From their album cover (which depicts them fresh from frolicking naked in the mud) to their stage show (which ends with them inviting the audience up to play their instruments while they wander off to the bar or dressing room), the Slits are tribal. Vocalist Arri Up, bassist Tessa and guitarist Viv Albertine (assisted on Cut by male drummer Budgie) were the first British all-female punk group. They began their career by opening for–and borrowing the equipment of–people like the Clash, and for a couple of years, the news from such magazines as England's New Musical Express was that they hadn't quite, ah, jelled yet, though they certainly were trying. I don't know what those limey critics' ears are made of! Because both live and on their debut LP, the Slits prove that they're not only charming but can hold their own as a band.

Much of the charm derives from their lyrics, in which they treat "relevant" topics with a wry humor that's truly refreshing: the Slits aren't funny feminists, but feminists with wit. "So Tough" takes the piss out of one poor fool's macho swagger ("Don't take it serious"), while "Typical Girls" lists various qualities of the genus ("... buy magazines ... are sensitive ... emotional") and concludes: "Typical girl gets the typical boy." This group doesn't reject sex or even love, and I like the blase way that Up tells one ex-flame, "While you were sulking, I could've been raped/In Lad-broke Grove." The same sort of humor is embodied in the equanimous view of the boy in "Instant Hit," whom I'd swear was Sid Vicious: "He is set to self-destruct/He is too good to be true."

Producer Dennis Bovell has gotten a truly unique sound from the Slits: like Public Image Ltd., they're a white band influenced heavily by reggae rhythms and guitar-chop stylings, but they don't play straight reggae. The result is an almost ticktock sound, overlaid with occasional flurries of keyboards, a recorder, and Albertine and Tessa singing in and out of unison with Arri Up, who makes the most of her middle register while indulging a penchant for the occasional birdlike falsetto trill.

Musically as well as personally, the Slits embody the individualism at the heart of the original British punk ethic, perhaps best summed up in Cut's final number: "I'll choose my own fate/I'll follow love, I'll follow hate." (RS 319)

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