Jill: She Wants Revenge

She Wants Revenge (Probably the best thing to happen to my inner face-painted gothic self since they closed Man Ray) self-titled album has songs which come in two breeds-- sprawling drone operas' like "PDA" sans catchiness, and clubby goth-stompers that I can feel like the visectomy I haven't yet had, that force Madchester scenery on unreceptive American audiences. Single "Sister" captains the former category, dropping an overcast surf riff that crashes into the  chorus, bare-back boning an equally menacing synth, that I swear is ripping through the back of my conciousness. Problem is, all the rock tracks have the same melody, so if you didn't like the guitar/vocals interplay on "Sister" you'll really hate it on opener "Red Flags And Long Nights", and by "Someone Must Get Hurt" you'll already have turned your iPod off to watch American bandstand while tripping on MDMA. But if you dig this - and shit did I - then the whole things weaves together in a beautiful tapestry of funked feelings and hopeful depression, all while tapping your feet like your ritalin is running on empty.

The whole psychotic female protagonist shtick spans from "She's Lost Control" to "Stella Was a Diver And She Was Always Down," and since I am a complete sucker for psychotic females that pull my heart out through my nose at the moment of coital bliss - I loved the deafening crecendo in the penultimate song, "Tear You Apart," which is literally a revelation, making you feel that adrenaline itching anxiety like the first time I put my hand up your shirt in high school.

Like so many relatively new retro bands (that less creative people instantly try to compare with Joy Division), SWR feel most comfortable playing the dance-Anti-rock card, though the strategy creates a glass ceiling. Sure, the hooks on "I Don't Want To Fall In Love" and "Monologue" strike the hardest, but at best they're eerily predictable. The rhythm section doesn't help either, permanently stuck on a default setting somewhere between industrial and pop-rock  (think Kraftwerk sodomized by Duran Duran).

Sadly, the brightest spots burn the shortest, such as the two-and-a-half minute fugue "Disconnect" or Pornography offspring "Us". Too ugly and inaccessible to suggest some sort of post-punk cash-out, they stick out in a batch of songs too bent on edifying studio wizardry over self-worshiping musicianship, but all-in-all I love this album, and give them a 4 olive martini - Will approves.