Album Of The Week: White Lung Deep Fantasy

White Lung don't sound like Hole. They don't sound like L7, either. The only way they'd sound like Babes In Toyland is if you shot Babes In Toyland full of adrenaline and then forced them to claw their way out of a gigantic plastic bag. It doesn't make much sense, musically at least, to compare White Lung to the blistering, confrontational, woman-dominated rock bands that achieved something resembling stardom in the '90s. Their music is too fast and chaotic and jangled, and their hooks fly by with nervous impatient energy. It was weird to hear "Pretend We're Dead" between Soul Asylum and World Party on alt-rock radio back in the day, but it would be such a jolt to hear White Lung there that it just never would've happened. Those bands were built on different foundations, of '80s radio-rock and a punk scene that hadn't quite become an ossified institution yet. White Lung come from the DIY punk universe, from warehouse-loft shows and endless van slogs and throwing your album up on Bandcamp and hoping someone notices. Their music is different. Their context is different. And yet, on their new album Deep Fantasy, White Lung crackle with possibility in a way that reminds me of those old bands. White Lung won't become rock stars, at least not in the old way, since all their roads to rock stardom have been buried under rubble for years. But on Deep Fantasy, they stand tall and majestic in a way that bands of their background almost never do. They project power. They scream at the rafters. They walk right up to you and grab you by the throat. Deep Fantasy demands response, and it's thrilling to hear an album that willfully jabs its neck out like this one does.