Photo credit: Erik Ljung
Though they tagged it a hiatus, Sleater-Kinney disbanded in 2006 with a sense of completion. By that point, the Olympia trio was widely respected and deeply loved, and it was clear their influence would linger long after they were gone. Any band would have been proud to accomplish what they had. What a difference a decade makes, though. Over the following nine years their reputation only ballooned. Sleater-Kinney is now no longer considered just one of most revered punk or feminist bands of their generation, but one of the most important bands of their time period. It turns out they won't be remembered as the indie favorites or cult heroes that everybody assumed they’d be in 2006. They're going down as legends.
While Sleater-Kinney's ever-growing stature paved the way for a reunion, it also raised the stakes for one, since the band risked of sullying their pristine legacy with a second act. So far, however, their return has only bolstered it. Their new album No Cities To Love is typically fierce—arguably their strongest yet—and although they’re only a week or so into their first reunion tour, so far those shows have lived up to the band’s reputation. Last time they toured together the band was playing mid-sized clubs, but to see them own the Riverside Theater stage Sunday night you’d think they’d spent most of their career performing to vast, sold-out crowds of thousands.
Like No Cities To Love, an album that resumes where 2005’s The Woods left off, acknowledging the passage of time without getting hung up on it, the concert played into Sleater-Kinney’s greatest asset: their adaptability. Instead of carrying themselves like the tiny touring punk band they once were they presented themselves as the esteemed legacy act they now are. More comfortable in the spotlight than ever after years of television work and American Express commercials, Carrie Brownstein Mick Jaggered around the stage, striking one rock-star pose after another. Corin Tucker, so un-enthused when she last played Milwaukee at a modestly attended Cactus Club show with her Corin Tucker Band, reclaimed the authoritative wail of her youth. And Janet Weiss’s massive drums finally enjoyed the platform they begged for. Accompanied by a retina-searing light show, they thickened even the scrappier pop tunes from the group’s early discography into thundering rockers. This was not a modest show. The band wasn’t playacting, politely feigning surprise over being greeted so fondly. They were on that stage because they deserved to be there, and they carried themselves like it.
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Rap openers on indie-rock bills have a mixed track record at best, but Minneapolis firebrand Lizzo made a case for how effective an appetizer hip-hop set can be when done right. Flanked by an outgoing DJ, a silent drummer and a photographer who factored into her set in unexpected ways, she won over the theater with her steely voice and magnetic personality—no small feat, given that most of the crowd didn’t expect a rapper on the bill, and fewer still were familiar with her music. But coming off of a year where indie rock fans’ consensus favorite album was Run The Jewels, Lizzo’s presence wasn’t all that much of a stretch, and she clearly understood her audience. Her DJ warmed up the crowd with tracks from riot grrrl acts like The Gossip and Le Tigre, signaling to them from the get go that she was on their side.
