Little Rope
Album by Sleater-Kinney
Released 19 January 2024
Indie Rock
Produced by John Congleton
Rating – 7/10
Inspiration in the face of grief.
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In a world of victory laps and coasting, Sleater-Kinney would rather find new ways of adapting grief to an already-ideational discography than sit back and polish their medals. The planning of eleventh album Little Rope was straddling the fence when co-frontwoman Carrie Brownstein was informed of her mother and stepfather’s tragic passing in a car accident. Motives no longer had to be scoured as she and Corin Tucker made sure to make the album they needed to make. Little Rope is not music as a basic concept, but a device to nurse wounds, not a victory lap for one of the greatest rock bands of all-time, but a redevelopment of how this band once channelled very real agony.
I’m writing this in the midst of a series of Sleater-Kinney album reviews, the next being The Hot Rock, an album with death, uncertainty and prospected peace written all over it. Little Rope seldom eulogises like The Hot Rock, but instead en-entertains fans and stumblers-on in the way that most would like when suffering similar trauma to Carrie. It occasionally empties its head so that it can bang it; it uses loudness and catchiness as medicine, whilst still containing some classic Sleater-Kinney whimsy and attitude.
Regardless of which songs were directly influenced by the passing of Carrie’s mother and stepfather, the commitment to the album’s aforementioned mission is unbroken. Even songs on which Corin is the lead singer, paved by feelings of isolation, contribute. See Say It Like You Mean It, which fills voids in hearts with an inspiring chorus, top-of-lungs, how Corin does it best. The track’s eternal vow is to say goodbye, to cling to one last oath of love, and as one of the album’s standouts, it rouses much like Sleater-Kinney did in their glory days.
Ugly internal and external – and murky middle – observations corrupt opener Hell. The splatter of those internal observations drape over the sonic boom of its chorus, which like Say It Like You Mean It, contains updates on quintessential Carrie Brownstein guitar fills, just without the quirky interplay of ‘90s Kinney. It’s brutality at its most motivational; John Congleton’s production wails, Corin’s voice wails, it’s a wail of a time.
The thought of tomorrow’s pain lurks in view of Hunt You Down’s disco-tinged head-bobs. Carrie dances whilst reciting the phrase “the thing you fear the most will hunt you down”, in a hint-hint for those struggling to the do the same, whether those struggles derive from tragedy or shaky mental health that teases tragedy.
Giving back is entirely Don’t Feel Right’s purpose. Its lyrics struggle to come to terms with loss, but banks on the solidarity of friends, then salutes those friends with an earworm chorus occupied by the high shriek of a lusty lemon. Solidarity is formed by the sentient guitar riffs that layer over the chorus of Six Mistakes, a feeling of dedication that rubs off, musically, emotionally. It co-operates with Crusader to fill the album’s emotive vortex as it heads toward its climax; Crusader itself runs on chemistry-laden riffing the juggling act of which combines silliness and heartbreak, nursing lyrics forever let down by those who offer false pledges.
Sleater-Kinney’s themes have often reduced audiences to tears, and Dress Yourself’s letter-to-a-child deliverance breaks hearts like the best of them. It teases abandonment of the record’s musical values, as its primary focus is sadness, but its ascending melodies lift up, hype up, and create tranquilities, so there’s your commitment to the cause.
Further commitment occupies scornful descriptions of self and recognisability, like whatever horrible shit Corin is singing about on Small Finds. These descriptions arrive in the form of end-of-concert anthemics on closer Untidy Creature, on which Corin decries how she is perceived whilst recreating the rushes of rocky adrenaline felt on Hell. Carrie herself relocates her classic whimsy on Needlessly Wild, pieced together by stammering melodies, elongated syllables, and a moment of untamed gut-spilling that enters just before the one-minute-forty-second mark.
Those guts are spilt, partially because the situation calls for it, partially because that’s what Sleater-Kinney do. The band’s music has always been haunted and perplexed; weight on its shoulders, burdened by duty. Little Rope may not break ground, but that is so estranged from its agender that there’s no point to analyse like one would a Dig Me Out or The Woods. But unlike other efforts of their comeback era, it fits in beautifully, because it is haunted, it is perplexed, and it channels those attributes for the good of others, retaining pressure and duty.
Best tracks – Hell – Say It Like You Mean It – Six Mistakes – Untidy Creature.
Rating – 7 out of 10
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