It’s eclectic, ferocious, brash and sly, full of studio tricks and yell-along refrains. Dudes are smarter than your average three-chord wonders.
Her ninth record ... is the obligatory break-up album, one sung with extraordinarily renewed power. It hardly seems like a conscious uncoupling: the Icelandic diva bleeds utter devastation, drenched in strings and despair.
Like all of the band’s most recent albums, ‘Girls in Peacetime…’ contains a handful of gobsmackingly great songs and a lot of less inspiring material, varying from the teeth-grittingly quirky to the likeably dreamy and tender.
Though fretting about fame has destroyed lesser bands for good, Sleater-Kinney have come back golden. Success hasn’t killed them after all – it’s made them stronger.
Like your maths homework, you’ll need to give it your full attention. It’s not background music for a party, unless your parties involve sitting around a MacBook reading Pitchfork.
It’s bloated, self-indulgent and occasionally cringey – but never boring. A couple of tracks are up with the best of 2015.
Over 13 songs, it darts from ramshackle indie-rock inspired by Crutchfield’s 1990s heroines to more stripped down singer-songwriter fare. But there’s definite experimentation and expansion here too.
Fans of sensitive woodburning-stove indie may be surprised to hear the one-time Fleet Foxes drummer skewering shortcomings close to home.
Despite soul-baring moments, it almost feels like we learn more about Carrie than we do her son; he remains a beautiful enigma.