Jamie T’s second album in two years is a punk, rap, pop and hardcore tour de force
All Hands On The Bad One
Hooray, then, for boobies...
, they taunt, at once satirising their dour image, the inability of serious boy artists to loosen up, and unleashing a great pop single into the fray. It's not the sound of doughty harridans shrieking patriarchy down, as their detractors would tediously have it. It's a punk rock band having the time of their lives. It's victory through joy and cranked-up amps.
Sleater-Kinney's collective arsenal remains stocked with the same flints as their past four salvoes against a flaccid, hateful rock culture. There's words and guitar. But this backlash to the New Boorishness has a novel cunning behind it; a laser-guided wit and melodic charge.
So while the two-minute punk tsunamis get more pointed - 'Ironclad' and 'The Professional' going hell-for-noo-wave-leather - songs like 'Ballad Of A Ladyman' (inspired by the Bowlie incident) linger and cajole. Corin's voice, too, has taken on ancillary powers: a spell in side-project Cadallaca has freed up new roles for her tonsils. So she's Siouxsie on 'Youth Decay', a sassy Francophile lover on 'Milkshake n' Honey' and all West Coast beach babe on the immensely pretty 'Leave You Behind'. It's girl-positive stuff, yes; with songs like 'Male Model', '#1 Must-Have' and '...Ladyman' tackling treacherous gender gaps and rock double-standards ("I've been crawling up so long on your stairway to heaven/And now I no longer believe that I wanna get in", warbles Corin). But 'All Hands On The Bad One' is rock'n'roll fun; its urgent rhythms and stealthy tunes laying glittery tripwire around the enemy camp.
Hooray, then, for boobies.
Character studies and ready melodies abound in the latest record by the Oxford quartet
A battle-like record where fear and dread rule
Another gripping Pedro Almodóvar mystery, full of vibrant visuals and emotional revelations
The Californian succeeds, once again, in exposing the ugliness of mankind. It’ll get under your skin