Despite being a band of the time and place that was Riot Grrrl, there was always something skewed about Slum of Legs and, as if to prove that very point, along comes their self-titled album to make you, once again, wonder just where this band is coming from.
As bands go, Slum of Legs were never obvious and this album, with the passing of the years and the consequent development of a deeper viewpoints, provides further evidence that there are still many more questions than answers in their musical adventures. To therefore regard this album as something of a concept album would be perfectly valid as, between bouts of power chords, the threads of continuity and lyrical purpose that are woven around these songs comprise an intricate and distinctly chequered weave.
Without doubt, there is the angularity expected of a band that survives on the edge of success yet there is also a complexity borne not of ideological confusion but of a desire to make an actual statement. I suppose, therefore, that would make Slum of Legs a band that uses their collective voice to sing songs for those who find themselves square pegs that won’t ever fit into round holes. They are a band that tortures violins but can use harmonies to hold their songs in your memory. A band that can turn riffs into weapons but can still infuse all that they do with the ethereal qualities of traditional folk music. A band that can, almost by design, exist both in the light and in the darkness.
Or, to put it simply, Slum of Legs are a band that deserves to be heard.
Best song? The manic “In Yr Face”.
The verdict? Mature and complex.