There’s just something about redheaded female vocalists; they’ve got that special allure of being a rare and sometimes ridiculed phenotype, and seeing them really go for a song with confidence and passion onstage just seems that much more moving – maybe because it often looks like their heads are on fire. I didn’t mean to follow Bonnie Raitt and Florence Welch posts so quickly with another ginger siren, the smoldering Corin Tucker; in fact, I’d been listening to Sleater-Kinney’s last album, 2005's The Woods, and I decided to do a song from it for this week’s post before ever seeing photos or video of the group. Coincidence?
But what of this "siren" concept, so often used to describe a flame-headed singer? I think we can get more specific: If we compare the three ladies’ voices at full tilt to emergency warning emitters, Raitt is more of a town’s clock tower bell in the Old West – full-bodied, gold-tinted and, frankly, not that urgent – while Welch reminds me of Dick Tracy-era cop cars – that kind of biting, mid-rage wail with a warm, classic charm. Tucker, on the other hand, is a tornado warning. There’s a certain electricity and uncertainty to the high-pitched sonic blasts: Where did it come from, where did it go, will my eardrums ever be the same? What happened to my house?
And as opposed to Raitt’s soulful, powerful blues and Welch’s life-affirming super-pop, Tucker and S-K dig more into gritty, angsty post-grunge. This is music about not fitting in, about being upset, about wanting to stick it to the world – and about living in and with those emotions. You don’t just work through the negative feelings; you embrace them, ride them out, and see what you’re capable of while the juices are flowing. Tucker and her two gal pals are capable of quite a bit, as you can see. Now we just need them to get back together.
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