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The self-titled debut by Grass Widow, an all-girl three-piece from San Francisco, hearkens back to those sweet, sweet days when the iPod was but a glimmer in our collective eye.
The self-titled debut by Grass Widow, an all-girl three-piece from San Francisco, harkens back to those sweet, sweet days when the iPod was but a glimmer in our collective eye. The album’s nonchalant harmonies and neck spazz–inducing drums aren’t tainted by any sort of fancy production tomfoolery, and the tunes are reminiscent of early Sleater-Kinney and Huggy Bear in their unbridled, self-sufficient energy. These ladies make the kind of catchy, melodic punk-pop that sounds like a mixture of hanging out in someone’s garage, riding your bike to the DQ, and catching a jar full of fireflies. The short tracks are so good, you might even find your face pulling a pained expression of bliss, the nonverbal cue for, “Oh yeah, oh yeah!”
