Photo by Chris Sikich (@countfeed)
I started collecting records when I was 14 years old. I begged my mom to buy me a 5-in-1 stereo from one of her magazines, the last component necessary to complete a bedroom that was finally just mine. I lugged the 3-piece behemoth up the stairs along with the crate of my dad's long forgotten records from the basement. My parents weren't big into rock music outside of the hits; they were both avid dancers. With my dad's interest in Motown, Groove, and Philly Soul and my mom's taste in Disco, Funk, and R&B, the crate was filled with weathered sleeves featuring groups like the Commodores to the Rolling Stones to Diana Ross to Teddy Pendergrass to Mott the Hoople, the album my dad suggested we listen to first.
I picked up the self-titled Le Tigre album from the used records bin not really knowing what it was, or who was in the band that made it so special, but the imagery grabbed me: the hard, sullen looks from the performers on the cover, the harsh, competing colors, the coarse crayon lines on the back along with the pixelized text of song titles that didn't necessarily suggest what the songs could be about. This was dance music unlike anything I had ever heard before.
Unfortunately, I'd later lose all those records to my brother in a hocking scheme for some quick cash -- but through the power of the internet (read: piracy) I was able to not only explore the rest of the Le Tigre catalog, I was able to research riot grrl in both the digital and physical space in a way that was not so accessible to a socially awkward teen as myself. I think myself lucky to have found Le Tigre before Bikini Kill. Anyway, let's get to the show.
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We were packed in the Union Transfer like little buzzing sardines, the excitement lifting us up and off our feet long before the lights dimmed. I went with a group of seven, but we were quickly reduced to a group of three holding down a walled-off space with minimal elbow room while the other four forged on bravely toward the heart of the crowd. The pounding bass drum and driving fuzzy riff of "The the Empty" tore through the room like a kinetic blade. As Kathleen drew the microphone to her lips, her chants appeared behind them on screen in that familiar vintage-Mac font a-top visuals Kathleen would later note, were filmed mostly in her bedroom. Listening in, the crowd chose a narrator in every song, whether it be frantically belting Kathleen's rowdy mantras or calmly aping Jo's computerized-woman's coos dunking on mediocre dudes. JD was never without prop in hand: a drum stick, a megaphone, both, or just palming a microphone, parading his infectious and unapologetic joy. There were updated takes on old favorites like "Get Off the Internet" and a performance of "Hot Topic" sans the calling upon heroes that could have gone on long after the musical bleed-out. Oh, and there was a costume change! There was choreography! Synchronization! A Stop Making Sense homage! They played 80% of their self-titled release as well as fan favorites including "F.Y.R," "Yr Critique" and "Keep On Livin'," a not so subtle reminder that the only way to know if things get better is to be there to see it. I was stoked to hear my favorite song "Phanta," which I think is one of the best Misfits songs they never wrote.
The most moving part of the evening for me was the swell of the room as the first notes of "Deceptacon" heeded our time together was soon coming to an end. Every person in that room took the opportunity to dance and sing like a teenage girl in their mirror armed with only a hair brush and a dream. Whether or not they knew the song was a direct diss at Fat Wreck Chords' Fat Mike (in response to his song "Kill Rock Stars" released on NoFX's '97 album So Long and Thanks for All the Shoes), all energies were channeled and focused on defeating opposition through the power of identify and self-worth. Chills ran up my arms as one united voice cried out, "I'll walk on it, I'll walk all over you!" As Kathleen spat her final truths of the night, she walked toward the back of the stage and picked up a jump rope. She spun that rope round & round herself in an ethereal release for both herself and everyone still reeling until the house lights shone upon us once again.
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