April 29, 2003 by A.S. Van Dorston

Those who don’t get the Yeah Yeah Yeahs must not have ever loved punk-rocking women-led bands like Babes In Toyland, The Breeders or Boss Hog. As great as those bands were, I always wished they were better. I wished they had better songs, played better, rocked harder. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs must have heard my wishes (though they were probably in sixth grade at the time).

Last year’s garagey EP justified the bated-breath anticipation for the full-length. Karen O’s stuttered timing and post-rockabilly squeals and hiccups on “Bang” were cool as hell, and “Miles Away” and “Our Time” were instant classics. Fever To Tell doesn’t disappoint. The most startling revelation after the sloppy EP is the exceptionally strong musicianship of drummer Brian Chase and guitarist Nick Zinner. They very much define the band’s sound, particularly Zinner’s bottomless bag of riffs that echo but never copy the best of The Jon Spencer Blues Explosion, Fugazi, The Pixies’ Surfer Rosa, and early PJ Harvey. Karen O fine tunes her yelps, and also reveals a startling, deeply sultry singing voice much like The Pretenders’ Chrissie Hynde. The entire first half of Fever To Tell rocks viciously without letting up a single moment. “Rich” swaggers out of the gate slowly but confidently, with O emasculating the fanboys around her, taking charge and choosing her prey (“I’ll take you out boy!”). On “Date With The Night,” O is a slavering, shrieking harpy, while Zinner peels off some distorted Birthday Party licks. On “Man” she makes “we’re all gonna burn in hell” sound like a sado-masochistic come-on, while on the hyperactive “Tick” you can imagine her eyes roll back in her head as she loses her mind while time slips away. “Black Tongue” features hand-claps and the withering put-down, “Boy you’re just a stupid bitch and girl you’re just a no-good dick.” “Pin” begins with a lilting melody before erupting into more furious rock.

While there is no bum track, “No, No, No” nearly drops the ball when it’s subdued, dubbed-out outro meanders slightly too long. That’s when “Maps” catches you with your guard down. It’s a love ballad, with fairly unremarkable sentiments (“Wait, they don’t love you like I love you,”) yet with the alluring music and O in sincere, vulnerable Hynde mode, it’s fruitless to resist the emotional pull on the gut. Better rip that MP3 now and get that mix ready for the next time you fuck up and your partner exiles you to the couch or the streets. “Y Control” maintains the emotional tone, with O showing the effort of her restraint, this time dealing with regret (“I wish I could buy back the woman you stole.”) Here she’s a far tamer animal than the Tasmanian Devil earlier in the album that would simply tear apart the wrongdoer with teeth and. By “Modern Romance” she’s receded to the pink bunny portrayed by her logo, purring like a cross between Velvet Underground’s Moe Tucker and a demure, hung-over Björk. On the hidden track, “Poor Song,” she’s fading away in a golden glow of pixy-dust, advising her paramour to not be afraid of love. Let’s hope he listens, and she and the band return with more.

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