To know Sleater-Kinney is to have the band’s very essence etched into your DNA. Emerging from the ashes of riot grrrl staple acts Excuse 17 and Heavens to Betsy and taking their name from Sleater Kinney Road in Lacey, Washington, few bands have seen such a prolific run of artistic pivots quite like Carrie Brownstein and Corin Tucker throughout their decades-long tenure as a band.
From the cyanide-laced, up-yours anthems of their self-titled debut to the raw punk energy of Dig Me Out and Call the Doctor, Sleater-Kinney’s oeuvre has always contained something for everyone without straying from the zany grit of their DIY roots, an extremely delicate balance to strike. They gave us calculated experimental restraint on The Hot Rock, cavity-inducing candy pop with All Hands on the Bad One, and an ambitious, densely layered rock opera with The Woods. Even their 2015 comeback album No Cities To Love managed to soften the harshest of cynics regarding band reunions.
But just ahead of the band releasing their more pop-oriented record The Center Won’t Hold in 2019, their long-time drummer Janet Weiss made her exit, leaving fans split on the future of the band. Ever since Weiss’ departure, Tucker and Brownstein have scrambled to maintain relevance amidst an identity crisis, which proved more difficult than they might have anticipated. Not only was Weiss an exceptional drummer, but her playing made up a third of the band’s DNA.
And maybe I’m still salty about Weiss being gone, but I can’t help feeling that every Sleater-Kinney record post-2019 leaves more to be desired. Their new album Little Rope contains some of their best material since No Cities To Love, and it’s certainly a step forward from the toothless trudge of their 2021 record Path of Wellness. But I’m still pining for them to take it even further.
Little Rope was spurned by Carrie Brownstein working through grief and finding solace in her relationship with Tucker after processing the unthinkable; her mother and stepfather getting killed in a car crash. The opening track “Hell” is a master class in dynamics, opening with ominous piano and reverb-drenched strumming before kicking you in the face with wheezing sequential keyboards, blistering drums, and Corin Tucker’s all-too-familiar warbling pipes in the chorus. The lyrics delve into the darkness of spiraling out of control in a world where nothing is guaranteed, including human life (“You ask why there’s no tomorrow”).
Little Rope has its fair share of exceptional tracks. “Say It Like You Mean It,” with its steady pulse and melancholic chorus, is an excellent pop song and a prime example of the places where Tucker and Brownstein’s chemistry with producer John Congleton shines. “Small Finds,” with its cheeky lyrics about desire flirting with death and a jagged instrumental punchiness, is reminiscent of the band’s best tracks from yesteryear, including “Jumpers” and “Words and Guitar.”
However, Little Rope takes a nosedive in quality in its final stretch. While I thoroughly enjoyed the liberationist anthemic closer “Untidy Creature,” the flimsiness of tracks like “Crusader,” “Hunt You Down,” and “Six Mistakes” fall flat with their sluggish plastic synthesized sonic backdrops and half-baked lyrics about book burnings and depression.
Working through grief is a lifelong process. My heart goes out to Carrie Brownstein, and for that reason, I genuinely wanted to like this album more than I did. But two things can be true at once: I can wish Brownstein well on her path to healing from such an insurmountable loss, and acknowledge that this record is mostly just fine.
A massive debt is owed to Carrie Brownstein. Whether or not this album suffices as payment is up in the air. For what it’s worth, I couldn’t be happier that Sleater-Kinney is still thriving. I will be seeing them on tour when they come to my city in March, and I’m extremely grateful that fans adored this record as much as they did. But I selfishly want more.
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