Rating: NNN
i?½ETt thing about punk rock is that it places a premium on sheer savagery over skill. So while the three snarling vixens and their boy drummer in the Distillers won’t be inspiring anyone to stay home and practise their scales, you can smell their sweat on every wickedly caffeinated song on this self-titled release. Through no fault of her own, shit-kicking Aussie-born wailer Brody Armstrong was blessed/cursed with a ratty voice that would be mistaken for Courtney Love’s in a blind test, but the movie-star singer never delivered a spit-soaked “fuck you” with the vigour of the potty-mouthed Armstrong. And that’s saying something.