Sleater-Kinney - No Cities To Love (LP)

A decade is a long time between records, but No Cities to Love does not sound like a reunion built on memory. Out in January 2015 on Sub Pop, Sleater-Kinney’s eighth album lands with the urgency of a band that never learned how to idle. Corin Tucker’s voice slices straight into view, Carrie Brownstein threads sharp lines around it, and Janet Weiss drives the whole thing with the kind of drumming that fills rooms and straightens spines. It is lean, loud, and restless, the kind of record that invites you to turn it up and then turn it up again.

The opener Price Tag lays out the stakes. Tucker rails against consumer trances while Weiss thunders underneath, the guitars buzzing like power lines. That old Sleater-Kinney trick is here, the lack of a traditional bass creating space for twin guitars to carry both melody and low end, often with an octave pedal doing the heavy lifting. John Goodmanson, who produced some of the band’s classic records, is back at the desk, keeping things tight and bright. You can hear the rooms too, from San Francisco’s Tiny Telephone to Seattle’s Electrokitty, the clatter of sticks on rims and the fizz of amps caught with just enough air to feel alive.

A New Wave might be the catchiest thing they ever cut, all hand-on-shoulder reassurance that comes with a jolt of caffeine. The title track is a hook that burrows in, right down to the clipped, almost barked chorus. Fangless snarls and pivots, Gimme Love speeds toward the red, and Surface Envy turns into a shout-along about collective power, the kind of song that feels designed for sweaty rooms and community radio. The closer, Fade, pulls the lights down without softening its grip, a late swell of feeling that lingers after the needle lifts.

Context matters with this band. After The Woods in 2005 they went quiet, then returned in 2014 with Bury Our Friends, a warning shot that they were back because they had something to say. Brownstein has been clear in interviews that a nostalgia trip was never on the table, and you can hear that resolve baked into these songs. They are tighter than the sprawling, explosive Woods, closer to the razor-wire swing of Dig Me Out and One Beat, but with the benefit of time and a life lived offstage. The lyrics cut at modern anxieties and the absurd rhythms of work and identity, yet they never feel preachy. Tucker and Brownstein write like people who still believe guitars and voices can rearrange the air in front of your face.

It was more than just fans who noticed. The record drew raves on release, with Pitchfork tagging it Best New Music, The Guardian doling out five stars, and Rolling Stone lining up in agreement. The video for No Cities to Love even turned into a small cultural moment, with friends of the band singing along from their lounges and kitchens. Fred Armisen pops up, as do Miranda July, Sarah Silverman, Andy Samberg, Natasha Lyonne, and J Mascis, all grinning as if they had just been handed the aux cord in the car.

On vinyl, this album pops. The mix is punchy, the cymbals cut without sandpapering your ears, and the midrange growl of those interlocking guitars feels right at home on a turntable. If you are flipping through the racks at a Melbourne record store and spot No Cities to Love vinyl, do yourself a favour and take it home. It sits neatly beside the earlier titles, and it makes a strong case for refreshing your shelf of Sleater-Kinney vinyl. If you prefer to buy Sleater-Kinney records online, most local shops will ship, and it is not hard to find this one through the usual outlets for vinyl records Australia. For collectors building a run, it also slots well into any stack of Sleater-Kinney albums on vinyl, a clean-sounding, modern press that does not sand away the edges.

What I keep coming back to is the chemistry. Bands can fake a lot of things, but not that. Weiss’s snare snaps like a taught wire and pushes the music forward, Brownstein’s lines answer Tucker’s vocal climbs, and then they swap places without breaking stride. These are songs built on trust, the kind that only arrive after years of playing, pausing, and deciding to try again. No Cities to Love is not just a return. It is a reminder that Sleater-Kinney were never finished, just taking a breath. Put it on, loud, and remember how it feels when a rock record sounds both new and necessary.