and over that the exact date and time of day doesn’t usually matter when you’re telling a story, especially the kind she tells. I mean, ‘Tuesday or Saturday?’ What do I care?! Those are so far from each other!” said Crenna’s daughter Amelia, visiting from college. “She already took 15 minutes drumming up the who and the where, I’ll be back on campus by the time she hits the when. This should be a two-minute anecdote, that’s shaping up to be feature length!”
Storytelling and Folklore Professor Dudley Doherty indicated that a need for specificity is quite common in the parent anecdote.
“Oh my, yes, there’s a long history of parents finding it necessary to get every detail in an anecdote correct. In fact, if you go back as far as the Paleolithic age, you can even see it in the cave drawings parents were doing. These long, blank ‘pauses’ between etchings of mammoths, and even ones where the mammoths are crossed out and replaced with a bird after they’d second-guessed themselves,” said Doherty. “It’s quite fascinating, especially speaking as a recent parent myself. In fact, did I say the Paleolithic before? I think it may have…yeah, it may have been the Mesolithic. No, Paleolithic is correct…although, wait a minute…”
Several hours later, it was revealed that the anecdote in question was actually just a plot synopsis of an “Abbott Elementary” episode she had enjoyed.
S-K’s most recent record is their first since the departure of long-time drummer Janet Weiss, who cited not being treated as a creative equal within the band as the reason for her exit. Her absence is felt. Those of us who have been in bands know how annoying it is to have to listen to the drummer’s ideas, but when you have one as good as Weiss, it might be worth feigning enthusiasm. “Path of Wellness” is technically a rock album, but it sounds like a rock album you’d make after your mom yelled at you to keep it down a few too many times. The guitars are oddly muted, invoking a lack of conviction more than a stylistic choice, and the drums (helmed here by Angie Boylan) seem like an afterthought. There are silver linings to the record—Tucker adds a bassy low register to her already impressive vocal range, and the mid-album highlight “Favorite Neighbor” captures a bit of the spark of their early work— but like most of 2021, “Path of Wellness” is largely dreary and skippable.
Often, when established musicians get in the control booth to produce another artist’s record, their sole instinct seems to be “Let’s make this sound exactly like one of my albums.” (Think David Bowie producing Lou Reed and Iggy Pop, or Jeff Lynne with George Harrison.) St. Vincent was no exception to this tendency when producing “The Center Won’t Hold.” For the most part, this is not necessarily a bad thing— Sleater-Kinney go full-on indie-pop on the tracks “Hurry On Home” and “Can I Go On” — and it’s great. The first half of the album is catchy as hell, and nods to a potentially fun new direction for the band. Unfortunately, the record generally fails to live up to the promise of its excellent opener/title-track, and never regains its footing after the swing-and-a-miss foray into industrial rock on its sixth track, “RUINS.” Most of “Center Won’t Hold” sounds more like growing pains than growth, but there’s a good EP in there if you’re willing to do your own editing.
From this point of the list on, they’re all great albums. Did you hear me? I’m saying their first album is great, and I want the record to reflect that. So you’re not allowed to say that we did their early work dirty, because if you do, we’ll know you didn’t read the article. It’s great, it’s great, it’s GREAT— they just got EVEN BETTER after this. This self-titled debut was recorded while Tucker and Brownstein were still in other bands and S-K was the side project, but the energy and immediacy of these ten tracks makes it easy to see why this band eclipsed their others. Tucker handles the lion’s share of the singing on this one, as her and Brownstein’s charismatic vocal interplay had yet to develop into the signature back-and-forth dynamic we now know and love, and her intentionally abrasive voice comes across raw and powerful. The somewhat amateurish production adds to the album’s charm more than it detracts, and “Sleater-Kinney” is a perfectly punk rock mission statement from the riot grrrls that spawned it.
After reaching some mainstream success with their previous two albums, Sleater-Kinney leaned back into their punk-scene roots by reminding you that you don’t own them. The band had never actually sold out their early ethos, but just in case you thought they had, “All Hands on the Bad One” serves as a stark reassertion of who you’re dealing with. It’s as overtly feminist a record as the band ever made, with much of the lyrical content addressing the sexist condescension they endured as women in rock (the opener “The Ballad of a Ladyman” is a harsh comeback to an unnamed concert promoter who referred to S-K’s rooms as “reserved for the ladymen.” “You’re No Rock n’ Roll Fun” responds to bullshit complaints from the boys club that the band is, well, no fun.) It’s pointed but not preachy, and has an in-the-room, live sound reminiscent of their first couple releases. It’s what Sleater-Kinney does best: confident, no frills rock and roll.
S-K’s second album was their first release as a full-time band, and they avoid a sophomore slump by both tightening up musically and turning up the snarling attitude and sense of political alienation introduced on their debut. The opening/title track is a vitriolic denouncement of capitalism commodifying our dreams and selling them back to us wrapped in plastic (the particularly prescient line “They want to simplify your needs and likes/to sterilize you” plays like a dire warning against the data-driven marketplace we inhabit now). Tucker’s refrain of “Damn you!” that opens and closes the thrashy highlight “Little Mouth” hits with enough venom to put at least five bucks in the swear jar. The confident swagger of “I Wanna Be Your Joey Ramone” is Brownstein’s pronouncement as the other formidable vocal talent of the group, and her dripping-with-sarcasm delivery on the verses perfectly set up Tucker to howl that she’s “the queen of rock n’ roll”. And just when you’re getting all moshed out, there’s a beautiful, slow eulogy for lost love in “Good Things.” “Call the Doctor” was the one to put the band on the map outside of their native Pacific Northwest, and it’s not hard to see why.
After putting out two back-to-back rockers that established them as critical darlings, Sleater-Kinney zigged and hit us with an emo one. “The Hot Rock” has the ennui of some of their former Kill Rock Stars label-mate Elliott Smith, filtered through the dissonant grunge riff-machine the band seemed to always have on hand. The personal is political on “The Hot Rock”, as S-K find themselves preoccupied with failed relationships, spirituality, and the pressures of the band life. Fans who listened closely to the previous albums wouldn’t be too surprised — “Call the Doctor” and “Dig Me Out” may have been a bit faster/louder, but S-K hadn’t exactly shied away from vulnerable content up to this point (half of “Dig Me Out” is about the break-up that took place between Tucker/Brownstein, but more on that later). Minor keys and slower tempos underline the gloomy mood on this one, making it a perfect rock record for a rainy day.
The early-aughts kicked off an experimental period for Sleater-Kinney, and the extremely confident “One Beat” showcases a band leaning away from their garage rock past, and into their rock star present. That they’re able to make this transition without sacrificing their unique sound, or turning out a shiny and overproduced dud is notable, and the record doesn’t make any apologies for its scaled-up sound. On “One Beat”, S-K add wah pedals, synthesizers, and even horns to their heretofore stripped-down arrangements. These bells and whistles are used sparingly, however, and only serve to enhance how in-the-pocket the songwriting team of Tucker and Brownstein are on this one (according to Tucker, this was their most collaboratively written record). Some fans were skeptical of this new direction and scope, but they need not have feared: some of the best work was yet to come.
Sleater-Kinney emerged from a ten-year hiatus and made it worth the wait when they dropped “No Cities to Love” in 2015. The record is a lean 32 minutes and contains some of the best guitar riffs and most energetic songwriting of the band’s career. The guitar playing is fuzzy and fast, and Weiss excitedly fills every spare beat with percussive chatter. “Price Tag” is the best opening track they’ve ever done, “Fangless” is anything but, “Surface Envy” is a fist-pumping anthem that could be considered an alt-rock “We’re Not Gonna Take It” — and that’s just the first three songs! This record doesn’t let up, and it rings with the joy of something that only exists because the band wanted it to. If this is the result of a decade off, a lot of our favorite groups should follow suit.
On “The Woods,” Sleater-Kinney continue to revel in the throw-shit-at-the-wall technique established on its precedent, and this try-anything spirit yields the band’s heaviest album to date. “The Woods” is S-K’s first record for Sub Pop, and it can go riff for riff with any grunge act to ever grace the label. Producer Dave Fridmann turns the band up loud, and Tucker in particular sounds like she’s singing for her life. “The Woods” represents the band’s only real foray into classic rock, as Tucker and Brownstein mix a heavy dose of prog into their guitar work, with Weiss hitting the toms like Bonham. This album also contains S-K’s best campfire jam, the Brownstein-penned/sung “Modern Girl.” The song is a darkly humorous satire of the endless quest for inner peace through consumption, and if you’ve only heard one song by the band, it’s probably this. “The Woods” was the last album from S-K until “No Cities to Love” would break their ten year silence. If it had been their final word, you couldn’t ask for a better swan song. Fortunately, they had more to say.
At some point between being outed as a couple by Spin Magazine (before either Tucker or Brownstein were out to their families) and recording their finest record, Corin Tucker and Carrie Brownstein broke up. Around the same period, Janet Weiss joined the band on drums and cemented the best Sleater-Kinney line-up before or since. Given all this change, it’s not surprising that ruminating on the start and end of things resonates all through “Dig Me Out”. Romances and romantic blowback within bands are nothing notable, but the fact that Tucker and Brownstein’s artistic collaboration thrived and proliferated as much as it did after breaking up is. On “Dig Me Out” Brownstein shares a much larger part of the vocal duties with Tucker than in their previous work. The duo’s call-and-response counter melodies would be an integral aspect of every album after. Wisely, the band has never really dished much out about the heartbreak between the two, but the songs on here make it sound rough. (“Heart Factory” is particularly seething, and I can only imagine the vibe rehearsing that one was abysmal.) Broken relationships are far from the only topic on the table in “Dig Me Out”, though — “Words and Guitar” is a joyous ode to music itself, “Little Babies” satirizes regressive gender roles, and the title song uses visceral, gory imagery to invoke the feeling of overexposure sometimes inherent to being an artist. Sonically, it’s the sweet spot of a band still in its indie phase, but in total command of what they’re doing. And unlike Fleetwood Mac’s best work, it shows you don’t have to do all the cocaine in the world to make a great break-up record.
Okay, right off the bat, there has to be some ground rules. First and foremost: you can’t have TWO self-titled albums in your discography. It just can’t happen. The burden on fans when discussing an album and having to specify “The first self-titled or the second?” is just too great a cross to bear. Although, really the first and second self-titled albums should not be mentioned together, as 2009’s offering fell flat of the band’s true potential. KSE II is the last album with Howard Jones on the mic, and while his vocals are on point, there are no real standout songs or much else to write home about. It’s not that it’s bad, it’s just that the rest of their discography is so strong, so to the end of the list you go.
“Incarnate” is a fine album with some fine songs, if not a little cookie-cutter. The band has used the tried-and-true formula to much success, so eight albums in it’s not a surprise that some might start to blend together. Many attribute this album to singer Jesse Leach needing vocal cord surgery, as his performance is very ambitious (in a good way, it’s very good). If so, this album put one of our favorite singers out of commission, so we may forgive but we will never forget.
Killswitch’s most recent album sees more of a return to their roots. Fast riffs, heavy beats, melodic vocals, the works. The themes of depression and anxiety from Leach’s lyrics are laid out for all to hear, with inspiring messages of hope and camaraderie also prevalent throughout. Atonement also features one of the best KsE songs ever, as Howard and Jesse team up for a duet during a verse on “The Signal Fire,” making fans both old and new well up with happiness. Like when mommy and daddy divorce but stay good friends and have a great relationship for the kids.
Now this… this shit right here is a badass record. Very little fat on this bad boy. For my money, this album as a whole is Howard Jones best vocal performance in the band. The guy just has fuckin pipes man. Even the slower, ballad-y songs on “Daylight” rule. Also, “My Curse” is one of the most hauntingly beautiful songs ever written and a staple in their setlist, even after Leach took back over vocal duties in 2012. Just a sick band, right in the middle of their stride, making it look easy.
Depending on the day, this album and “As Daylight Dies” could probably swap places and no one would bat an eye. But right here, right now, this one gets the nod because of what it meant to the band and to the fans. Jones’ departure announcement due to health issues complicated by the band’s restless touring regimen placed genuine skepticism on the future of many people’s favorite riff purveyors. Imagine trying out to be the singer of a band, and your competition is the guy who wrote half their songs and has one of the best voices in the genre? “Disarm the Descent” is such an important piece of the band’s catalog as it signaled continuation through a third chapter with a familiar voice in Leach’s that screams from the very first note of opener “The Hell in Me.” Just nonstop bopping.
Listen, I know they may have some “metal ballads” and play big crowds and have barriers and shit, but Killswitch is a hardcore band deep in their veins. If any of these songs rear their ugly heads at a show, you should start fearing for your safety. It’s incredibly rare for a debut album to grab an entire genre by the balls, but the original Self-Titled turned metalcore on its ass and it hasn’t been the same since. The list of bands that would not exist without this record is endless.
As number two on the list was Killswitch’s biggest commercial success, odds are this is the album that most people associate the band with. However, just because it’s the most popular doesn’t mean it deserves any hate or gatekeeping. This album straight shreds. It was the first album with Howard singing, and he comes out guns blazing right from the get-go. It also is the first album to feature current drummer Justin Foley, who is nothing short of a monster behind the kit. It’s just banger after banger from start to finish, and showcases the best of what the band has come to be known for. It also helps that the cover art is legendarily recognizable. I mourn for those who never heard you.
One of the most important albums in our scene’s history. We made it through seven albums without once mentioning Adam D(utkiewicz), but clearly no article on Killswitch Engage can exist without paying homage to the musical genius of the Price is Right champion (true story). Dutkiewicz, a Berklee alum who has produced every Killswitch album, is the lovable class clown of the metal community. He did everything but play the triangle on what most consider to be a lynchpin in the progression of metalcore. This was the last album to feature him on drums, before he moved to his permanent fixture as guitarist (which he also did for AOJB). The one-two punch of Adam D and Joel Stroetzel on guitar, along with original bassist Mike D’Antonio’s contributions, coalesce to make one of the most perfect albums ever produced. When you include Leach’s vocals combined with lyrical themes that lean on positivity and acceptance (instead of fixating on the darkness), you start to wonder why any other band didn’t have this formula sooner. Both beautiful and brutal, if you happen to see the band play anything from this one live, bang your head and raise your fist.