Call The Doctor : Sleater-Kinney : Review : Rolling Stone

Five years after the inception of the Olympia, Wash., riot grrrl scene – where bands and fanzines tucked raw feminist credos inside Hello Kitty trimmings – the movement's root sentiments still haven't gone much farther than indie record stores and campus-friendly rock clubs. Instead, riot grrrls are viewed as a novelty: Their ironic little-girl dress sense turned into a pedophile's wet dream, and their girl-power messages were reduced to mere T-shirt blurbs (Go Girl!). But as the scene's substandard bands fall to the wayside, truly kick-ass offspring like Team Dresch and Sleater-Kinney are emerging as vital forces beyond the barrette and backpack barrier.

Both Team Dresch and Sleater-Kinney have released underproduced second albums on indie labels run by the Dresch members Donna Dresch and Jody Bleyle, and both use bratty power punk as a springboard into broader sounds and ideas. Sleater-Kinney feature the amazing harmonies of Corin Tucker and Carrie Brownstein, which work like battles between the ego and alter ego. "Nothing is gonna make it right," Tucker sings in a falsetto; "Don't start, I'm not gonna fight you," answers Brownstein.

Tucker and Brownstein sing about internal girl frustration – from being discounted to being downright demeaned – while the fairly accessible music rails with a menacing edge. Tucker's voice is distinctive, nervous and intense, but she's not so serious that she can't have fun: "I wanna be your Joey Ramone/Pictures of me on your bedroom door/Invite you back after the show/I'm the queen of rock & roll."

Team Dresch come from a gay perspective, and the band takes more of an obvious political stand. Singer Bleyle overenunciates lyrics as if to make sure you don't miss a word. "Don't tell us we only care about dykes and fags/Lots of people try and find reasons to hate us," she sings. But the album isn't all gaycentric anthems; Bleyle's lyrics also probe the everyday. "My girlfriend holds me when I cry," she sings. "She's afraid I'll die/She tells me I'll be OK/But I don't believe her anyway."

Bleyle's voice sounds prepubescent and boyish at times, then lilting and girlish at others. Musically, the band is amateurish. The quartet plays catchy, straightforward rhythms with little distortion or sonic haze to convolute the pure, unadulterated rebellious spirit, but it trips up from time to time by sounding a little too repetitive.

Even outside the ghetto of girly scenes, both these albums kick butt. Ten years from now, it's likely they'll emerge as two of the many inspirational sources for the first female band to rule the world.