I was thinking recently that, dammit, I miss the "riot grrrl" sub-genre of punk rock. It had been a while since I'd heard a band that hearkened back to the days when Bikini Kill, 7 Year Bitch, and Babes in Toyland ran roughshod over the male-centric punk rock scene. Serendipity works in strange ways, though, and no sooner had this thought become lodged in my head then Viva La Foxx shambled into my mailbox, bearing a balm for the hole in my musical heart.
Viva La Foxx took their name from a strip club in their hometown of Covington, Kentucky. Like such moniker origins would indicate, there's a swaggering sexuality in their music. But the analogy breaks down if you investigate further by giving their new album I Knew it Wasn't Love But... a listen - rather than the sleazy sequin-spangled sexuality implied by strip-club associations, theirs is a roaring and raucous breed of hip-swinging hedonism. During the song "Leftovers," lead singer Amy Jo howls, "You wanna fuck? You wanna fight?" I'm torn between wondering where the division between the two lies and not giving a damn either way.
It's this conflation of asskicking and ass worship that gives Love its kicky thrills, but it's not the be-all and end-all. (If it was, this would probably just be another Fatherfucker, and who really needs that?) What makes it great is that it's ferocious and exciting music as well. Within the beautiful miasmic tangle of their noisy muse, Viva La Foxx places equal import on the love muscle and the rock muscle.
The rock-solid rock on display here is indeed something with which to be reckoned. Love threw me right into the pool with the frantic chug of "Fake It." The subsequent tracks roughed me up, shoved me around and made me like it; Amy Jo cooed and shouted in my face while guitarist Reuben stuffed sandpaper-rough riffs in my left ear and bassist DB seduced me with her surprisingly funky support grooves in my right ear. I was dragged - nay, propelled - through the album, from the mid-tempo ballroom-beatdown of "Spitrocksfire" to the ragged "F.Y.P.M." (which has Reuben taking over the mike for a song) to the freaked-out stomp of "Clubnite." Then, without so much as a goodbye, they booted me out of bed with a ringing in my ears and a grin on my face.
Article comments