Carrie Brownstein of Sleater-Kinney performing at Webster Hall, New York, NY, August 2, 2006. Photo by Jeanne Fury. Photo © 2006 NYRock.com.

Sleater-Kinney at Webster Hall, New York, NY, August, 2, 2006

This is the second consecutive farewell-themed NY Rock Confidential column. We apologize for any increase in Prozac and/or whiskey consumption.

Next up on the chopping block is Sleater-Kinney. I'm not going to extrapolate on why Carrie Brownstein, Corin Tucker, and Janet Weiss were an important/amazing band. Go read any of the other million reviews of their final shows for that stuff. Facts of the matter are, they're ace musicians, aggressive songwriters, deftly intelligent, and when they were hot, they were total rock stars worthy of spandex, strippers, and smoke machines. In addition, S-K could transmit the breathless thrill of rock 'n' roll to their audience by appealing to our brains, hearts, and loins. But they never seemed to let their greatness get to their heads. To put it crudely, they took this shit seriously, but they weren't douche bags.

When S-K announced their "indefinite hiatus" earlier this summer, it felt like a wrecking ball to the gut. After listening to S-K's 2005 album The Woods, you could kind of see it coming from afar, but when the reality hit, it flattened all your round parts. On August 2, 2006, they played their final NYC show at Webster Hall.

It was approximately 105 degrees in Webster Hall. My six-dollar Bud Light was warm after three gulps. Sheets of sweat cascaded down my back and into my underwear. Twenty minutes later, I had sweat so much I couldn't even feel my underwear. It was really incredibly hot. So you can imagine my ire when the chicks next to me lit a cigarette and started passing it around. Look, I'm not going to deny anyone a little nicotine, but seriously, are you freakin' kidding me? Is it not warm enough? Say, after you put that out, think you could rip a toasty fart, too? That'd be sweet, thanks.

When Sleater-Kinney came out on stage, they offered no smiles, no waves, nothing. In fact, they looked peeved. Three songs later, they loosened up. By the fifth track, it was as if someone let an animal out of its cage. Carrie swung at the air with her guitar and did her trademark toy-soldier-marching kicks. Corin bopped in place and swung her head side-to-side. Janet's eyes closed and she just went to work.

"New York is one of the most divine cities we've ever played in," said Carrie before launching into "The Drama You've Been Craving." The audience stomped and danced so hard that the floor was shuddering enough to blur my vision. It doubled in intensity when they played "Entertain" and Carrie absolutely flaunted her furor.

During "What's Mine Is Yours," Corin's tough, lusty side broke out, causing a mild frenzy in the crowd. Carrie's clamorous guitar solo echoed in the humid air. When the two guitarists slowly approached center stage and started rocking out mere inches from each other, the audience came undone, just completely lost their shit. Between that and the increasing heat, I almost barfed.

One chick couldn't take the heat and launched a bra onstage during "Dig Me Out." Beats the shit out of giving them a bouquet of roses, which some thoughtful gentleman in fact presented at the end of the set.

Though Sleater-Kinney put on an exceptional show, something felt amiss, like they were performing more as individuals than as a unit. Or maybe I've got separation anxiety. But the show will be tucked into their NYC history as one of the strongest, alongside their shows at Tramps and the Village Underground many moons ago. Back then, there was some running joke between the crowd and Corin that involved peaches. I can't remember it now. Those were the days when Dig Me Out was just released and the world was quickly realizing their significance – a band of feminists who brought rock 'n' roll out of the box, gave it teeth, and put it to work. Tonight, amid a severe lack of oxygen and scalp-soaking heat, I routinely got the chills.

11 things to know about Rancid's live show at BB King's, New York, NY, August 25, 2006 by Jeanne Fury and her brother, Brother Fury

1. Kids still sport Mohawks. Typically, the punks with Mohawks averaged an age of 18 to 22.
2. Punks still smell the same, i.e. really, really rank.
3. BB King's was waaaay too classy of a joint to get down to "Otherside," "She's Automatic," "Hyena," and "Roots Radical." Nevertheless, we gots down hawwwd-caaww (that would be "hardcore").
4. The pit was a hotbed of slimy, steamy action from the moment the band ripped into "Radio" till it closed with "Ruby Soho," and we both have lovely indigo bruises as mementos.
5. Rancid's Lars Frederiksen stopped the show three songs in and warned some people up front that if they wanted to throw punches, they should go to the jock bar down the street. All things considered, this was one of the most jubilant, female-populated, and tireless pits we've hit in some years.
6. We know it's hot, but please, if you have "(b)acne," keep your shirt on and/or keep your oozing red spots away from our shiny, happy faces lest we have to waste precious oxygen on a gag reflex.
7. Opening band Theo and the Skyscrapers were fierce vampy babes with a smoke machine. Lars dedicated "Old Friend" to Theo, who's been tight with the band since the early '90s when she was with the Lunachicks.
8. Opening-opening band the Heart Attacks looked like adorable, prepubescent visions of Iggy Pop and Darby Crash and did a basement-grade cover of "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap."
9. Rancid played the Operation Ivy song "Knowledge" and it possessed the crowd in a bizarre way. People closed their eyes, hopped around, and sang with punch-drunk smiles on their exhausted faces. It looked like some kind of cult in action. It was beautiful.
10. There was a chunk of acoustic versions towards the end including Op Ivy's "Sound System" and a crowd sing-a-long of "Fall Back Down," during which we caught sight of Agnostic Front's Roger Miret onstage playing the guitar.
11. To all the kids who continue to preach that Rancid isn't "punk" and spend countless hours on the Internet writing about what "true" punk is not, we feel bad for you. Your issues with credibility are preventing you from enjoying the music, and that's just some sad stuff.