The women of rock bring the heat, again

Some months, a handy theme for this column presents itself, one into which I don’t have to work too hard to shoehorn three recent and decent releases. Other times, I just have to roll with what’s rocking my corner of the world, theme be damned. This kind of falls into the latter category.

Sharp-eyed readers will note that I featured three ladies last month, and that I try not to repeat myself, at least not this quickly. But pshaw – I’ve got three more female-dominated CDs that must be heard, if you haven’t already.

tUnE-yArDs (get past the too-cute typography) is Merrill Garbus, a 32-year-old who’s a dynamo of energy and imagination. With killer vocals. Her first effort was truly homemade and just as impressive. Her second record, w h o k i l l (yes, it’s typed that way) got made in a studio proper, and it’s a smash.

If you think you’ve heard everything already, that there’s nothing new under the sun and that all the notes have been played in every possible order, then welcome to the new. She isn’t creating a new musical vocabulary so much as a whole new alphabet and language. Yet, it all sounds somehow familiar.

Garbus plays everything except bass and the occasional sax, including power ukulele. Her sound is bright, punchy and beguiling. Powerful drums are supplemented with ramshackle percussion (pots and pans?), stereo separation is played with as in a ’60s record and vocals are another instrument, growling and swooping in the same bar. Stabs of guitar are interlaced with skronky sax and spacey synths. The songs are wonderfully diverse, yet of a piece.

She takes no prisoners lyrically, either. W h o k i l l looks at violence, control and power from all angles, and takes unexpected turns.

“My Country” takes on the thinking person’s unavoidable conflict with a nation’s principles vs. its actions, played out on the world’s stage and on the local street corner – “The worst part about living a lie is just wondering when they’ll found out” – played to an afro-pop dancehall beat.

“Es-so” marches in semi-spastic time to worry about and celebrate the female form, while “Gangsta” beats the punk out of black wannabes. “Powa” stops the album and your heart in its tracks, with its enchanting start, pounding middle and dramatic denouement. It’s erotic and disturbing in its imagery of sexual playfulness and domination. It’s the record’s centerpiece and impossible to forget.

“Riotriot” disturbs on a couple of levels, with its disjointed cadences and randy talk about a cop who just arrested her brother, but then resolves into a catchy pop tune. “Bizness” turns vocal loops into sonic waterfalls and wallpaper and dares you to dance while the singer begs for her life. “Doorstep” is another domestic violence episode turned into a possible tryst with the arresting (and shooting) cop. “You Yes You” is relative fluff – “If home is where in the heart is, then my home is inside you.”

“Wolly Wolly Gong” is a six-minute lullabye, and “Killa” is a joyous blast of a closer, with its chant of “I’m a new kind of woman” ringing out as the curtain slowly falls on this amazing tour de force.

THAO AND MIRAH are an unlikely pair. Born Mirah Yom Tov Zeitlyn and Thao Nguyen, the former features a classic voice with beautiful range and nuance, and the latter’s got an oddball alto with halting, stabbing phrasing. They don’t mesh as much as coalesce into something different and greater.

If you segued directly from tUnE-yArDs to Thao and Mirah (as I just did), you’d be forgiven for not noticing the transition from one CD to another. Ms. Garbus produced this one, too, and her guiding hand (and cracked genius) is omnipresent here.

“Eleven” is co-written and co-performed with Garbus, and it exults in its handclapping exuberance. “Folks” begins as a pure acoustic folk piece, but the gals push matters into edgier territory with flowing horns and luscious bass. “Little Cup” gives Mirah space to flex her wonderful instrument layered with bracing but not intrusive accompaniment. “Rubies and Rocks” seems a vehicle more suited to Thao’s lack of inhibition, but Mirah nails the song’s swagger and swing.

“Teeth” is Thao’s showcase, featuring Arcade Fire-like anthemic choruses and sweetness. “Space Out Orbit” is just that, a rather turgid spin for Mirah. “How Dare You” is the album’s one true intra-song collaboration, and it makes one long for more. It’s deceptively simple, and builds into a full-on body engagement.

“Sugar and Plastic” lets Mirah get way down into her voice’s nooks and crannies, to good effect. “Likable Man” is about the opposite, with its warning, “Put your hands down your pants/before your daddies do.” “Hallelujah” is a spiritual ode to mundane matters, with Mirah’s coo spreading beauty in double-tracked style. “Squareneck” lets the girls go out in a dusty hoedown, with Thao’s slide guitar impressing as it sets a groove too slippery to sit still to.

THE KILLS feature the baddest female rocker since Chrissie Hynde (who’s still getting it done), Allison Mosshart. The other half of the band is guitarist and sometimes singer, Jaime Hince, but Mosshart is the draw. She’s been hanging out with Jack White in The Dead Weather, but she’s back now with her first band for its fourth, BLOOD PRESSURES.

Oh, she’s so bad. “Future Starts Slow” is a duet, with T-Rex swagger culminating in, “you can blow what’s left of my right mind.” Industrial guitars accent the lurching reggae of “Satellite.” “Heart is a Beating Drum” flirts with dance moves, while “Nail In My Coffin” belongs on summer playlists, as its playfulness crushes its menace. “DNA” is a kiss-off of the first order.

“The Last Goodbye” actually spotlights the natural torch in Mosshart’s voice, but things get back to nasty raunch with “Damned If She Do” and “You Don’t Own the Road.” Intelligent noise dominates the closer, “Pots and Pans” after Mosshart and Hince set the stage with a duet on the glories of domesticity.

If you get enamored of The Kills’ sound here, go back and check out Midnight Boom, their breakout record. And for your own sake don’t miss her live with either band.

The Jazz Fest rocked and rolled and swung and bounced. Those who went had a great time. Those who didn’t should set their calendars now. You can’t be in the presence of real magic in many situations, and this is definitely one.