Erupting in the ‘90s as part of the decade’s punk-grunge-indie rock explosion, 7 Year Bitch frequently get gender lumped with Babes in Toyland, L7, fellow Seattleite’s Dickless, and pre-stardom Hole. This isn’t necessarily unfair but does shortchange a group that overcame numerous obstacles to hit a studio peak with ‘94’s ¡Viva Zapata! Documenting a 1996 hometown show near the end of their run, Live at Moe finds them in energetic form. Does it rate as a mandatory purchase? Well, no. Is it a worthy taste of one loud night in a crowded room? Why yes it is, and it’s out January 15 on 180gm red and black split vinyl in a limited edition of 500. CD and digital options are also available.
One of 7 Year Bitch’s earliest compilation appearances (with many more to follow) was “8-Ball Deluxe” on the 1992 Kill Rock Stars CD; the collection found the band then composed of guitarist Stefanie Sargent, bassist Elizabeth Davis-Simpson, drummer Valerie Agnew, and vocalist Selene Vigil-Wilk in the company of Bratmobile, Heavens to Betsy, and Bikini Kill.
Thus it remains fairly easy to connect them with the phenomenon known as Riot Grrl; another early comp track “Dead Men Don’t Rape” notwithstanding, doing so ultimately proves a bit reductive. They’ve also been regularly classified as punk rock; the cover of Thatcher on Acid’s “Can We Laugh Now?” aside, this is something of an oversimplification as well.
Instead, they filtered their thoroughly non-gimmicky gender makeup and punkish facets (a desire to cohesively barrel forward, a lack of solos) through raw thudding density, with the whole comparing pretty well to the heaviness of their Kill Rock Stars associates the Melvins and Nirvana, though to portray 7 Year Bitch as a grunge act is surely a mistake.
The formative Sick ‘Em, their first long-player on local indie C/Z Records, actually corrals material previously released on the “Chow Down” 10-inch and a handful of singles; likeable if shy of amazing, it underscores yet another heavily rocking ‘90s proposition spawned by the period’s independent boom. Of additional interest; it’s the sole 7 Year Bitch full-length to feature Sargent. Sadly, she died of asphyxiation on June 27, 1992.
Only one song from Sick ‘Em, specifically “Lorna” (accurately the a-side to their debut 7-inch) made it to the set-list captured on Live at Moe. Folks who got into them at the start may consider this a slight, but to my ear it portrays a self-aware entity; the general consensus on 7 Year Bitch is of a career zenith reached via their proper debut LP, 1994’s ¡Viva Zapata! The title pays tribute to Mia Zapata, friend of the band and vocalist of Seattle outfit The Gits; she was raped in murdered in July of 1993.
With guitarist Roisin Dunne joining and solidifying what’s been described as their “classic lineup,” this final effort for C/Z (co-produced by Jack Endino) revealed a heightened intensity, sharpened attack, and well honed punkish attributes; after over 20 years the record still holds up quite nicely. Unsurprisingly this posthumous live offering features five cuts culled from its grooves.
It’s hard to argue against “M.I.A.,” which directly addresses Zapata’s tragic murder, as the unit’s finest studio moment; raucously pummeling but disciplined, the articulate anger of the version delivered from the stage of Moe provides this set with an early standout. But then shortly thereafter, “Rock A Bye” reaches the same plateau.
That one relates to Sargent’s death, the initially brooding bass gathering momentum as the floodgates eventually break and the group thunders out a wickedly well-controlled punk stomp. An aspect of their sound that differentiated them from many of their Riot Grrl and “foxcore” (a groan-worthy term, yes) peers was a Ramones-descended avoidance of frills (no solos, again) combined with post-Stooges massiveness (notably, toward the end of their tenure they covered “Shake Appeal” for an Iggy Pop tribute comp), qualities implicit in the buzzsaw-thump of “Hip Like Junk.”
If the numbers from ¡Viva Zapata! help to elevate Live at Moe above the level of a glorified fan club release, the overall value is increased even further through its portraiture of a crew thriving on home turf after making the predictable ‘90s transition to a major label, in this case Atlantic, and recording a less satisfactory follow-up.
Gato Negro sports swank Jaime Hernandez sleeve art but tallied underwhelming sales, at least by the standards of the company, but upon re-inspection it’s far from any kind of creative washout; after a little casual banter, “24,900 Miles Per Hour” serves Live at Moe a properly powerful opener followed up with the bass-thickness and throaty growl of “Crying Shame.”
Given their fresh stature at the time of this show both choices make total sense, and it’s frankly a plus to hear them in stripped down form (as was common for major label debuts by ‘90s indie bands, Gato Negro was a tad overly polished, if not egregiously so). But it’s not all so simple; while it oozes swampy bombast “Deep in the Heart” lacks the brilliance of the studio version.
Elsewhere, a few of the selections exude the de rigueur “tour the new album” maneuvers, in particular “Miss Understood” and to a lesser extent “The Midst,” though the latter does give Vigil-Wilk the opportunity to flaunt her impressive snarl and bellow. And late in the program Gato Negro lends the evening one of its highlights in the torrid throttle of “2nd Hand.”
Displaying sharp judgment once more, Live at Moe wraps up with two from ¡Viva Zapata! The huge swagger of that disc’s opener “The Scratch” retains the energy if not the exact pace of “2nd Hand.” Fading out with the chant of the crowd, at less than 40 minutes it’s safe to assume they returned to the stage for an encore. The loquacious oomph of “Kiss My Ass Goodbye” brings the LP to a satisfying conclusion, however.
7 Year Bitch called it a day in ’97, though the members have remained musically active since. Often synopsized as being responsible for one great album amid bursts of inspiration, Live at Moe adds substantial weight to their legacy.
GRADED ON A CURVE:
B+
