Frankly, when I saw what was in the package from one of the most respectable independent labels in the country, I was disappointed. Between the cheese-tinged name of the band to the picture on the cover of the cd, I wanted to toss this one aside and move on. But, I didn't. I gave it a shot.
I have never been a fan of chick bands/female artists, except for Billie Holiday and Nina Simone. I don't understand why. Are there not enough girls out there picking up instruments or singing? I can readily recall numerous girls throughout my time walkin' this land that play and sing but aren't in bands. What's the haps?
In high-school band there was the flute and clarinet section. Where the hell did all those girls go? Are they busy fiddling with something else? Maybe my almost robotic readiness to dismiss this group is a reason for other ladies to get a guitar.
Where's Lady Saw?
Anyway, this release from the Bay area isn't bad. It didn't make me become a lesbian, but that'd be a stretch anyway. There are certainly interesting moments on this disc. The production, though, is really what makes this release fly. Not to insist that these ladies can't play some rock music that sounds nervous in a competent way, they can. But without the production values as they were this wouldn't come off as well.
The drum starts off the album on "Jesse James" sounding almost electronic. Unfortunately, the lyrics are pretty low down in the mix on this one. Leslie Satterfield, the singer/mumbler, is only understandable for a moment here and there. The music's above par, but they could be telling me to skin my cat and craft a fine pair of shoes out of him.
"Identity" has nice production noise accompanying the music, reminiscent of The Cripples. The production really plays a crucial part in making this track move. The tempo change, about a minute in, adds a lot of personality to the track as well, but it seems that the lyrics rest upon the relationship theoretics. Consistently entertaining, the music continues, but the mumbling voice stumbles through sexually tinged adages.
There's a waltz ("Circus Song") on this disc that is reminiscent of The Doors twisted tempo changes, but of course the time signature, not the melody or technical proficiency is what links the two bands. Unfortunately, by the end of the album the tracks all begin to sound similar. f you like one song, you like 'em all, but if you think that one track is average, the listening can become tiresome. With the criticism out of the way, this band serves to fill an important space in music. Leslie Satterfield acts as the mouthpiece for at-least some of the dispossessed 'Mericans out there. And that can't be criticized.