Onto the fiery caterwail of a riot grrl revivalist does Bully’s charm drape.
Nashville’s Alicia Bognanno has a larynx that surely begs lemon-ginger tea to maintain, while around her $5 guitars and bargain basement drum kit quite ably transport you back to the corners of ‘90s grunge, a time when Courtney Love sounded more of a danger to everyone else than herself. Nothing much clocks over three-and-a-half minutes as Bognanno bemoans you “making me feel like trash” or screams about being six and fighting with her sister. It feels like primal scream therapy in a moshpit.
