Fever Ray Will End Up on the Year End

Those familiar with the Knife might not find anything peculiar about Fever Ray. And at first, while listening over Karin's solo debut that was drafted away from her brother's more techno bent, it was hard for me to find anything here that strayed to far from the Knife's inverse-electronica. But then again, after multiple listens, asome views of her videos, and some reading over her words about this process, I've come to the conclusion that as Fever Ray, Karin is her own singular beast. Something that will end up on my year end list. This album is that unique....or....ahem...revolutionary. Too bad given all the hoopla,Volta, couldn't touch me the same way.

The Whines Start the Spring Hustle

I’ve been trying to understand the reasons why I’ve neglected the blog this week. I guess I could attribute it to post-SXSW stress disorder – how I have no desire to publish my own opinions anymore after every band and their brother (unfortunately not my brother) kinda puked their way through Austin for four days straight. Is there really anything else to say after you’ve seen Asher Roth make indie fame one minute, then play to 10,000 Spring Break bros the next? Or seeing Metallica play a once-in-a-lifetime set for a select few? Is there guilt in that glory?

Maybe it's the stress that accumulates from not seeing certain bands on my wish list (sorry Woods, I wasn't paying attention -- but Songs of Shame is currently a W.O.W. favorite) or realizing that some of the best bands in the country weren just not represented. It’s that in-the-know in-the-know circuit (let’s go Fungi Girls). Or maybe we’re all just trying to decipher exactly who Hipster Runoff is, and why his omniscience is dead on? Or perhaps we’re all still digesting the interview Matt Horseshit gave the Washington Post? Perfect or perfectly combative? Or both simultaneously? I’m sad to see this guy go out on an over-the-road tour away from my city because, like a lot of people from these parts, we look up to this savant for inspiration, direction, drugs. And if that’s wrong, I would certainly hate to be right. In the course of those four days there wasn’t a dude on the block who told the truth like this interview does, or told the real tales of the termbo elite without ever looking over the site, once. I mean, do we have a Bob Dylan nowadays? If there’s anyone in this camp who wants to be Zimmy, it’s him. And according to my count there ain’t much in the way of a Zimmy so it might as well be him. How will he ever give an interview again?

Matt Horseshit was the first one to recommend the Whines, and I’m the first one to go and look for said recommendations. This Portland (I much prefer the PDX) trio makes fool's gold out of nothing, much the same way Eat Skull and Psychedelic Horseshit do, except here we have the femme equiv. I’ve been holed up with this debut 7” since returning from Tejas and there's been little to get me out into daylight yet. “Insane OK” builds nicely on those ‘90s remnants we still cling to, as if this song could have been spliced hastily from something the Built to Spill mustered on their second or third record. I don’t hear any punk, and that’s perfectly fine, nor do I hear any fey fanboy yammering. I do hear a jam, some jam. The same lazily spun melody is found in “Indian Homewrecker,” where Barky’s half-drunk murmurs seam right into the half-drunk mescal-guitar drove of her surrounding peers. Finally, “Lines Between Us” prove there’s a pop element to the ruckus. Much like the hope I still hold for PDX equals Meth Teeth and the shattered anthems of the forthcoming Wild and Inside or the bent anttenea of Little Claw – there is something in the fluoride of Oregon. Am I dreaming, believing? Quite essential at the moment.

SXSW in Pictures

WOW on Hiatus

Gone to Texas. Easily my favorite week of the year. Wish I had time to write about the preliminary round last night in the Beach. Needless to say, Woods, Blank Dogs and Naked on the Vague all slayed. Times New Viking proved why they're headliners though. "I Smell Bubblegum" ??? I smell a hit. While I'd love nothing better than to see them seven times in four days in Austin -- they've decided to stay home and record a vitally important record.

I won't be posting here till at least next Monday. In the meantime, all my spew can be found on the AGIT-READER SXSW Dispatch.

Poolside with Favela on Blast

Yeah Yeah Yeah. All I seem to do is hype up Diplo. This week it's appropriate -- not only will he be debuting his Major Lazer dancehall duo with Switch, but he'll be impresario/chaperone for next-big-Maya, Rye Rye, .....AND premiering Favela on Blast (in North America) at the film festival. I've been wanting to see this ever since I heard over a year ago he was doing this. In October it screened for the first time in Rio, so I was hoping to score a bootleg on the street during my recent visit to the city (with no luck). Funny, down there no one had even heard of such a thing, but they knew of three or four parties a night that they could sneak me into stealth. My greatest moment of the trip occured when we were getting gas between two particularly bumping favelas -- I've still yet to go to one, but being in the middle sure felt like I was there. Next time I might just go solo. Until then I can live vicariously through the proibido funk CD-Rs I did score and the seamless mixes Diplo has made and inspired his film. This is quintessential Poolside. If you see the guy, beg him to get this out on DVD pronto.

Cold Cave -- Please Come to Texas?

I guess I’m being greedy by begging Cold Cave to ditch their European tour and head on down Austin way. Even though I’m seeing about 500 bands I’ve been wanting to see for some months, and even though lately there’s been an unhealthy influx of new singles to pick and choose from, I can’t seem to put Cold Cave’s recently repressed EP, The Trees Grew Emotions and Died, back in its sleeve. Like tonight, I’m getting a head start on the best week of the year by seeing the Blank Dogs destroy the Summit – Cold Cave seem to spelunk in similar domains, only with brighter synth-waves and more succinct melodies, still remaining as damaged and drowsy as the BDs. This isn’t any kind of competition whatsoever, I’m just currently preferring the Cold Cave dreary new romanticism. For fans of the Associates, OMD, TSOL, and Ultravox. Lucid. Please come to Texas, or at least Ohio once you get back.

Living Like Hustlers vs. Black Mafia Life

Another day, another “who started the g-funk era?” argument to mull over. They certainly weren’t calling it g-funk until The Chronic dropped – but then again sampling Parliament and the Ohio Players was nothing new before Dre took the reigns. In researching Above the Law (from Pamona, not Compton) I found that Cold 187’um, the intriguing and humorous leader of ATL, has made many claims that he was the creator of gangster funk long before the good doctor spiked his flag near Roscoe’s. Above the Law’s debut, Livin’ Like Hustlers, is most definitely a classic from the ‘90s and perfect addition to the Bo Jackson HOF. It was a constant in the Walkman, as I was drawn to their more organized form of crime and street storytelling – the combination of 187’s soprano-svelte rascal-raps and KMG’s gruff strong-arm was, as the single goes, “Untouchable” and their Ice-T-esque sagas, while exaggerated, electric in delivery. I’m still trying to figure who the genius was here – was it DJ Total K-Os or (now proclaiming himself pioneer) 187’um? Regardless Livin’ Like Hustlers is dense with prime funk samples, many used repeatedly in the pending years, but never like they’re used here. Stuff from Quincy Jones, Sly Stone, early Prince, standby JB, broadcast as if a live band is playing behind them on every track here.

I have to admit that by the time Black Mafia Life was released I was a Snoop-Dre devotee, so even when Mark Humenik smuggled the long-box out of Camelot in his Raiders Starter jacket, I was not interested. The concept wasn’t about fun, it was too heavy, to crowded with non-essential skits and non-descript characters. After “What’s My Name?” there was no need for “Process of Elimination.” Now, I’ve come to find my folly. While Black Mafia Life is flawed and overlong, the template they used on their debut, is here extended – kind of like moving from GTA Vice City to GTA San Andreas. Here there was live instrumentation, the themes got darker, deeper, and the parties got harder (try on the Bootsy sampling “VSOP” for proof). It’s hard to judge against the rage and immediacy of Livin’ Like Hustlers, but it’s an entirely different monster all together and lends credence to Cold 187’um’s claim that he had a heavy hand in inventing, perhaps not gangster-rap, but gangster-funk.

Dispatch from the First Agit-Reader Presents...

Hitches. Shows like this, with bands this idiosyncratic, don’t exactly go off without them. As no one wanted to play first, the spot was designated for Dayton’s Gluons. Luckily, the line-up consisted of groups that get-it-and-get-off and as a consequence, leave the crowd wanting more (i.e. 20 minute sets) – so the fact that the Gluons were fashionably late, with zero to little contact with “promoter," didn't matter all that much. They missed an exit or something. Good thing when 10:45 rolled around, it was easy to transport their minimal rig (four tiny amps and a couple of guitars and pedals) right onto the stage. I’m more than happy they showed, as the crowd that eventually formed was treated to their blistering blast-pop. I’ve mentioned a post-Braniac fuzz about them, but here they reminded me of Ween back when they were Ween (i.e. the Pod) – a duo of terminally stoned freaks wafting in sinister noise and doling out hooks with little care about fidelity or how loose the flange pedal might be. Ear to ear smiles all around, though Gluons might be a bit green live, you could focus in on the mess they made and realize there’s a great vision here in both song-craft and sonics. You’ll be seeing them again soon, and on time, and hopefully, twice as high.

For many, Haley of Circuit des Yeux could potentially be a buzzkill. It’s the shell of the entire U.S. Girls/Zola Jesus/XXperiments sphere that’s a tough one to crack open and enjoy. That black egg of the apocalypse is just now boiling for CdY, coming into her own both by herself and with Cro-Magnon. This night she kept it simple with a sampler, a loop pedal, and a mangled guitar – oh and that voice. But she also went berserker with the simple set-up. I adore the 8-bit beats getting hammered by the moan and scream, the echoes of madness, and the challenging doom riffage. Thanks for taking the night one step closer to oblivion. That’s the highest compliment, as that’s where the bar wanted to be at one point.



By the time Deathly Fighter positioned their death star on the stage, things were getting blurred. This was one, lengthy, groove into that communal oblivion. I don’t think that there was a non-bobbing head in the place. You can nod off if you wanted to, but I wouldn’t trust the dreams that might have formed. I like that this (a one-off improvisation by DF) could be interpreted as intercept techno (wherein the dueling MOOGs were caught before they were launched out the speakers and manipulated ever so slightly) or as a psychedelic time-warp back to what? Harmonia in the Train Station? I’m excited to see what the trio can whip up in the Lone Star state next week. Should be very interesting. Don’t sleep on Completely Dusted.

And finally, the grand finale, the fullest Psychedelic Horseshit has looked in months. Would you call it primed? Ryan Jewell as multi-instrumentalist (he’s fucking on the floor with tablas this time out!!!), Andrew Graham on concentrated moonshine freak-folk, Rich Horseshit getting horny all over again, and Matt Horseshit flailing about like a pissed-off octopus. I think the pressure to top Magic Flowers Droned has formed a diamond, as these songs sparkle in the chaos of such a unit. At this point I was blotto, but I do remember how memorable those last ten minutes were, one beautiful line pounded over and over.

Stay tuned. We’re doing this every month.

I Know Where Wil Foster Lives

If you haven't heard yet. We are throwing a party this Saturday March 7th at Cafe Bourbon Street. This is our maiden voyage into concert curating and I think we did a great job with this one. Go HERE for all the details. And go HERE for a feature on Dayton's Gluons, our first band of the evening and their first Beach show ever. Also on the bill is resident savants, Psychedelic Horseshit -- Lafeyette, IN's Circuit des Yeux -- and a "happening" courtesy of Deathly Fighter (pictured mysteriously). Not sure what they are doing yet, but they've assured it's something "heavy," or maybe it was "heady." Their forthcoming record is a creeeeper titled Completely Dusted if that's any indication.

As a huge bonus, our mates at Columbus Discount Records just announced that the local pick-up for the March edition of their indispensible Single Club Year One, will be at this show. Divine Intervention.

This month is Guinea Worm's wild and wonderful "I Know Where Wil Foster Lives." This video is sure to make your morning, brunch, and fourth meal. Wil Foster Autograph Session at said show is unconfimed.

Agit-Pat Radio

Wish I had one of these -- for the "man cave" -- similar to Pat Leonard's control-center in his basement, where he produces these excellent and tidy radio shows for our local scene. Much better produced than my bong-hit induced 3AM show on KBUX in the late '90s. Mike and I picked most of the music here. Each of the four bands playing the Agit-Reader's first public display are represented. Very excited to finally see the Gluons. Listen to our edition of PatRadio HERE. Download it for preservation.

Poolside with Pretty Poison

Summer of 1987. Poolside with Pretty Poison. I suppose the only notable factoid about their only chart-topper, the infectious bubblegum of “Catch Me (I’m Falling),” is that it was the theme to the Jon Cryer vehicle Hiding Out. Previously he was only known as Duckie, type-cast as the lovable, yet fey and therefore un-dateable, outsider of teen filmdom. Here he had the leading role, a dashing lawyer (?), forced to hide out as a popular new student at his local high school. I remember paying money at the Mayflower in Troy to see this garbage – don’t remember much of the movie, but do remember this song.

Pretty Poison was of course a turn-yr-head and miss them fabrication of the ‘80s, but look at how many cultural identifiers you can pick from just this clip. They had it all – wild, freestyle beat, roller-skate synth-line, a keytar, a wicked vocoded guitar solo right there at 2:48 (worth the nostalgic pain, just for that), and a hairspray-shellacked lead singer. A shame they couldn’t have a follow-up with this much plastic.

My Uncle Wayne - Beat Hits

Thanks to the conspirators of the Autistic Theater the public is now well equipped with a treasure trove of booty from “the slump” that occurred in Columbus. While it’s nice to hear the evolution of AS/US, it’s even better to hear that group’s primordial roots. I’m speaking of MY UNCLE WAYNE. In my experience as a “slump” explorer, these three men could usually do no wrong -- through they’d sit on stage constantly wronging the world around them. Anyone who had the pleasure/brain damage getting close and intimate at those turn-of-the-century Bernie’s soirees might know what I’m talking about – rarely in tune, forcibly out of tune, in continual catch-up with their own rhythms, missing strings, rambling fuck-outs, rolling eyelids, quarter-consciousness, beer and whisky rivers, drug swamps. Were they the Butthole Surfers as prodigious math-rockers, or, Polvo as wasted cretins? Each set lasted just long enough to get irritated, but eagerly awaiting what would happen the next time they stumbled onto that dank basement stage.

And back to the Autistic Theater, where currently you can procure a copy of the group’s shining moment (previously released anyways, excited to finally hear the other stuff), the Beat Hits 7” on Seldom Scene (Bim Thomas’ short-lived label, and here the Bassholes/This Moment skinsman plays drums). After listening to this you may want to ignore my descriptors, then again you’d need to see them live to get that particular not-so-fresh feeling, on Beat Hits though they’re firing on all cylinders like a resurrected war machine from the Soviet era. Serious blasted – almost disintegrating all the pigfuck and trash-punk pioneers that lay track before them (see Monster Truck 5) in the fleeting first minutes of the “Vulture of Yr Culture” and “Pilgrum Soul” one-two swing. Giving those songs an angular snarl without too much angle, a metal edge without jaking-on like Karp, and the Sonic Youth seal of distortion with nary an ounce of pretension and pose. “All I See is Chrome” fits that model again, with much more muscle and instrumental possibilities. A solid winner from front to back. I’m sure you can find some “real” copies if you look hard enough.

Those looking for the twisted Truman’s Water-esque version of the band, urge them to upload the impossible-to-find Delusions of Grandure 7” – proving they have heart. Then again I want to hear the work they did with Rep and Jim Shepard right towards the end. And why was there an end? The world shall never know.

Who is Ean Eraser?

While a novel idea, there's something quite charming about a band purporting themselves as an anonymous power-pop band from (of all places) the Ukraine, especially in an age of label affiliations, blog celebrity, hype machines and pre-orders. Everyone wants you to see, to buy, to tongue their wares, their brand, their shtick. So, Ean Eraser might be throwing up their own shtick by giving the listening public the least possible amount of detail in regards to their debut 7". It could be just as well that these guys are simply an unknown '70s group, trying round two with a limited release of something that was never released in the first place? I'll take either.

Ean Eraser's "Illegitimate Love" b/w "It Does Not Matter to Me" comes as bare as a record can be -- housed in a white paper sleeve with only the band name and the title of the a-side stamped upon it. The inner-circle concludes the band to be label-less (not even their own imaginary label) and composed of a guy (M. Ford) and a guy (M. Griffin) who share songwriting duties. "Illegitimate Love" is nothing revolutionary, tied faithfully to the power-pop bloodline (mostly a turn-off if tuneless), but manages to be an infectious one-hit-wonder-styled nugget. Unfettered riffs chopping out garage-toned similarities to the Wipers (sans extremity) and the earliest of Prisonshake (sans Cleveland), sung modestly, somewhat prep (?), in dumb-lung until the chorus rings an anthem. The b-side is not entirely forgettable, but not worth mentioning in the same breath as "Illegitimate Love." It's hard to explain why it's becoming a trend for bands to express in nearly-muted, underwhelming, undercooked, phrasing and still sound great (Nodzzz, Traditional Fools, the Beets, Gun Outfit), but it's becoming enjoyable. Chalk Ean Eraser up with the underdog, barely trying, party-rock circuit.

I'm not really in wide-eyed anticipation for a Ean Eraser full-length -- they're just not that type of band -- though I wouldn't balk at them trying. Stick with singles. You can find it exclusively at Florida's Dying. Maybe that's the connection? Is there a Urkraine, FL in Broward County?

The Wrestler was Snubbed...

Apparently there’s already a grass roots movement to give Mickey Rourke his rightful Oscar trophy back. I suppose that makes me late to the game with this post. Oscar party after Oscar party I’ll never realize that the Oscars are a junk-joke year after year. In 2008 it was There Will Be Blood that got snubbed and now it’s The Wrestler. I haven’t seen the Slumdog Millionaire yet, and I’m sure I’ll enjoy it (though I can bet it doesn’t hold a lustre to the “poverty porn” in City of God – talk about robbed), but the Wrestler was deserved of a Best Picture nom. and Darren Aronofsky a Best Director nom. Correct? This was hands-down the year’s most stunning film inside and out. Let’s not even get into the Wall-E/Dark Knight discussion. Milk was certainly well-crafted, but ultimately calculated biopic fodder. And it was also Gus Van Sant’s second-best to Paranoid Park. Maybe we should all just agree that it wasn’t the year for movies….though in reflection I did come up with a pretty varied Top Ten. (disclosure, in addition to Slumdog, I also did not see Synecdoche, NYC, or Witless Protection)…..the following are in hierarchal order…:

1. The Wrestler
1. Silent Light (yes, this is a tie)
3. Wall-E
4. Paranoid Park (don't be fooled by the Elephant-esque aesthetics)
5. The Dark Knight
6. 4 Months, 3 Weeks, 2 Days (2007, but released here in 2008)
7. Vicky Christina Barcelona
8. Role Models (Paul Rudd can do no wrong)
9. Milk
10. Snow Angels (David Gordon Green’s other movie)

(Honorable Mentions – Tropic Thunder, Pineapple Express, Funny Games, Mister Lonely, City of Men, and Rambo – yes, Rambo, so bad it literally hurts your soul)

Nite Jewel's Barbituate Dance Party

Please make sure to visit the AGIT-READER for today's interview with Ramona of Nite Jewel. Then make sure to go here and buy her record (of course it's on vinyl). Then watch below for the overly hypnotique video for "Artificial Intelligence"



Are you lost yet? It took some nightswimming to dig into this, but once you learn about Ms. Gonzalez's influence, her hopes for the future, and the notion that your children will be tripping the light fantastic in some ultra-modern dance club to her music someday -- it will all make sense. She'll be all over SXSW, please don't sleep.

Bonus video by Sensations Fix (Italian Prog-Synth Implosion, hipped to me by Nite Jewel -- many thanks for the tip).

PENS PENS PENS

For Pens it was love at first listen. I’m not sure on which whiskey-fueled night Jared made the random myspace search for a band with such an anonymous name, but the moment I heard “Networking” (for some reason no longer on the site) I knew this trio would be fixtures in the W.O.W. Now sure, there are only three songs here to choose from, so consider this an appetizer. Something tells me by the time they cross the pond they’ll have some sort of LP (Woodsist) that’s been sold out for weeks. Currently there’s no plan to make the trek, but they’re currently touring Europe with the equally buzzed Wavves. Pens play cuddly lo-fi racket, as if we took the way-back machine to 5 years ago and replaced Times New Viking with adorable nymphs from the U.K. Mixed pleasantly with all of the post-punk Kleenex/Liliput/Nixe comparisons you can muster. Purely Prattsian luxury of being rookies, it just doesn’t seem to matter any more if it’s the first time they pick up the instrument or not – what they do here is magnetic and infectious. Go to the link for personal favorite "High in the Cinema"

Poolside with the Jets

Though I was, poolside, a closeted fan of the Tongan family synth-pop of the Jets, it was taboo for a fifth-grade male to enjoy the same group kids still watching the Disney Channel dug. A vivid memory from that year, besides Ms. Orange, was the x-tian girl whose parents would only allow her to listen to the Jets and Billy Joel. (?) She was a crazed Jets fan, knew all their names, joined the fan club, constantly wore the official neon-green Jets fan club sweatshirt. It was like brother DUG obsessed with only Huey Lewis and the News for a good 12 months.

She’d line-up her tapes on the desk every morning before class – who could forget Magic with the hits “Cross My Broken Heart,” “Rock It to You,” and “Make it Real,” or The Jets S/T LP featuring my poolside selection of the week, “Crush on You” ?? Those would be sandwiched by her holy grail bookends, The Stranger and An Innocent Man. Escaping renditions of “Uptown Girl” were futile. But the Jets – full of hits. And now I find they came from Minnesota – which may explain the sugary Jam and Lewis-esque funk of these tracks. There were eight of them, so this dance-pop had to be dense. It’s only a matter of time before the blog-housers start to pilfer everything teen-pop from Mandy Moore’s “Candy” on back.



This edition was meant for Starpoint, and their curiously wonderful Object of My Desire, if just for the roller-skate lcd popcorn synth that kicks it off. Strangely, the only version I could find is their one and only appearance on Soul Train – unable to embed. FAIL.

TNV Play the Velvets (with Friends)

There's to be a complete report about this show tomorrow on AGIT-READER by our man on the scene. Incredible night, that exceeded expectations. Sadly, this is the only thing I caught on tape -- as I wanted to see it with my eyes and not my camera. But, there were plenty of peeps with video cameras and tape machines swarming the stage, so hopefully they all get together one night and splice up a full-set for view. I would start a record label tomorrow if I was told I could bootleg this on vinyl.

Oh yeah. And Beth played guitar. It's a brand new era.

Live with Los Campesinos

Over the last twelve months I’ve professed my love for Los Campesinos again and again through reviews and hyperbole befitting their prowess over…ahem…"twee-punk." After an extensive interview with Gareth, that will appear shortly on the AGIT-READER, I’ve come to learn there’s even more to this band than what’s found in their lyrics – this is a punk band, fuck the twee element (this is something we discuss in detail, stay tuned). Who cares if they’ve got glockenspiel and violins and lyrics about “puking chips near the football pitch”? They are excruciatingly British, so much I think it turns most Yankees off, but they’re pulling it off converting the youth through tour after tour, album after album. And live, almost a full year since I saw them in the modest digs of Emo’s Jr, flubbing lines and looking overly nervous, they amassed a synergy I’d challenge any band of seven to match. We are Beautiful, We are Doomed is a mantra, even if they don’t believe in slogans. That album translated perfectly live, big and bursting, a grand statement for such a group of “kids” – TNV is teaching them to drink I think. There’s a fine line between prolific and spouting too much bullshit, they fall on a far side of the former (I the later) and to add to the adage, they’re recording the next one next week. Keep it up. There’s not a nicer group in this hemisphere. Thanks for making me feel fifteen again.

Fly Girls -- Thanks for Including Sweet Tee

One reason I wish I still had that Bo Jackson Cross-Trainer shoe-box is strictly for the cred I suppose. The physical evidence that I was old-school for as long as I can remember back. Can someone direct me towards the metaphysical landfill so I can dig up the RAP TRIVIA board-game I constructed in third grade? That would be somewhere in 1984 to be exact. Though I haven’t had enough time with Fly Girls! – B-Boys Beware: Revenge of the Super Female Rappers (but the time I have spent with it has been both historical lesson and nostalgia trip), I could tell just by looking over the track-list that this was essential listening.

Contrary to the popular belief that rap, even in it’s primitive old-school stage, was a male dominated domain, there was a time (pre-gangster) when the females were regarded with the same fervor as a Doug E. Fresh or a Kurtis Blow. Before guns and sexism, drugs and hustling, it was just about your flow and your block, and many of the women here (hell, this is almost perfect from top to bottom) could hold their own with their male counterparts. There was a time when I had just as many MC Lyte tapes as Big Daddy Kane – listening to both with equal enthusiasm. There was a time when Queen Latifah was a fierce guerilla-feminist. And yes there was a time when JJ Fad had skills despite a novelty hit in “Supersonic” – play it today and you’ll see the root of your Missies and Mayas. Though novel as it is, it has actually aged quite well.

Still as much as I claim to know about the era, Soul Jazz unearths some unknowns here that are quite enjoyable, if not superior to the queens on this survey – the Cookie Crew, She-Rockers, Sparky D and personal favorite Sweet Tee. It seems like at one point I gave up searching for a 12” version of Sweet Tee’s “On the Smooth Tip” (not included on this comp, but the clip is below) and sufficed to just imagining how killer the track was “way back when.”



Then, I'm going to say post-Salt N' Pepa, there was the drought. Of course now were in the midst of a renaissance of sorts, but M.I.A. just doesn't flow like Lyte now does she? Sidenote -- there should be some kind of comp chronicling the gangster female contingent that tried, somewhat unsucessfully to milk that sub-genre in the '90s, though I can't think of too many that fit that mold. Anyone for Boss?