Months ago, I informed you readers that I was applying for a writing position at Seventeen Magazine. (See my review of Bernard Butler's People Move On for details.) I'm happy to report that I got the gig. Sadly, I must leave Pitchfork to pursue my dream. Seventeen allows me to drop the' Pitchfork pretense and just be myself. Here's my upcoming Seventeen debut (the James Van Der Beek issue! Yum!):

Indie rock wonderwoman Julie Ruin's secret identity is Kathleen Hanna. She was the original riot grrl who screamed in Bikini Kill. (No, that has nothing to do with hot wax and wedgies! Like, ouch!) This was way before they sold those "Grrls Kick Ass" shirts in Gadzooks. I hear that Courtney Love likes Bikini Kill and was influenced by them, although I don't think that's where Courtney got the idea to wear little wet t-shirts. I also hear that Kathleen Hanna is a lesbian, but not a total Heche like that Ani DiFake-o. For her first post- Bikini solo record, Hanna has simplified and lo-fi'ed without losing her bite and humor. It's like, even though Pacy bleached his hair, he's still totally good ol' Pacy.

Little more than a drum machine, a guitar, and a cheap keyboard comprise each sweet and sour song. It's like, once my friends dared me to put three of those Atomic Sourpuss Balls in my mouth at a football game, and it totally made me pucker and cry, but after a few seconds it gushed pure sugar rush. But punk rock is totally like makeup-- the less you wear, the cuter and more respectable you look. Tons of production, like mascara, makes you trashy-- a major Carmen Electra.

The most profound song closes the album. "Love Letter" shows Ruin whispering into her four- track over muffled riffing. It sounds like she's curled up in the bottom of her dark closet, singing her own lyrics over the three- chord punk her big brother and his friends are pounding out two floors below in the basement. Similarly, Ruin keeps pumping out a necessary female voice in an underlooked corner of punk rock while all the big boys riff away in tight pants and sell out so they can date Minnie Driver.

This record sounds like it was recorded in a wet shoebox. But this lets Julie Ruin approach punk in a fresh way. In place of tired verse/ chorus/ verse structures, Julie Ruin patterns after electronica, dub, and hip-hop with loops and linear repetition. It'd be easy music to cheer to, if it didn't sound like '80s 8-bit videogame soundtracks. But it's sufficient to fuel Juile Ruin's big, ravenous Ms. Pac-Man mouth, especially when her voice jumps moods from "Hello Kitty" to "Hello Bitch." I mean, Ruin reminds you that she "wears a scrunchie" and that she'll "play with your mind, but won't do your dishes" in the same song!

Flipping through her lyrics and liner notes is like peeping through the doodle- filled notebook of the quiet, smart girl in English class. You know, the one that's in all those Oscar Wilde and Anne Frank school plays. Totally weird, but in a cool way.

-Brent DiCrescenzo