Plodding drums, serious powerchords and grinning vocals merrily punkify all that would be angst in the sometimes honky tonk, occasionally folksy Paydirt.
Where Bikini Kill had a crazed humor for all its man-eating madness, Manda’s yelps are just irritating. Memorable only for their small bird-killing frequency.
The record refuses to linger, spinning from psychotrope to meditative musical montage, from brilliant electric brain impulses to blue-purple aural tears.