Much as I admire Katy Jane Garside for both her role as a proto riot grrl and for her ability to perform in the skimpiest of garments without losing her, er, credibility, I've always found QUEEN ADREENA'S appeal rather selective.
And, while self-explanatory live album "Live At The ICA" is undeniably a sparky, loud and challenging set, to these ears it still sounds like a confirmed for-fans-only affair and something which is unlikely to snag the casual listener out for a Sunday drive.
Not that it doesn't have its' moments. Indeed, opener "Medicine Jar" demonstrates that when they get the balance right, QA'S brooding, churning cauldron of sound is worthy of a vigorous stir or three. It's a dark, drum-heavy affair with Katy-Jane pulling off the trick of sounding visceral and sultry all at once, while Crispin Gray's guitar is the epitome of searing and savage.
It's not the only time they draw blood, neither. "Join The Dots", for example, allows some light into the band's patended metal-tinged sludge'n'shade; "Pretty Like Drugs" and "Fuck Me Doll" both create prowling, Birthday Party-style junkyard blues that are the equal of their respective provocative titles and - perhaps best of all - "Birdnest Hair" is the one concession to the intriguing, gossamer-lite ethereality that this reviewer wishes they would embrace far more often. This track shows just how much depth Garside's spooked voice possesses when she really stetches, while the band's playing is a rock of restraint in a sea of bombast.
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Yet there's always the ugly underside of the coin with Queen Adreena, and for the remainder of the album, their predictable Goth-Skunk Anansie-with-added-voodoo-beats vibe has a tendency to wear thin. Indeed, songs like "Princess Carwash" and "Razorblade Sky" are predictable facsmilies of the more inspired songs like "Fuck Me Doll"; "Pull Me Under" and -unwittingly or otherwise - find QA sounding like a riot grrl version of The Cult (no, that's not pretty, is it?), while the likes of "Ascending Stars" and the (sadly) aptly-titled "Suck" are simply sonic car crashes waiting for the paramedics who will never arrive.
Typically, they leave is with a glance of what still COULD be with the rapturously-received "Pretty Polly", where those elusive qualities such as intrigue and dark rock dynamics again meld enticingly. However good this is, though, the bulk of "Live At The ICA" remains the sound of a band apparently happy to be stuck in their medium-sized cult corner playing to the gallery they know and love. The question at this stage isn't so much CAN they cross over to a wider appeal, but whether they really WANT to? We certainly don't receive any answers from this energetic, but water-treading release.
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