For the Record

Author: Melissa Marshall

When reaching for a paper topic at the eleventh hour or as bravado of intellectual sensitivity, women - despite post-lapsarian ideology - are saving graces. Guaranteed to lend a level of provocation without waging a revolution, the subject of gender theory not only drenches over-thumbed versions of early modern literature, but also fully wedges itself in the contemporary chaos of media culture - both scholarly and secularly. Pushing aside for a moment the ubiquitous bane of bikini-clad muchachas and the mixture of ho-hum with horrible housewives, the issue of gender has become newly politicized - literally. As we've all seen by the surprisingly sidesplitting SNL skit of "attractive" Sarah Palin and "cankled" Senator Clinton, the collective American mind has magnified its attention on the manipulation of and the manipulation by the fairer sex. However, I will leave the rest of the political commentary to the Opinions section - allowing my leanings to remain cloaked in Victorian modesty - and instead shamelessly bare my love of the low-fidelity Vivian Girls, three women who have commanded the attention of the industry stage and secured my vote as the most powerful female force of 2008.

At a shocking twenty-two minutes long, their self-titled virgin release shows that the Brooklyn trio remembered their mothers' advice to not give it all away on the first date. Based around rough production and rushed vocals, the album lends a sense of immediacy to a genre that is slowly suffocating under the languor of bashful boys with acoustic aesthetics. And while I adore the subdued strum of a high-pitched white boy as much as the next Paste-reading protester of plebeian pop, it's invigorating to hear a female vocalist released from the tinkling of a piano and untied from the chords of a synthesized keyboard.

Although refreshing in their breakneck percussion and shunning of the shoe-gazer trend, Cassie Ramone, Kickball Katy and Ali Koehler still steep themselves in the maze of contemporary culture. Deriving their name from the recently discovered 15,145 page fantasy opus and artwork of Chicago janitor Henry Darger, the Vivian Girls wheedle themselves in the pop-referential tradition with Sufjan Stevens, John Ashbery, Neil Gaiman and Tilly and the Wall. Despite these connections - and critical comparisons with the foundational Velvet Underground as well as the genre and gender-bending Times New Viking - the trio knocks out the Ovidian metaphor of reflection and crafts a voice, albeit unintelligible, of their own.

Surprisingly unfocused on lyrics - many of the words are indistinguishable in their version of noise-pop - the band forces the listener to focus on the feel of the sound. And in a decade spearheaded by the lyrical magnificence of Conor Oberst and Jeff Magnum, a return to the submersive quality of sound can be just as poetic as the storytelling of Springsteen. Monotonous at times, the Vivian Girls compensate for lack of variation with urgency, heightened heartbeats and a concrete concentration on pure emotionality that translates to the listener not through lyrical connection, but through the tantric tapping of "Tell the World," the guttural guitar of "Damaged" and the relentless rhythm of "Never See Me Again." Somewhere under the frenzy of raw measures lies the universal groanings of love and loss, molding Vivian Girls as an endeavor of fierce female influence with a stripped emotional appeal that is wonderfully genderless.

As 2008 works its way to a close, the punch line to the year is not "lipstick." Rather, it's a return to musical creation that is unpolished, immediate and emotionally winding. And while the Vivian Girls position themselves as poster-children for the roar of female rock, they more importantly strengthen a movement towards energizing a genre that is suffering from acoustic depression.