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October 17, 2003
CORAL FANG
By DARRYL STERDAN
CORAL FANG The Distillers (Sire/Warner) L.A. punks, we are told, have a new term for being backstabbed: Getting Brodied. The inspiration? Distillers singer-guitarist Brody Dalle, who recently dumped her band, her husband (Rancid's Tim Armstrong), her married name and her indie record label in favour of a big-time deal, a romance with Josh Homme of QOTSA, a ticket to rock-magazine coverdom and a rep approaching Courtney Love's. All of which, quite frankly, we could care less about. Trouble is, though, Brody is also losing touch with one thing that does matter -- her sound. The whiplash ferocity and wrist-slash desperation that distinguished her first CDs have been worrisomely diluted on her so-so third disc Coral Fang. Slower beats, bigger choruses, stronger melodies, strummier guitars and restrained numbers that veer perilously close to radioland could have you thinking this 11-song CD is a Hole record. Admittedly, thanks to Brody's throat-shredding snarl, guttersnipe sexuality and chunky riffage, Coral Fang would be a really good Hole album. But next to a masterpiece like last year's Sing Sing Death House, it's proof good isn't always good enough. She might be corporate punk's new It Girl -- but to get there, it seems Brody may have Brodied herself. Track Listing
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