I first heard this song when I was stuck in training in Sacramento, CA. The class was out in the outskirts of the city and having a little free time to explore, I drove around listing to the radio. I can still see the suburban streets in my mind’s eye when I hear this song.
This was also the song that played when I nervously drove to get my first tattoo over 10 years ago, so it’s locked in time to both of these events.
The Distillers were a group that made far much more noise than one would think from a mere bass, guitars and drum. Sing, Sing, Death House is the sophomore effort from the group, and its full of nervous energy and serious volume. Above the din are Brody Dalle’s vocals which are rough as they come. She’s been oft compared to Courtney Love and PJ Harvey, but I feel that does her a bit of a disservice. She has a unique writing perspective, style and presence that shows a strong feminist perspective and some serious guitar chops.
The Distillers would break up and Brode would go on to form Spinnerette with Alain Johannes of Eleven. But the Distillers still remain a personal favorite: a punk ethos with a strong female twist.