Horror of Beauty (the band's first full-length for Century Media) is still dominated by Tarrie B.'s voice and ideology.
But Mick Murphy's road case full of riffs finally have a cohesive rhythm section to play off of.
Murphy, Yael, and bassist Meghan Mattox don't simply build a platform for Tarrie to tear new assholes from -- they're four hungry heads in a quartet hardened through cohesion, and they're all gunning for you.
Beauty cuts L.A.
Whiskey-style hard rock with elements of thrash and sludgy goth.
It's not a new sound by any means, but when done this well it'll give a nun a new habit.
Tarrie takes Tinseltown to task (the churning "Ten Minutes to Hollywood"), and curses the unclear channels of restrictive radio programming in the subversive ripper "Radio Silence," but it's body type and self-image issues that really have her fired up here.
"Made to Measure"'s pull-offs and cymbal crashes simmer at a cock rock rolling boil, and it comes complete with a giddy wah-wah solo.
But Tarrie's harsh, screamed lyrics call out every industry hack that ever put a premium on being thin or pretty.
"You wanna know how much I weigh?/WHAT?!," she asks a clueless record exec in "Weightless." There's plenty of venom here, obviously (and with Yael's explosive drumming, plenty of power).
But it's the incredulity in Tarrie's voice that sells her message.
She's honestly bewildered -- why does how I look relate to how I rock? -- and that makes Horror of Beauty pragmatic instead of preachy.
It's pissed-off music made with precision and heart.