Granted, listening to Alexandra Hope's lo-fi and simplistic guitar strum, the list of alt-chick comparables is easy to compile.
I liked those girls: scintillatingly adverse to idealized femininity, picking up the led pipe that Patti Smith had dropped and eagerly running toward profane and abundant "unladylike" behavior. I remember procuring a copy of Liz Phair's Exile In Guyville, specifically because I'd read that she'd used the phrase "blowjob queen" in a song. There was something undeniably perverse and attractive about those ladies of sullied outward appearance, smeared make-up and intensely opposed to being "hot," which of course made them "hot."
Listening to Hope, I do a get a sense of nostalgia, one that evokes memories of 120 Minutes and Julianna Hatfield swearing she had a sister. Typically, I tend to not live in the past but..."Invisible Sunday" sort of makes me wish those days could be recycled and lived again with a better perception of how to spend them. Hope's album of the same name will be out March 17th.
Letters From A Tapehead