When Karen sings the titular hook on “Always” six times, it feels as though she’s whispering her vows to you while maintaining burning eye contact. To really dig into slow-jam Yeah Yeah Yeahs, you’d do well to pick out album tracks from their last album, 2013’s Mosquito. Though “Maps” came out on their debut album, it’s one of a few mellower tracks you’ll find there (including the murky “Modern Romance,” which basically sounds like a sentient tear-soaked diary page). That crossover hit is a stepping stone to other gut-wrenching songs the band made about devotion and intimacy. At this stage, I would like to invite those of you who’ve vaguely heard of the band to raise your hands if you know their 2003 single “Maps.” Yeah? Good. But for all of their reputation as a beer-drenched, chaotic flurry of messy art-punk, the trio can also wade into the depths of your feelings like beavers eagerly taking to water. We may as well get this out of the way right now: Yeah Yeah Yeahs are loud.
Their sound developed from Nick’s screeching guitar lines over Brian crashing his cymbals like a menace into forays in synth, electro-pop and even reggae-tinged territory (trust me, they made it work – that’s coming in a second). But don’t get it twisted: Yeah Yeah Yeahs practically shat bangers. They listened." Now, that makes the band sound like a slog or a worthy protest act. Trying to be heard in that context was tough, and I had to scream and break things to make people listen to me, but they did. Speaking to Lenny Letter last year, Karen put it like this: "It wasn't easy, but I stuck to my guns – I had to rebuild how I thought about myself being in an all-dudes rock world. Between their debut and the release of fourth album Mosquito! 13 years later, the band would empower musicians who wanted to play in a way that felt visceral and messy, as well as the young women in particular looking for representation in the overly male indie scene at the time. As one of the few female-fronted bands of that era, Yeah Yeah Yeahs were both treated with an outdated sense of novelty – look! A woman! Who isn’t always concerned with looking ‘pretty’! – and transformed into a symbol. So much so that by about 2005, “Karen O” was a Halloween costume idea: ripped fishnets, Converse hi-tops, some sort of skintight leotard and a bowl cut wig would have got you there. Instead they put out three albums to follow 2003 debut Fever to Tell and their two pre-record label deal EPs, earned three Grammy nominations and became symbols of the arty end of New York’s early 2000s rock revival. The band obviously didn’t call it quits that year, though.
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