Look, I’m going to come right out with it; I have every reason to slam Riot Grrrl stalwarts Bratmobile. It all stems from a notorious article I wrote about Fugazi for the Washington City Paper a long time ago, which received what I’m certain is that publication’s greatest amount of hate mail ever. Bratmobile singer/songwriter Allison Wolfe was one of the more vitriolic haters, describing my piece as “one failed musician’s resentment toward a band that actually helped create something where there may have been nothing.” She went on to add, “Hey dude, you are miserable because you were in a band with the idiotic name Lesbian Boy, not because Fugazi or “the scene” did anything to you!”
I was hurt, I admit it. I still like the name Lesbian Boy, and while our humble band of losers never went beyond a single gig at CBGBs, which we fucked up, we sure did sell a lot of t-shirts. Even Rod Stewart wanted one, but that’s a story for another time. But I am largely impervious to insults, and I’m not going to let Ms. Wolfe’s comments stop me from saying I really like Bratmobile, because they personify rock’n’roll at its rawest, and helped definitively prove that the girls can rock as every bit as hard as the boys, although I will add they were a bit strident for my tastes. I believe only in absurdity and futility, which is why I loved Lesbian Boy so and wrote that parody of a screed that was my Fugazi article in the first place. Fugazi have been rightfully praised for a lot of things, but their sense of humor was never one of them.
Bratmobile included Wolfe, Erin Smith on guitar, and Molly Neuman on drums. Formed as a “fake band,” they finally picked up instruments and released 1993’s fantastic Pottymouth, a collection of short, raggedy, and defiantly feminist tunes that put them smack in the middle of the burgeoning Riot Grrrl scene. Wolfe’s vocals were wild and untamed, and she wasn’t afraid to sing out of tune. The following year they released “The Real Janelle,” an EP named after Janelle Hessig, a former Bratmobile roadie and East Bay zine creator. That’s her on the cover, looking impossibly cool. The EP consisted of six songs, one of which was a cover of The Misfits’ “Where Eagles Dare.”
Opener “The Real Janelle” is a very happy-making salute to Hessig, fast moving and featuring Wolfe sounding sort of like an unholy (but great) fusion between a cheerleader and Exene Cervenka as she praises Janelle to the heavens. On “Brat Girl,” Wolfe attacks the infamous Spur Posse, a group of high school boys from Lakewood, California who used a point system to keep track of and compare their sexual conquests. To a frenetic beat Wolfe wails, “Well I’ve got something to confess/I’m gonna throw this knife right thru yr chest/We’re gonna kill spur posse boys/It’s the surest way to yr heart lil’ boy,” before inviting them to “get on yr knees and suck my cock/If yr gonna lie and say dumb shit.” Hooray for Bratmobile.
“Yeah, Huh?” is the odd Riot Grrrl out, a sweet little ditty featuring Neuman singing quietly and delicately while playing the guitar. Kinda reminds me of an embryonic Nirvana tune, without the soft-loud dynamic, and definitely a keeper. It’s followed by the suicidal-ideation song “Die,” on which Wolfe whoops and grunts and shouts and stutters and in general makes a great caterwaul, while Smith’s guitar makes a righteous din. A challenge to a girlfriend who Wolfe suspects just doesn’t give a shit, it includes the great lines, “You’ve got my number on the wall/So why don’t you ever fuckin call” before ending with the ironic lines (they’re in quotes) “soul sisters to the end.”
The pounding “And I Live in a Town Where the Boys Amputate Their Hearts” features a throbbing guitar riff and lots of cryptic lyrics, but Wolfe, petulant as usual, also sounds strangely subdued, and the song suffers. “Cross my legs and hold it in/Say you wish you had no ears,” doesn’t mean much to me, except that there’s some sexual repression going on, perhaps because Wolfe doesn’t like the alternatives. As for “Splitting hairs and doing time/Slap me til I feel fine,” we’ve crossed into masochistic territory, and your guess is as good as mine.
“Where Eagles Dare” is a Misfits cover, and Wolfe duets with former Kill Rock Stars head honcho turned future Unitarian Church minister Slim Moon. Some of the lyrics are howlingly dumb (“An omelet of disease awaits your noontime meal”) but Smith is in master-blaster mode on the guitar and Wolfe and Moon do a great job (it’s positively X-worthy) of swapping vocals. As for the payoff, it comes in the choruses, where Moon sings, “I ain’t no goddamn son of a bitch” to which Wolfe adds, “You better think about it baby.” It’s pretty damn sweet, although not as primitively cool as the cover of the Runaways’ “Cherry Bomb” that appears on Pottymouth.
It’s a goddamn pity that six years would pass before Bratmobile released their next LP, 2000’s Ladies, Women and Girls. I’ve always thought it was a mistake to fill out their minimalist sound with a whole slew of additional musicians, although I would never whine about the sheer genius of “Cheap Trick Record” or the angry bash and slash of “Gimme Brains.” While they never formally disbanded they dispersed after 2002’s Girls Get Busy, seemingly for good. Which is also a pity, because they kicked and punched their way into the boy’s club that was punk, and took no prisoners in the process. Why, I’m almost honored that Wolfe condescended to read me the riot act. But I’ll swear to my dying day that she was dead wrong about the greatness of the name Lesbian Boy, or that I in any way, shape, or form ever suffered from Fugazi envy. Hell, they should envy me. Never, and I mean not once, did they ever pour hot wax down their pants. And that, people, is rock n roll!
GRADED ON A CURVE:
A-
