Get out of my way or I might shove.
Too much walking, shoes worn thin. Too much trippin’ and my soul’s worn thin.
Volcano girls, we really can’t be beat – warm us up and watch us blow.
Exchange our fears for little glass holes and broken dreams of bent-backed trolls.
In my eyes, indisposed, in disguises no one knows, hides the face, lies the snake, and the sun in my disgrace.
Common ruse, dirty face, pretty noose is pretty hate, and I don’t like what you got me hanging from.
I feel so alone – gonna end up a big ol’ pile of them bones.
Sell your soul and sign an autograph – big bang baby, it’s a crash, crash, crash.
They can’t hear a word that we’ve said, when we pretend that we’re dead.
An exquisitely executed dose of grungy riot grrl punk rock.
Some bands and some albums hit a bunch of my musical sweet spots at once.
The pinnacle of Pearl Jam’s output. At least so far.
Lots of AiC in slower-paced grunge mode? Yes please.
A supergroup with real chemistry. An album that’s deeply affecting and melancholy and cool.
A freight train of pioneering grungy punk rock energy.
Shot out of a canon, hard funked up metal and other party-influenced sounds. And that’s for starters.
It’s delicate (grunge?), but it all clicks.
Mia Zapata’s vocals matched with urgent, raucous, punky Seattle grunge energy.