Brandishing a guitar like a bayonet, one arm outstretched and lips sneering as she listens to fellow agitator Corin Tucker's shrieking yelps with pride, the crumpled ethos that got Carrie Brownstein to this point doesn't matter. She's a star.
Sleater-Kinney have always been more pop than the Hello Kitty badge-wearing brigade would like to admit. Though their lacerated vocals and blinding fury was inspired by the Riot Grrrl movement of the early 1990s - which championed the rights of women to grab guitars and challenge the posterboys of grunge - Brownstein and Tucker learnt the lesson that idealism doesn't have to be dour. From their harsh self-titled debut in 1995 to last year's One Beat album, Sleater-Kinney have honed and embellished their spiteful sound, embracing Motown, bubblegum and old-fashioned rock'n'roll, but always with a punk heart.
Watching Brownstein and Tucker interact, it's difficult to imagine them as friends, let alone comrades in arms. Tucker, in her frilly black lace dress, looks like a homecoming queen trying to capture former glories and eyeing Brownstein with awe. Brownstein, in T-shirt and jeans, bristles with practised contempt. As the military mood and ominous sparseness of Faraway breaks into a tornado of crashing drums and melodic guitar, Brownstein's sarcasm and staccato delivery, her words spat like bullets, rub against Tucker's shrill, tremulous voice and yelping desperation. They turn and play to each other, respectful but combative.
Drummer Janet Weiss - all fluffy hair and sugary backing vocals - packs each song with plenty of rolls, pummelling Sleater-Kinney's spikey sentiments as Brownstein and Tucker take turns in building up a wary intimacy before tearing it down gleefully. An introspective moment in Oxygen sees Weiss still, before she beats the thoughtful rhythm into submission.
Despite the sloganeering, Sleater-Kinney love to dance. The sassy darkness of Turn It On is the sound of the Shangri-Las kicking off their Mary-Jane shoes and starting a riot. The fitful teenage dream of Words and Guitar distils the fragmented beauty of Sleater-Kinney. Tucker falls to a hush, her mouth close to the microphone. "Oh give me a pretty song, oh let me have that sound tonight," she yearns, before diving into the dizzying and dazzling rock with a sly smile.
