I came of age listening to ‘90s rock, especially the grunge giants. Teenaged Adam wanted all the distortion, angst, and flannel he could get. That guitar-centric outlook on the music world extended into college, and well into my 20s. Not only did I reject most forms of pop out of hand, but I also disregarded most rock made by women. I made cheap excuses for why I didn’t like those artists, no matter how good they really were, or how loud they could rock.
Let’s face it – I was a stereotypical misogynistic rock fan. I willingly closed myself off from good music because of my terrible biases.
To whit, I had a good friend in college make me copies of Tori Amos’ first four albums. Despite my protestations of “I heard some of her stuff a couple years ago, and it wasn’t for me,” she was convinced that I would actually like the music if I gave it chance. So, after listening to each one maybe once, I never listened to the gifts again. I operated under the banner of “This lady is playing piano as she sings about her feelings, religious upbringing, and sexuality. This is NOT rock.”
I was an idiot.
Back in April 2020, I decided to read Amy Gentry’s installment of the 33 1/3 series about Boys for Pele. It’s an outstanding treatise on taste, gender, and expression. As soon as I finished it, I immediately texted my old friend to apologize for being such a short-sighted boor. That led to a days-long bender through Amos’ entire catalog. I attempted to rectify a decades-old gap in my musical knowledge and to appreciate the work of an uncompromising artist.
I had a similar experience with each and every spin of Exotic Monsters by Penfriend. The current nom de plume of Laura Kidd (formerly known as She Makes War), this talented DIY rocker employs a sonic landscape I would have ignored in my youth. Released on My Big Sister Recordings, her 12-song album fuses the earnest lyricism of Florence Welch, the driving urgency of Shirley Manson, and the intimate musings of Tori Amos.
It’s the bold romanticism of a Charlie Jane Anders novel set to propulsive, thoughtful alternative rock.
Like all good science fiction creators, Penfriend has her eyes firmly on the future, even as she conjures up rock glory from the past. From start to finish, Exotic Monsters carries the listener along on an intense musical journey. Penfriend layers together heaps of guitars, drums, and synths with precision and care. By avoiding the muddled aesthetic of my adolescent grunge, her clear production choices ring true in my ear. Kidd’s own expressive vocals serve as the guide of this evocative story, complete with lyrics about hope, tragedy, frustration, and alienation.
What sets this album apart from other recent attempts at ‘90s revivalism is how it resists caricature and embraces connection. The instrumental interplay in her arrangements creates a dense bed of feelings, sounds, and impressions. The balanced energy offer a creeping, mysterious elegance, as opposed to floating off into the ether of unfulfilled ambition.
The flow of the excellent track order delivers an engrossing experience.
The title song kicks off the album with glowering grooves. Then, “Seventeen” cranks things into high gear with snarling guitar riffs that would make Butch Vig proud. With “I Used to Know Everything,” Penfriend reveals her inner chanteuse, as a dry snare and liquid synth bass line strut around the room.
On “Seashaken,” the music retreats to a plinky synth, strummed acoustic, and warm piano for a stirring Amos impression. “Loving Echoes” enchants with a slinky atmosphere created by clattering percussion, thick bass motifs, and ghostly backing vocals. Bringing the project to a strong conclusion, “Black Car” simmers, bubbles, and boils with barely restrained fury. And it’s the restraint that grabs your attention and holds you close.
What sells Exotic Monsters is how Penfriend resists the impulse to go abrasive like a Hole B-side.
Kidd opts instead to create an emotional scene with crafty keyboard melodies and spectral beats a la Portishead. The songs refuse to go for the jugular with aggressive guitar licks and bombastic crescendos at obvious opportunities. She prefers to inject the right amount of edge only when it’s absolutely necessary.
The songs are jam-packed with passion and power, but they’re filtered through subtlety and nuance. Not everything has to be cranked to 11 all the time. You might viscerally need that volume sometimes, but you can’t live there. Penfriend knows this, so she puts her prodigious talents to good use helping people embrace their feelings without clumsy clichés.
I might have been an idiot about music back in college, but I’d like to think I’ve reformed my sensibilities since then, which is why I’m excited to share this album with people. It’s what I should have been listening to in the ‘90s and early ‘00s.