Picture the scene. The year is 2015. Music journo types are fawning over this skaggy little album from the early eighties. They have realizd that it is THE true masterwork of the post punk era. New trenoid indie lo-fi mpc3 bands are worshipping every track and claiming the femmes as a huge influence.
This album is more relevant now than ever before. It is strange that in an era dominated by the digital revolution - the use of technology is becoming less and less relevant in music. The reason musicians like the idea of the net is because it allows the free flow of ideas - direct, from the artist to the audience, without the need to turn to a big budget to make the ideas palatable. The first violent Femmes album is a very now record. It sounds awful. Everything is left exactly as it was when played in whatever tin shed it was recorded in. The singing is all wonky and out of tune. The line up (acoustic guitar, acoustic bass, snare drum, vox) does nothing to soften the edges on even the slowest songs. Yet, it rocks like a b**tard and has enough unfocused rage to rival anything by The Who, The Clash, Nirvana even, all on scraggy old acoustic guitars, at a volume level you could play to your Gran.
Every damn song is a classic. There is not a moment of flab anywhere. It is an album about performance and verve. It is the sound of three young lads being motivated enough to make a record - regardless of budget - and pack as much emotion and sheer excitment in to what they play and sing as possible. It should make all Brit-poppers feel fat and lazy.
