Lex Walton is a young woman with a lot to say about our current self-inflicted predicament and the music world’s inadequate response to it. More specifically, she’s a no -fucks -to- give, hyper-intelligent young trans woman with a lot to say. Her recent debut album on the Sub Pop label is the most urgent, political, tuneful rock I’ve heard in some time. It’s a tight, brief (seven songs in 20 minutes) blast of anger and hope that reminded me immediately of the Minutemen’s 1979 debut Paranoid Time (seven songs in 6 minutes, which you should now take but a moment to listen to in its entirety and hear the tectonic plates of punk rock shift). The Minutemen taught that punk rock could be angry and overtly political, while still entertaining; D. Boon yelling that “I try talking to girls but keep thinking about World War III” is tragic and funny.
Growing up in the ‘10’s, Walton cut her teeth on The Death Grips, not the Minutemen, but she’s still their “soldier child” as Boon claimed to be of Dylan. The Minutemen railed against Reagan’s America. Almost beyond belief, we are in a far worse place today and as a young trans woman, Walton is particularly situated to suffer for it. But, she is not doing it quietly and sharply criticizes the up -its -own -ass nature of so much indie rock, going so far as to publish a manifesto against music that has nothing to say. She has the certitude of someone in her mid-20’s, which you can understandably choose to find annoyingly precocious. As someone who has a few decades under his belt and been afflicted with the complacency wrought by the American exceptionalism bullshit that is crammed down your throat the second you gasp for your first breath, I’m all ears. Our first shot at this died in a van accident on an Arizona highway. Let’s try this again.
This album starts off with a clear statement of purpose in ‘For Thee I Sing’ a reworking (‘We made our bed/But now we sleep in it.’) of the doctrinaire ‘my country tis of thee sweet land of liberty’ ditty that every American kid learns at school with a whoozy sound like old Flaming Lips. ‘Hipster Runoff’ is a catchy bill of complaints nailed to the door of the music industry, streaming algorithms, stupid ass TikTok videos, and general malaise that includes the couplet “Cops are killing moms in cars/ ’Cause you, you wanted to say ‘retard.’’’ That accurately sums things up.
The rave-up ‘Yr Op-Ed Won’t Get You Into Heaven Anymore’, points its finger at the hand -wringing pundits (the New York Times, in particular, shamefully curried, perhaps even molded, an anti-trans audience) who rationalize oppression with a haughty air. Following this is the grimy ‘USA=FAG NATION’, an anti-police, anti-bullying screed with a simple, practical solution: the hunted becomes the hunter (‘Some people should be shot.’)
‘I Wish I Was an M-80’ is gentler musically but is lyrically loaded (including a random Glen Campbell quote), introspective, and ambivalent as to the “Renaissance women of concept rock” that it addresses. ‘Adrian Borland Will Have His Revenge on London’ is a sadly true and timeworn tale of mental illness destroying an artist to a tune that resembles ‘Lithium,’ a song written by another victim from the historic album that sustained the Sub Pop label.
The album closes with ‘Ultimate Love 4Ever’ an aspirational anthem to a world that is unattainable, at least here.
Or is it? There is certainly cause for pessimism, but speaking of Nirvana, there was an interview with Kurt Cobain regarding the punk ethos and that the fight against whatever your worthy target is may be unwinnable, but it is fun to give it a try. There is honor in the effort no matter how futile. What Walton is saying is make the effort for fuck’s sake and if everybody does maybe something will shift. Say what you want about Cobain, who was a messed-up drug addict preaching from the platform of a Geffen contract, but he was a pugnacious defender of the LBGTQ community at a time when it was not hip to be. Those efforts add up.
I was lucky enough, along with my wife and daughter, to get tickets to the Daisy Chain Fields festival in Irvine, CA on August 29. Olivia Rodrigo, deservedly THE pop star of the moment, put her considerable influence behind this charity concert with an unparalleled lineup of women artists to raise money for non-profits fighting for women’s issues. The weather was blistering hot and some logistical issues put fans to the test, but it was 45,000 people enjoying sharing a goal of positive change with an actual tangible result ($20 million raised.) I tend to side with Walton in believing that positivity has its limits and hate plays a vital role. (‘I hope you die, I really do/I don’t say these things lightly, but for you.’) But, again, it feels good to try. I hope Lex Walton plays a future Daisy Chain.
The popular go-to attempted gotcha for every meathead right winger now is ‘What’s your definition of a woman?’ If asked that question by one of these people I would say, I’m not playing your definitional games, but, as a baseline, a ‘woman’ is a human which disqualifies subhumans like JK Rowling and Nancy Grace. Other than that, I’m not sure nor do I really care, but I’ll give you two examples: Olivia Rodrigo and Lex Walton. Now fuck off.
Words by Rick Larson
Picky Bastards 