E(r)go Drafty

"We dig dig dig dig dig dig dig in our mine the whole day through
To dig dig dig dig dig dig dig is what we really like to do
...
Heigh ho, Heigh ho,
It's off to work we go
Heigh ho, Heigh ho, Heigh ho, Heigh ho
Heigh ho...Heigh ho..."

And so onward unto the mines, seven whistle-busy dwarfs chose to drench their daily march in a chorus of repetitious simplicity to mask what grueling task their tools might soon take on.

Possibly somewhere distant in those same deep dark depths, featuring craggy treehands and spooky hoot-owls (possibly the same foresty territory that Snow White herself was fearfully deployed into) Sleater-Kinney marched "dig dig dig" and "heigh ho" onward ho to their own single Beat.

Alright, so maybe an over-and-over analogy doesn't do justice to the innovative licks and battlecry creativity that Sleater-Kinney's previous efforts deserve. But upon impact of their 2005 accomplishment, The Woods, Sleater-Kinney cause the similar sound of their first six steps forward to be heard as mere practice sessions, and prove that album number seven was not meant to mimic any dwarf.

It's probably okay to thank the production of David Fridmann for the sound's new (yet still distinctly S-K) and barbarous bellow. I mean the musicians have got this new move to Sub Pop, and news hardly matters when dude takes their "heigh ho" work ethic and places the emphasis back on the hearty decree that the millenial rock pioneers have been eyeing for the past decade: "Laaaaand ho!" ye noisy dense, and jam session be wrapped.

So, vocals now sandwiched between murky vibe and veteran production, a forest is a fitting forum for the pinnacle of S-K's career. And if there's one thing that matters about The Woods, it's that the entirety of its awesomely brutal roar bulldozes any hapless blab that may attempt to dish unnecessary insult to Sleater-Kinney by pasting a 'female-affair' bit near the introductory inclination of their compositional ingenuity. Janet Weiss--as mimicked in their video for "Entertain"--drives the band toward the new onward-ho with her immaculate grasp of percussive instinct; Carrie Brownstein holds back no less by making a cunning heart-to-hand connection via guitar; and Corin Tucker finally unleashes the culmination of her carnal proclivity by progressing from fidgety-angsty caterwauler to royally-furied arena rock legend.

And new sonic limits reached, the announcement is unapologetic. Cue-ing the mood of their kinetic potential, "Eeeiiiueeee" is track one's squeaky jaw of a metal beastly widening in split-second slo-mo, adapting to devour what hapless prey may displace its any-prudence in pursuit of --SLAMchomp-- The Woods. Three minutes and twenty-five seconds later, you tumble from, not a breath left, as the resound of "The Fox" fades forward into more "Wilderness." The rest of the record follows just as tightly, and just as brash. On "Modern Girl," a crescendo of destructive fuzz perfectly emulates the caustic lyricsm of the song; a heroine drowning in the thicket of her lament. And although "Entertain" may give some listeners Arcade Fire fuzzies, the echo of "Neighboorhood 2 (Laika)" that perks the ears is an intro-only affair. "Entertain" is all thick attitude and heavy literal assault, dividing the feeble from the ferocious: "The lines are drawn/whose side are you on?"

"What's Mine is Yours," however, at just under five minutes, humbly boasts itself to be Sleater-Kinney's finest recorded moment. A culmination of the album itself, track three candy-beckons the listener with its immediate instrumental melody. But three-fourths of the way through, conventional intentions are all acid, and Brownstein disintegrates with the song, dressing a Hendrix-savvy solo in backwards delay. The song picks up 45 seconds later, and it's melody alive to finish the journey.

With The Woods, the articulate troubadours of Sleater-Kinney have channeled the best of their influences, the best of their own artistic tendency, and have used these tools fuel a record that might have been grueling to record, but redundant mantra be damned--anyone willing to experience aural laceration that the Woods offers will dig dig dig it.