Before we go any farther, let's get the small talk out of the way. The Butchies are, as you might know, a group of three very out, very open, very pro-active lesbians. Okay, so they're lesbians, we're all hip to that, right? Still, I know a lot of you out there hear the words "lesbian band" and immediately tune out, not so much out of any prejudice, but out of fear of being preached to through your music. Well, worry not. In a business that's lousy with clichés, the Butches, who are chronic victims of well meaning but trite comparisons to anything even vaguely lesbian-related-- from the Indigo Girls to the "womyn's" movement-- have very cleverly avoided becoming clichés themselves.

By doing what every good rock band should do-- which is make good music, for those of you out there who worry about that kind of thing-- the Butchies have climbed out of every pigeonhole they've been thrown into. Anyone who picks up Population 1975 expecting an overly political, castratingly angry multi-song rant on why penises are evil will be sorely disappointed. Likewise, anyone expecting this record to be a hand-holding, Lifetime-watching estrogen-fest of sappy Lilith Fair knockoff tunes needs to move along. And finally, anyone buying this disc to hear juicy stories about hot girl-on-girl action is just leading a sad, sad life.

So, on to the music. For some reason I'm not destined to understand, 1975 starts off with a noise that sounds very much like someone trying to saw an electric guitar in half with a cheese grater. It's a loud, uncomfortable noise, and it makes a horrible first impression. I worried for a long time (okay, about ten minutes) why the Butchies would want to start their record off this way. My guess is that they're trying to throw us off their trail, to keep us from finding out that under all of the tough girl exteriors (and no offense, but those exteriors can be mighty tough) beat the hearts of three very talented and tender musicians. The ruse doesn't work, though, because what follows the initial noise is a whole album's worth of evidence in my favor-- compelling and creative music that's sometimes heartbreaking and sometimes hard-rocking but always completely powerful.

From a musical standpoint, 1975 doesn't miss a step. The vocals on the record come courtesy of frontgirl Kaia Wilson, formerly of Team Dresch, is nothing short of holy. Her expressive and sensitive voice fronts the bulk of these songs, leaking experience and heartbreak all over the album. On the more passionate tunes, such as the opening track-- a tale of forbidden love titled "Insult to Injury"-- Wilson's voice works pure bloody alchemy. The backing vocals, dished out by fellow guitarist Alison Martlew are stronger and thicker, adding some muscle when it's needed and fading away into pleasant hums when it's not. Along with drummer Melissa York, the Butchies make a practiced and skilled trio that play well-crafted songs, mixing punk, indie rock and a hint of sincere ballads to produce off-beat, enjoyable music.

Of course, their choice of topics isn't quite as creative as their songs. They run the subject-matter gamut from current politics to relationships and back again. Still, even the Butchies' more socially conscious songs (usually the low point on any album) ring with vitality. "Baby DNA" is about a lesbian (who saw it coming) and the issues involved with her trying to have a baby. However, in territory that's ripe for boredom and preachiness, the Butchies manage to pen a song that's more about people than a simple issue, changing it from what could be dry social commentary into a story that's just as heartfelt and engaging as any love song.

Sadly, this album suffers from sloppy production. In some areas, the mix is all out of whack, and the background music-- usually electric guitar noise-- eats up the vocals more often than not, drowning out the Butchies' usually clever lyrics. It's a minor problem, I suppose, but it's irritating enough to tickle the fillings in my teeth. It sounds like you're listening to a live show from a high school band who's too poor to pay for a decent microphone amp. It's a retarded mistake, and an album this good deserves better, but such are the dangers of recording for a tiny independent.