This came out in 2002 – or at least that’s when I got it. Here’s what I said about it back then (with some minor editing):
Hell hath no fury like Brody Armstrong scorned. And from her crappy childhood to the miserable state of the world today, it seems she’s ticked off at damn near everything.
Thankfully, Armstrong — the singer and guitarist of incendiary L.A. foursome The Distillers (and, incidentally, wife of Rancid guitarist Tim Armstrong) — has channeled that rage into the staggering Sing Sing Death House, the band’s second album and the best disc of the year so far. With a dozen tunes jammed into less than a half-hour, Sing Sing Death House is an adrenaline-fuelled rampage of majestically thrashing guitars, raggedly frantic drumbeats and neck-snapping stop-start dynamics. At the centre of the maelstrom stands the battle-scarred Brody, eloquently spitting her wrath and pledging her punk allegiance in a razor-blade slur that fuses Courtney Love, Patti Smith and Wendy O. Williams. Except that Brody could probably kick all their asses. The Distillers’ self-titled debut was on our best-of list for 2000; I’m already saving a spot for Sing Sing Death House this December. You should save a spot for it in your CD changer.
