This Valentine’s Day, while you were shivering in your winter-inappropriate fancy-date outfits en route to enduring an obligatory prix fixe, I was watching one of my favorite bands for the first time in nine years. I wrote about it for City Pages.
Sleater-Kinney once showed us how to harness the chaotic intensity of youth without letting it consume you; now they show us how to summon that intensity in middle-age when it threatens to dissipate. As the band proved Saturday night, there’s no less glory in fighting against the tide than there is in riding the crest of the wave.
I might try to expand on my thoughts about No Cities to Love l
And if you’re curious about the S-K performances I unfairly compared this show to, here is the most ridiculous lead I ever wrote after a life-changing show at NYC’s Mercury Lounge in 2005, and a more professionally modulated rave about a show at the Starlight Ballroom in Philadelphia the following year.