Counterfeit Or Real

Sleater-Kinney “Hot Rock”

“It’s not real. You don’t need to tell me that it’s not real.”

That’s the part of Sleater-Kinney’s “Hot Rock” I have played over and over, because that’s the part that hurts for me to hear. I can remember the first time I related to that line, and rewinding and playing it again and again on a Metro North train when I was 19 years old. If only it was just connected to that one moment in time. This lyric has been a refrain through my life – for unrequited loves, for deluding myself into believing bad relationship dynamics were in fact healthy and good, for thinking that anything for me could ever be happy and reciprocal – that it can feel like I’m just replaying the same small part of a three minute song on repeat. Like I’m just doing it to hurt myself.

This is what people do with Sleater-Kinney records. It’s not always about the same things or about the same songs, but listening to this band is all about willfully confronting your most painful and angriest feelings and hoping that by facing them head-on you will become a stronger person. They always sound brave, and they make the stakes of even their small handful of silly songs seem ridiculously high. Sleater-Kinney are never holding your hand or nudging you to jump into the fire. You leap in of your own accord because they already have, and they make it look like the only path to catharsis. You do it because they seem better for having done it themselves.

The most distinctive aspect of Sleater-Kinney’s sound is the contrast of Corin Tucker and Carrie Brownstein’s voices. This was a very deliberate thing, particularly on their breakthrough albums Dig Me Out and The Hot Rock. Brownstein’s voice is cold and aloof, and her lyrics tend to be analytical in tone. Tucker’s voice is the polar opposite. Her voice is hot, loud, and intense. Her lyrics are direct and emotionally raw. She sings with such force that her most fierce wails sound as though they could blast a hole through a mountain range. They play off each other like overlapping thoughts in the same brain, with Tucker serving as the id and Brownstein playing the superego. They dramatize the messy, confusing feelings of a conflicted mind.

If you come to Sleater-Kinney’s music to jump into the fire, you quickly learn to distrust everything Brownstein sings. She’s the neurotic voice that convinces you to back away from your feelings and avoid taking risks. She’s the one who is being reasonable, which in this context is basically a synonym for repressed or cowardly. In “Hot Rock,” Brownstein turns the plot of Peter Yates’ 1972 heist film The Hot Rock into an extended metaphor for trying to steal someone’s heart. In her half of the song, relationships are seen in terms of property, and a crafty person can make someone fall in love with them. Tucker’s lyrics are a brutal counterpoint. She knows the horrible truth: “I’m not the one you wanted, not the thing you keep.” Even for the hyper-emotive Tucker, she sounds ragged and vulnerable here. Brownstein’s schemes and bravado are entirely neutralized by her nagging doubts. It’s hopeless. It’s not real.

I brace myself for the climax of “Hot Rock” every time. There’s a brief instrumental section heralding the part, and in those moments you can prepare yourself for the arrival of the bitter truth. The agonizing part of this is not in finding out that it’s not real, but in that you already knew that all along. The pain is in having to let go of the tiny bit of hope you had that your doubts were wrong, and that you had for once actually found the love you wanted. It’s a disappointment, but mostly in yourself for being fool enough to believe that anyone could want you. You’re not the one they wanted. You’re not the thing to keep. Don’t you get it by now?

At the end of the song, Brownstein rationalizes Tucker’s emotional revelation. She sees the truth of the situation, and with more clarity than the heartbroken Tucker. She knows what she has to do and makes a vow: “I’m going to steal my heart back and find a love that’s true.” This is where you need to trust Brownstein’s voice of reason. It’s not a happy ending, but it is an attempt to salvage some pride and self-respect from this mess. Who knows, you might be better off for having gone through this.

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