After its 2000 release, I quickly and knee-jerkingly dismissed Chicks on Speed Will Save Us All as cheap pop until a more enlightened friend of mine pointed out that they were supposed to sound like that. Since then, Chicks on Speed have continued to produce clever, knowingly trashy anti-pop that coaxes nonchalant head nods from irony imbibers. The ex-art school collective has fed fashion, feminism and photo-ops through the lowest of lo-fi fuzzboxes, kindergarten two-step beats, and tape recorder-quality disco-- all in the guise of an arch riposte to modern pop culture. Three years later, 99 Cents-- the third full-length from the Berlin-based trio of American Melissa Logan, German Kiki Moorse, and Australian Alex Murray-Leslie-- indicates that my original synopsis is as inaccurate as ever, albeit for significantly different reasons.
99 Cents still sees Chicks on Speed in the familiarly playful, reveling-in-the-throwaway mood that has characterized their career, but replaces the cheap sounds of their earlier records with more traditional sonics, which leave the often-clever lyrics feeling like an afterthought. The Chicks' inevitable collaboration with Peaches (the standout track "We Don't Play Guitars") is a gutsy, rambunctious melee that puts mantra before message. An impressive reproduction of the Tom Tom Club's "Wordy Rappinghood" continues the girls' tradition of fantastic covers, seamlessly pairing solid, dance-friendly programming with live playing and featuring both eccentric vocals and slick synth work. The stuttering R&B; of "Coventry" seems unintentionally candid, considering that genre's recent shift toward self-reference and pastiche (see: "Slow Jamz", for one). "Sell-Out", however, seems a bit obvious, and not a little lazy, especially compared to the sexier, more adventurous "Shick Shaving", which showcases chants from the sublime Miss Kittin, and sounds like The Postal Service with decaying optimism and too many drinks.
Based in Germany, Chicks on Speed have always shared a cynicism toward capitalism and commodification-- best revealed here by the blunt "Universal Pussy"-- with their erstwhile compatriots from the Frankfurt School of cultural criticism. Imagine Adorno in a plastic mini-skirt and smeared lipstick and you have some idea of their since-derailed mission statement. Perhaps Chicks on Speed think it's clever or post-whatever to embrace a more contemporary production ethos or swap counter culture for something much closer to over-the-counter culture, but you can't pull off sounding bored and indifferent when you're clearly working this hard. If this album is an easily digestible Trojan horse to carry their cynicism into the unsuspecting mainstream, Chicks on Speed are in danger of letting their spunky satire devolve into mere chirpy sarcasm.
