If you're gonna name yourself Motherfucker. . .

Motherfucker Confetti (Sickroom)

Yeah, well, these three women tear the shit out of their songs. More straightforward and blistering than deconstructive (more Gits than Sleater-Kinney, in other words, if you want to get really old school), with some surprisingly sprightly hooks.

Shouted hooks, to be sure, but boy are they addictive. The peppy piledriver riffs bound along with murderous intent, and Erika Strout's vocals are laid in at the perfect spot in the mix.

What's probably most arresting is how attractive these songs are. Needles pinned on the sound, drums blazing, shouted vocals, and yet the overall effect is the smiles that come from listening to purest power pop. That Motherfucker can manage such contentment (even while inciting all sorts of healthy aggression) is most impressive.

There's just no letup. I guess I've heard too much mellow lately, but I think this would tear the ears off my cover no matter what. These women live up to their name and then some. Rock is back, and Motherfucker carries the banner with attitude. The universe is in balance.

Jon Worley