Now more than ten years old, the Gits' first album spits and hisses like the day it was born. It's brilliant, bluesy punk, a road not taken, a cornerstone for a movement that never happened. It's hardcore with heart, early '90s girl garage and something else entirely, the quintessential survivor's song from a woman who has been dead for a decade. If it doesn't give you the chills -- the "music so good it hurts" kind of chills -- you've sold out so far you don't even remember who you used to be.
The Gits, if you're not up on the history, were a Seattle-based punk foursome whose charismatic singer Mia Zapata howled and strutted and crooned like Aretha Franklin at the headbangers' ball. Zapata wrote the band's lyrics, and it was clear that she took no prisoners and made no compromises, brewing a tough cocktail of defiance and vulnerability. Her words, her powerful voice, her stage persona were an intoxicating mix, showing that a woman could rock as hard and live as rough as any man. She was murdered on night in July 1993, and over time, became a symbol for violence against women, almost a patron saint of victimhood. You have to wonder how she would have felt about this, because there is nothing victimish about her music, which is as strong and honest and self-assured as anything ever sung by a woman.
The Gits get lumped in with the riot grrl movement because of Zapata, but they weren't really a girl band at all. The other three members were guys, and just as important to the band's sound as Zapata. Joe Spleen, the band's guitarist, spliced the words with fast, brutal, riffs that veered from thrash to metal to surf to almost-rockabilly. Matt Dresdner on bass -- that's him skittering through the frantic low line at the beginning of "Absynthe" -- laid an unstoppable pulse under the tunes, while Steve Moriarty pushed maniacally from behind on drums. The band charged and surged like a single beast, snarling head-first into the attack of "Wingo Lamo", cantering jauntily through the surfy intro of "Slaughter of Bruce" and flexing and slinking through the verse of "Another Shot of Whiskey", only to howl through the chorus.
Choosing the best tracks here is tough -- they're all great -- but standout moments include the drum and bass duel on opener "Absynthe", the slow power-chord-drenched glory of "Another Shot of Whiskey" and "Second Skin", with its Sweet-style (think "Ballroom Blitz") drum opening and despair-defying lyrics. Blistering live versions of all three of these songs, plus five others, have been added to the reissue, providing an inkling of what this band must have been like on stage. There's also a single version of "Twisting" -- lighter, rougher and punkier than the album version, showcasing the warmth at the bottom of Zapata's deep alto register.
Frenching the Bully is music for not giving up -- for looking right at the dark side, squaring your shoulders and moving on. Put it on when you're sick and broke, harassed and down, and it'll put you right back into the struggle; you may not be inspired or euphoric, but you'll be ready to fight another day. It's tough and real and rocks like a hurricane -- just what you need right now, even if it is ten years late in getting to you.
