Bif Naked

(Futurist/Mayhem)
by Ryk McIntyre

Her Royal Majesty Records, indeed… really, there are only four words necessary for this review… go buy this album.

What, you need/want more? Fine. The cover photo is great, but it’s camouflage – identify it and move closer. Put the CD on and read the liner notes. You needn’t be a detective to find the telltale clues: bold looks that speak in a come-closer-please-let’s-talk-but-watch-your-damn-self language that is not victim, not hardbitch, not anyone-hating, just frank there-it-isms. Later, you’ll notice the lyrics never waver from that stance of no-offense-but-here’s-the-storytelling. And the songs dare non-commercialism just as they sing tunefully, catchy, and blunt, leaving fine slices behind in their wake.

From the first, sweet, sandpaper chord of the opening cut, “Everything,” Bif Naked makes all the statements she needs – artistically, politically, and personally – without losing the essential updraft that such a radio-needs-this-single could beg for. I sing this song in my head a hundred times a day. Next, the grunge-this! “Make Like A Tree,” and the self-historical “Daddy’s Getting Married,” a punch and at the same time, slow-motion and devastating. Special mention goes to the ballad “Tell On You (Letter To My Rapist).” I can only marvel at the strength it took to write this song, and even if it isn’t autobiographical, so what? You can’t go near that head space and come out unscathed. It can’t be done. A salute to she who tells that tale.

But all isn’t heavy here. “Succulent” is stinky, funky. Just groovin’ with oogie-boogies. Fun. It brings to mind one of Bif’s liner notes, “I sure like to cuss and use many swear words.” Sure ’nuff, Bif. Uh-huh. My personal favorite is the Peter-Gabriel-wishes-he-wrote-this “My Whole Life,” where the operative phrase is, “my whole life/ it’s not over/ my whole life.”

Goddess bless, with those tattoos and these songs, I’d lay my poetry down at the feet of Bif Naked any day.