Fans of Portlandia, the successful comedy of north-western American manners co-created by Carrie Brownstein, will have to wait. This memoir is about Brownstein’s first flag on the hill – being one of the finest rock guitarists of the past 20 years, in a band both critically adored and commercially viable. Named Sleater-Kinney, with gender-neutral emphasis on the street where their practice room was located, they were the Nirvana of riot grrrl, a trio who far transcended the feminist punk scene that formed them.
Sleater-Kinney got big enough to support Pearl Jam in stadiums; both Robert Christgau and Greil Marcus, the dons of US rock criticism, praised their idiosyncratic, tensile post-punk to the hilt. Few bands playing unorthodox music get to this sweet spot, where admiration coalesces with making a living, of sorts; it’s pretty much unheard-of for bands made up of women. A goofy, empathetic, attention-seeking kid who somehow survived a complex suburban family upbringing with her sense of humour intact, Brownstein has managed to coax the cultural zeitgeist around to her way of thinking not once, but twice.
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