Review: Bikini Kill at The Orange Peel
On New Year's Day, I woke with an epiphany: 2023 would be the year Riot Grrrl culture rises up like a gorgeous, angry, ecstatic phoenix and burns hotter than the sun setting on a late summer MAGA rally in Texas.
That’s right. The Riot Grrrl movement is BACK, y’all. There’s no stopping the force of 3rd-meets-4th wave feminism, three generations strong. We’re angry, we’re loud, we’re optimistic, and we don’t give a fuck. From the release of The Punk Singer documentary in 2013 to Amy Poeler’s Moxie in 2021, to Tobi Vail’s recent IG post of the original Riot Grrrl Manifesto just before Bikini Kill hit the road for their ‘23 Tour, the writing has been on the wall for a decade. And if their twice rescheduled (and thrice sold-out) performance at The Orange Peel is any indication, these grrrls just wanna have fun.
That was the energy in the room April 3 where every species of female and non-man packed like pink sequined sardines wearing combat boots on an otherwise nondescript Monday night. As I struggled to get closer to the front, it was heartwarming to witness a spectrum of advocating dudes standing in the back, an homage to the original riot grrrl call of “Girls to the front!” intended to protect female fans from the often violent male-dominated mosh pit at punk shows. The scene was sure-fire proof that when Bikini Kill hits the stage, a revolution’s coming.
When the lights came up and the band emerged, the crowd erupted into cheers, hoots, and shrieks. We had entered Bikini Kill zone, where you and everyone you give a fuck about is just fine. Yeah, even though you feel a tad pretentious as a 47-year-old mom wearing a Joan Jett inspired red bra under a leather jacket, you fit in here, because the neo riot grrrls in their 20s and the old school riots grrrls in their 50s have all been invited by queen of the neighborhood, Kathleen Hannah, and OG bandmates Kathi Wilcox (guitar) and Tobi Vail (drums), to the Rebel Girl Birthday Party. And they saved you a seat at the Cool Kids table.
After this show was canceled twice due to complications stemming from the COVID-19 pandemic, it’s an understatement to say the crowd was ready. When pink-sequined Hanna entered the stage with her bandmates and launched into “New Radio” to a roaring crowd, it was like all the tension from the past 10 years — the sexual violence stories of #MeToo; police brutality against Black Lives; the pussy-grabbing misogynist elected president; the separation of migrant families at the border; COVID’s toll on women; anti-trans legislation; the reversal of Roe v. Wade; political inaction on climate change and gun control; the war in Ukraine — purged through our skin with Hanna’s primal screams, Vail’s thunderous beats, and Wilcox’s grounding baselines.
Aristotle said the purpose of art is catharsis. Performed by punk feminists, catharsis is both exhilarating liberation and a call to action.
“We stand for our trans brothers and sisters!” Hanna belted out at the end of the first set with as much gusto as she sang into the opening lyrics “I'm the little girl at the picnic / Who won’t stop pulling her dress up.” At work on a new documentary about her recently deceased uncle, who was the oldest living Drag Queen, she commanded our attention with her declaration, “We all have toxic family members.” She called out those who see only sexuality and gender as defining marks of being human and use it as a way to police our behaviors. “We are so much more than that.” And her response to those who would criticize her for preaching to the converted? She has words for the other side: “Fuck yeah, I don’t want to hang out with you.”
The minimalist set and no-frills bi-color lighting that cycled through each song showcased these artists doing what they do best: waking up the audience, calling out the assholes, and having a raucous good time in the process. “Jigsaw Youth,” a middle finger to ideologies that contain, limit, and judge expressions of the human spirit, was especially memorable for its synced-up energy with the audience: “We know there's not one way/ One light, one stupid truth.” The lyrics are defensive of Hanna’s days as a stripper, when the band made so little money that she had to strip to make ends meet. She calls out her critics for their hypocrisy: “I can sell my body if I wanna/ God knows you already sold your mind.”
One of my favorite treats in the BK candy bag was Vail’s ascension to the mic, where her hot pink hair, tight running shorts, sunglasses, and absolute rockstar mojo filled the room with a lascivious vibe with songs like “Hamster Baby” and “Tell Me So.” Don’t get me wrong: Vail was cool as a cucumber, but the audience was in heat. I was unable to make my way to the stage, but I spotted synchronous movement at the center-front. Not quite moshing, but enthusiastic, fire-under-their-asses, lit-up jumping for joy. And that describes the Bikini Kill spirit best: loud, angry, ecstatic, synchronous joy.
But nothing energized this Gen X rebel girl and every other fan in the room like the closing two songs “Double Dare Ya” (“Dare ya to do what you want / Dare ya to be who you will”) leading into a seamless progression of Bikini Kill’s most popular song, “Rebel Girl.” No matter your age, if you identify as “girl,” you know both the girl singing this song and the girl this song unabashedly celebrates. And guess what? They are both you.
“That girl thinks she’s the queen of the neighborhood. I got news for you, she is!” It’s a song about shirking ladylike socialization and following the bad girl who “holds her head up so high, I think I wanna be her best friend, yeah!” It’s about transcending the entrapment of ladylike lessons of girlhood, and replacing them with a wilder, more instinctual nature. “In her hips, there's revolution … In her kiss, I taste the revolution.” But still, we need a role model, and when we see her, we want to be her: “I know I want to take you home, I want to try on your clothes.”
Bikini Kill was everything you might hope for in a punk show that captured the raw, chaotic girl power feminism of 30 years ago, but is still fresh because of its relevance. Folks, this is not a cover band — it’s the real thing, the OG rebel girl and her posse of righteous bitches peeling out subversive lyrics, burning riffs off the guitar, and banging it out the drums like no time has passed. Yeah, we’re just as loud and angry and optimistic as we were in the ’90s — only now we’re wiser, and we’ve armed the next generation with that hard-fought wisdom.
On my way out, I stopped by the swag table to check out the BK T-shirts. Feeling extroverted after two IPAs, I blurted out to the early 20-somethings working the stand, who are the same age as the students in my Women’s and Gender Studies 101 class, “Hope this is a sign that the Riot Grrrl movement is back!”
“Oh, it is for sure,” nods the first girl.
“No doubt,” says the other.
While my New Years Day epiphany was a little belated, it was, at least, accurate. I bought the T-shirt.
P.S. If you want to keep riding the Riot Grrrl train, Le Tigre, the electro-Punk band that Kathlelen Hanna formed after Bikini Kill with J.D. Samson and Johanna Fateman, is touring North America starting July 1. You’ll have to travel hours from Asheville to catch Le Tigre by its toe.
(Photos by Whitley Albury)
