Review Summary: To light the first match.
When the chorus concludes on “Baby, I Had an Abortion,” it’s delivered through laughs—a joke, an occurrence to be happy about. Petrol Girls are daring their audience, teasing any among them that may be insecure in their philosophies. If such a gesture is offensive, here’s the stop you get off at; you may now yell at the kids on your lawn, shake fists at your school’s diversity objectives, and down some PBR while Fox News provides the next target to get angry at. Adios. Punk has always been designed to challenge that comfortable status quo anyways, right? At least, before it all got sold out to the man, and now Jimmy on the street nods along to “Boulevard of Broken Dreams.” Something went very wrong somewhere along the way. If the ferocity, raw emotion, and fiery political statements of
Baby aren’t indicative enough, a
lot of things have gone wrong lately. A few years ago, it didn’t seem to be on this trajectory; in the wake of the #MeToo movement and enhanced scrutiny towards sexual abuse cases, it felt as though certain burdensome power systems of yore were being brought to heel. Such a profound transformation in the social and political spheres was seemingly erased overnight by those same structures handing down an egregious ruling versus abortion--a reminder of their dominance and their will to wield it like a weapon. One step forward, two long steps back. An individual has ample reason to observe the wreckage and walk away carrying far too much hopelessness and anger to reckon with the doldrums of everyday life. There once again existed a void that swallowed up the voice of women that asked only for their autonomy. If such a chasm were to be filled, the duty would have to fall to Petrol Girls. It’s all too appropriate that a band based around feminist-inspired advocacy would illuminate these issues in a blunt, uncompromising fashion.
This third record by the UK/Austrian punk band is inundated with a contemporary exhaustion—a sort of dismay bred by impatience. Petrol Girls offer a package of unbridled rage, allowing the listener to understand exactly how dire the situation has become. Ren Aldridge conveys rage and distaste in every syllable, weaving prose into the fabric of
Baby that cares only for confrontation. When belting out the refrain of “Clowns,” rallying against inaction while a winding post-hardcore guitar explodes in the background, the passionate plea for any movement is palpable. There’s an equal sense of painful resignation in how she trails off at the culmination of “Unsettle”; after the track has risen to a climax, accruing momentum off the back of militant drumming and twisting riffs, there’s no more energy to expend. Two parts of the same whole: an individual observing society take a trek a good few steps back in the past. There reaches a point where the album is practically a sermon in punk, namely in the one-two punch of “Fight for Our Lives” and “Violent by Design.” The former bounces along on distorted instrumentation, their amorphous quality warping behind the vitriolic verses that practically spit through the speakers--verses that outline how institutions continuously doubt violence perpetrated against women, no matter the evidence. The latter rides this train of thought for the implied conclusion: that these institutions, from the top to the regular beat cop, are perfectly OK in perpetuating that same doubt. There’s no other solution here than to feed into the fire and let it burn.
Barbs directed at religious hypocrisy, how men constantly protect each other in the face of allegations, and at the ongoing objectification of the female body leave no prisoners. The instrumental components backing the journey are similarly potent and run the gamut of genre motifs, with their repertoire ranging from straightforward punk rockers to more diverse forays. How “Feed My Fire” engages through dynamic shifts and collapses into a groovy chorus of harmonized gang vocals is thrilling, concocting an unfathomably danceable breakdown paired alongside memorable lyrics. When the song discovers a second gear, accelerating through emotional screams and adrenaline-pumping percussion, the result is a spectacle to behold. Acting opposite is the aforementioned “Baby, I Had an Abortion,” which juxtaposes the sensitive topic with an upbeat pace and a poppy refrain built for radio airplay. It’s a perfect way of delivering a fast-paced, catchy melody, and turning controversy on its head; Petrol Girls revel in their freedom of choice, singing it out loudly and proudly. Catharsis is brought to the listener no matter what, be it the jazzy break and ensuing payoff of pandemonium in “Sick & Tired” or the anthemic innards of closing number “Bones.” The quartet bring bottomless vivacity around every turn, with every member obtaining a prominent presence in the mix. That lovable title track is incomplete unless the central bass riff’s growl guides it, those energetic crescendos necessitate a precise outing from behind the kit, and there are enough guitar riffs to fuel several revolutions.
The raucous proceedings of
Baby finish their 34-minute exercise in delightfully rebellious punk with static. It lingers there for a while as the remains of the preceding track depart into the background, biding its time until an uncanny silence hangs in the air. These are the moments in music where reflection feels obligatory--there’s a necessary period through which everything experienced is required to rest and attain definition. The latest effort by Petrol Girls emerges from that quietness as a marvel--a triumph of its category in that it
actually possesses heart and carries a poignant, relevant message. Never does a second arrive wherein the collective bends under the weight of its subject matter, nor do they sacrifice an ounce of spirit. That energy translates into the songwriting abilities of the crew. All entries on the tracklist are distinct in their content and their arrangements; there’s a unique factor for each, whether it’s lurking in an uncannily addicting chorus or inducing spontaneous headbanging in a sudden bass-laden groove. What’s imperative here above all else, regardless of how expertly crafted the whole disc is, is its importance as a mirror. Art all too often serves as a reflection of society: a time capsule through which the struggles, themes, and sentiments of separate eras can be uncovered. Beauty is abundant in the creations of Petrol Girls, yet they are soaked in an unyielding frustration: that progress is being actively stalled, especially with regards to how people at large view and treat women. This is the album to mosh to, to cry out to, to scream against that status quo. It is, in short, the true punk album that the world was in desperate need of, and it’s a damned superb one.
