This writer never really understood the fuss made about The Distillers. Their grunge-y, garage-flecked scum rock seemed pretty disposable to these ears and (sorry to sound sexist here) it's debatable if they'd have been afforded the coverage bestowed on them had they not been fronted by the foxy Brody Dalle.
However, at least on paper, Dalle's new band SPINNERETTE sound a more enticing proposition. A Punk/ Grunge/ Garage supergroup of sorts, they also feature fellow ex-Distiller Tony Bevilacqua, Queen of The Stone Age's Alain Johannes and former Chili Peppers/ Pearl Jam drummer Jack Irons: a man guaranteed to put a propulsive swing behind any band's material.
And, while their eponymously-titled debut album is an uneven affair, there's certainly enough to suggest that Spinnerette may make some sizeable waves in the future. The album's recording was very much a family affair, with most of the songs being laid down at Brody and hubby Josh Homme's Pink Duck studio out in LA and, not too surprisingly, Queens of the Stone Age's ominously meaty rumble often springs to mind, although sometimes (like on the dark, sexy Russian roulette of 'The Walking Dead') they come across like a heavier Garbage or even evoke the opiated heaviosity of Autolux.
The end results are chequered and inconsistent. Songs like 'Ghetto Love' and 'All Babes Are Wolves' throw immense Rock shapes and bleed with attitude, yet – for all the fanfare – whether they really do enough to distinguish themselves from the pack is another matter entirely. Elsewhere, songs like 'Sex Bomb' or the bass-heavy cyber creep of 'A Spectral Suspension' are particularly nasty slices of belladonna on toast to swallow
Yet when they stop worrying about credibility and let some melody in via the side door, they sound more than capable. Both new single 'Baptized By Fire' and the excellent, atmospheric 'Distorting a Code' ride wicked grooves, sidle up to (cough) radio-friendly choruses and make it clear that Dalle can really sing when the mood takes her. 'Driving Song' is also a fine showcase for her gutsy vocal abilities and Irons' majestic drumming and the ravenous 'Cupid' is the one time where they make a filthy, swaggering racket count for something other than a trip to the chemist for migraine pills.
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It's a shame, then, that the album squibs out courtesy of a couple of glaring underachievers. 'Impaler' is a drone-y, folksy stomp that never gets out of first gear before simply petering out altogether. There again, it's probably preferable to the portentous, grinding sub-Sabbaff bluster of the closing 'A Prescription for Mankind' which – despite its' title – simply reinforces the necessity of that trip to the pharmacy I alluded to a little while ago.
'Spinnerette', then, is certainly an improvement on The Distillers, but while its' substandard moments hardly constitute a fatal fall from a great height, they still graze their knees too many times for comfort. She's making progress, but Brody Dalle still needs to let a lot more groove into her heart before this writer can embrace her wholeheartedly as the star so many people clearly believe she is.
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