Monday, April 9, 2007


1995 (Epitaph)

"In your face screeches. Crude blasts of feedback. Discordant and vicious energy blasting from a frantically lit stage. These are the things that little girls are made of. Sugar and spice can take a hike." - Jordan Marshall

"Yowsa! This all-female punk band's energy will singe the hair right out of your auditory canals. They're faster than L7, more frightening than Babes In Toyland and more ferocious than a legion of Riot Grrrls. In fact, they'd probably kill you if you called them Riot Grrls. The pounding drums, whipsaw guitars and bad attitude on "#1 Chicken" also pummel most of the Aunts' Epitaph brethren into the ground too. Just when many punk bands are slowing down and making their sound more accessible, the frenetic pace -- 14 songs in 23 minutes -- and malicious glee of Red Aunts are a rejuvenating shot in the arm ... with a rusty nail." - Heather Phares

"An evening spent with the Red Aunts is about as soothing as a soak in a tub of raw sewage. The Southern California band's brand of unfiltered music is toxic, especially when the vocals hit the piercing pitch of a three-year-old throwing a temper tantrum...this foursome takes a sharp claw to every riot grrrl/foxcore cliché it can shred. Starting with the old one-chord-wonder punk credo, the Aunts add a progression or two, smother it with distortion and top it off with din-singing by either bassist E. Z. Wider (Debbi Dip, aka Connie Champagne) or one of the guitarists, Angel and Sapphire (Terri Wahl and Kerry Davis, aka Louise Lee Outlaw and Taffy Davis). Abrasive as their mix is, the Red Aunts generate a vital energy and humor absent from many indie bands." - Marlene Goldman

"Three hundred words on #1 Chicken? Subtitled "14 Songs, 23 Minutes," there ain't even 300 words on Red Aunts' first Epitaph release, but no matter. Named for a hometown Long Beach restaurant, Chicken is a greasy screechfest -- part catty, part country, part Courtney. Think Silverfish on speed, the Supersuckerettes, or a sexy X: "Detroit Valentine" rhymes "head" with "dead" and "gun" with "run"; "Peppermint Patty" (evidently dedicated to Patty Hearst) surfs along blissfully; reeling off pot synonyms seems the sole purpose of "Mota."

It's not until "Willabell," a four-chord, one-minute cyclone in which EZ Wider screams, "Hop in the back seat, baby/ And hold on tight/ I'm gonna floor it sweet thing/ And fly you like a kite," that a glimmer of the Aunts' best attribute -- stand-out performances, say, the one that won S.F.'s heart like a cheap carnival toy last year -- shines through. See, Angel, EZ, Cougar, and Sapphire know that if you're an honest punk band, it doesn't matter how fat your wallet is, whose label graces your record, or whether you sit down or stand up to pee. What does matter is that you toss an extra verse into "Teach Me to Kill" so Angel can peel off her Telecaster and leap into the pit, slam with men twice her weight, and climb back onstage to light the cigarette still perched behind her ear. That shit makes me wet!

In an era when punk is traded like a commodity and female artists like P J Harvey vamp for MTV's Vaseline-smeared cameras, Red Aunts march in, raid your fridge, vaporize your damage deposit, and leave you for dead in a heap on the floor, eardrums hissing and a smile on your face. How'm I doin' wordwise? 298? Not bad." - Colin Berry

The Red Aunts:

Angel (Terri Wahl) : guitar, vocals
Sapphire (Kerry Davis) : guitar, vocals
E.Z. Wider (Debi Martini) : bass
Cougar (Leslie Noelle) : drums

2. Tin Foil Fish Bowl
3. Hate
4. Detroit Valentine
5. Krush
6. Satan
7. Roller Derby Queen
8. Willarell
9. When Sugar Turns to Shit
10. Poker Party
11. Peppermint Patty
12. Mota
13. Number One Chicken
14. Netty

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