These Live Videos Show Why Bikini Kill’s Reunion Tour Should Be Worth the Wait
Invisible Hits is a column in which Tyler Wilcox scours the internet for the best (and strangest) bootlegs, rarities, outtakes, and live clips.
This week's surprise announcement that riot grrrl pioneers Bikini Kill are reuniting this spring for shows in Los Angeles and New York sent a shockwave of 1990s nostalgia through the internet. But it wasn't just Gen X feeling wistful. More than 20 years since the band split, their fiercely feminist punk feels as, if not more, relevant in the Trump era. From 1990 to 1997, Kathleen Hanna, Tobi Vail, and Kathi Wilcox (along with Billy Karren, who is sitting the reunion out) blazed a trail that left a thriving network of pro-woman, queer-positive bands, scenes, and zines in its wake.
“[T]he fact of the matter is that I got into bands because I wanted to make feminism cool,” Hanna told the New York Times in 2016. “So I said, I'm going to be the Pied Piper, the gateway drug, and try to get people into this.”
Bikini Kill's three LPs and handful of splits, comps, and EPs played a part in this quest, but it may have been the hard-touring band's explosive live shows that made the greatest impact. We'll soon see if the reunited group lives up to that considerable legacy, but in the meantime, here's a sampling of what Bikini Kill is up against.
August 21, 1991: North Shore Surf Club in Olympia
Bikini Kill emerged from the fertile Olympia, Washington punk scene of the late 1980s and early 1990s. Olympia was (and in some ways remains) a hotbed for indie labels and bands, with K Records and Kill Rock Stars providing a launchpad for innovators like Bratmobile, Beat Happening, Unwound, and countless others. This black and white clip of Bikini Kill's early days is a rough but vital document, showcasing not only their bludgeoning instrumental force but also Hanna's undeniable charisma as frontperson. A ball of white-hot energy, she howls fearlessly into the crowd over the roar of distorted guitars and crashing cymbals. Present for some of these early Olympia gigs was Corin Tucker of Sleater-Kinney, a band that might not have existed without Bikini Kill. Her reaction? “My jaw hit the floor.”
July 25, 1992: US Capitol Plaza Supreme Court in D.C.
Could Clarence Thomas hear this show from his chambers? Let's hope! A few months before the release of Bikini Kill's self-titled EP, the band joined their friends in Fugazi—including Ian MacKaye, who produced said EP—for an outdoor protest gig in the belly of the beast. “Fuck the fucking rightwing supreme court [sic],” the flyer read, mincing no words. “No more bullshit. Focus your anger. Come and make your hands bleed.” Bikini Kill make good on these promises, delivering a thrashing half-hour set peppered with radical banter between songs. For all of their well-placed anger, Bikini Kill is still a celebratory band—they made smashing the patriarchy look like fun.
July 1994: Rhythm and Brews in Indio, California
It wasn't all good times, however. “It was hard being in a feminist band in the early '90s, I'm not gonna lie,” Hanna wrote in an essay published on her later band Le Tigre's website. “[It was] super schizo to play shows where guys threw stuff at us, called us cunts and yelled ‘take it off’ during our set, and then the next night perform for throngs of amazing girls singing along to every lyric and cheering after every song.” Following the release of 1993's Pussy Whipped, amid growing mainstream-media interest in the riot grrrl movement they were at the center of, the band often found itself in alien territory. This included places like the groan-inducingly named Rhythm and Brews club, in the heart of conservative Palm Springs. But Bikini Kill wasn't just about preaching to the choir. Their set here is as fiery and committed as can be, with Hanna leading the charge. They may not have converted everyone in the crowd, but it's easy to imagine that those they did were forever changed.
March 3, 1996: Morse Dining Hall at Yale University
Bikini Kill's audience expanded steadily as the decade progressed, and their second and final LP, 1996's Reject All American, was a bit more polished. But the band never lost its razor edge onstage, whether it came to the rollercoaster nature of the songs or their willingness to stop the show and talk serious politics. It's just a few minutes into this Yale gig before Hanna brings up the case of imprisoned activist/journalist Mumia Abu Jamal. There is an improvisational feeling to the whole affair, but at the same time, the band's thrilling racket sounds more tightly played than ever before—like they know just what to do. As Bikini Kill plow through their theme song, “Rebel Girl,” to close, Hanna flashes an incandescent smile on the line, “When she talks, I hear the revolution” and joyously pulls her friend out onstage with her for a second. That is a mood 2019 could use, frankly.
