Album review: Civet - Hell Hath No Fury

A civet is a member of a family of somewhat cat-like carnivorous mammals which, due to climate change and deforestation, find themselves increasingly likely to be listed as vulnerable or endangered species. How appropriate a name is Civet, then, for a band of four rather foxy ladies playing “femme fatale punk rock”, as their new album Hell Hath No Fury is billed?

The history of women in rock and punk is not an especially cheerful one from a feminist angle, as all the evidence suggests that success is more likely to come from a marketable image than genuine musical prowess, though the two are not necessarily mutually exclusive. Civet have the looks sorted - if you like the rockabilly end of the Suicide Girls roster, these ladies are definitely ideal pin-up material - but by the original ethos of punk (such as it was), we should judge Hell Hath No Fury with our eyes shut and our ears open.

And right from the crunchy phased opening chords of “Alibis”, Civet don’t sound pretty at all - they sound more like some postapocalyptic gang of female petrol-heads, intent on relieving you of your vehicle, your gasoline and - should you resist - your life. Fully-cranked surf-rock riffs and sneering snarling vocals are the order of the day on Hell Hath No Fury, with a beefy guitar tone and a rock-solid rhythm section.

Civet aren’t exactly pushing the boundaries of the punk rock’n'roll format here, but then the genre doesn’t demand it. Frankly, in the current climate of saccharine pop masquerading as punk, it’s a relief to hear any band of any gender belting out some real spit-and-sawdust riffs, and a reminder that four chords and a smattering of lead notes is sometimes all you need. Hell Hath No Fury isn’t going to challenge any guitar heroes - the lead hooks from “Pay Up” make “Boredom” by the Buzzcocks sound like a Steve Vai B-side - but the brash choppy rhythms will get feet stomping and heads banging on dancefloors in punk clubs pretty much anywhere.

Comparisons to Joan Jett are inevitable and, in this case, justified. Civet refuse to strip themselves of their femininity in their songs, but nor do they make themselves seem soft or “available”. There are plenty of songs about boys - “Son of a Bitch”, “Brooklyn”, “You Got It” and “All I Want”, for example, the latter of which is unashamedly poppy underneath the brash guitars, and could probably no fairly well in the charts with the proper push - but there’s a notable lack of neediness and subservience. Hell Hath No Fury is an album by girls who consider themselves equal to the boys - as lovers, enemies and musicians - and that’s a fine thing.

Of course, one could easily accuse Civet of compromising themselves by playing on their attractiveness (and doubtless some people will), but I’m not going to open that can of worms - it’s a ruthless industry, and you use the weapons you have available to you. Suffice to say that if I’d heard Hell Hath No Fury without seeing any pictures of the girls, I’d still have the same opinion of it as a piece of music: a solid and cocky slice of raucous rockabilly-influenced punk that just happens to be made by four women. Hopefully the civet isn’t an endangered a species after all.

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