Volume CXXXII, Number 6 October 25, 2002 f

West Coast riots in Boston
GYLLIAN CHRISTIANSEN
STAFF WRITER

Overheard at the show #2
Kid A: How many Riot Grrrrls
does it take to screw in a light
bulb?
Kid B: I dunno, how many?
Kid A: Five-one to screw it in
and four to write a zine about it.

These are what are referred to as inside jokes. But they go a long way towards defining the subcultures- and warring factions- that came to a head on Monday night at the Roxy in Boston, Massachusetts. The draw was three bands, each with three members, who were touching down in Boston for a tour date. The openers, San Francisco up-and-comers the Quails, were followed by garage rock's shiny new thing the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. But the belles of the ball were the women of West Coast rock sensation Sleater-Kinney, a band that is almost never mentioned in a sentence without the words "critical darlings" or "rock's salvation."

If a band's rock star credibility can be gauged by the level of testosterone in the crowd, than these three bands have already earned their place in the pantheon. I use testosterone not as a synonym for masculinity, but for competitiveness, as this was easily the most competitive show I had ever been to.

Even before the Quails took the stage and displayed their talent for taming a legion of disparate styles into each teeming punk-paced song, you could tell that the crowd was preoccupied with position jockeying and crowd jostling. The pogo stick energy of the Riot Grrrls was trying the patience of the stoically detached Indie Kids, while their own motionless music appreciation and general view-blocking height was rubbing the riot girls the wrong way. It was like watching the Jets and the Sharks rumble over their turf-a good view of the stage-but armed only with steely glares and the occasional well placed elbow.

Even those in the crowd who had not pledged allegiance to either camp were infected by the tension, and suddenly the shaggy haired individual who had just squeezed their way in front of you represented everything that was amoral and disingenuous in the world. Things were looking bad. By the time the Yeah Yeah Yeahs had finished their own explosive set, full of panting, posing, and throat shredding screams of "Art Star!," the crowd had collectively crammed forward to the point of combustion.

Now might be a good time to mention that, despite showing up late, I was four rows from the front. I'm not proud of the dirty tricks it took to get me there, but from this location the musicians of Sleater-Kinney rocked me hard enough to make it all worthwhile.

Anyone unfamiliar with their music should attend to this deficiency in their life and get familiar with them, but by way of an introduction, Sleater-Kinney is comprised of two guitars (wielded by Corin Tucker and Carrie Brownstein) and a drum set (operated by Janet Weiss). While all of the women contribute vocals from time to time, part of Sleater-Kinney's unique sound comes from Corin Tucker's signature trembling wail. Since their first self titled record came out in 1995, Sleater-Kinney have proved to be masters of consistency without stagnation. You can always count on them to put on a good show-tight and energetic but never overly slick or canned.

You can also expect that with each successive album they will experiment and improve musically, breaking new ground while simultaneously referencing everyone from the Clash to Led Zeppelin, from the Rolling Stones to the Ramones. Most importantly, however, they remain unfailingly accessible to their fans, play in decent sized venues, and introduce deserving new acts. All these attributes contribute to a deep sense of ownership among Sleater- Kinney's fans, and this ownership multiplied by a couple hundred fans, creates a combustible atmosphere.

Sleater-Kinney took the stage under the glow of purple light and the suspense inspired by a single chord held until they were in position. It was all very Rock Star. They might have opened their set with "O2" off their most recent album, One Beat, but I really can't say for sure, as I was certainly not taking notes. Whatever they opened with, it rocked the crowd hard enough to shatter the tension bubble, and the masses became angst free-content to bask in the glow of Sleater-Kinney's magnetic appeal.