The title of the new Sleater-Kinney album is nestled in the lyrics to the song “Small Finds,” which metaphorically evoke the needs felt by a desperate canine: “Is it food or garbage?/ It smells good enough/ Can you gimme a little rope?/ Come on, gimme some.” The track is bright, headlong, and abrasive, like Sonic Youth with their first flush of DGC money. In typical Sleater-Kinney fashion, the anxiety of the song merges with a thumping fervor that feels like a sleeves-rolled-up determination to push through whatever gloom has settled down. In this instance, that sense is given extra credence by the backstory of the album’s creation, which was partially shaped by the tragic deaths of Carrie Brownstein’s mother and stepfather. Really, though, I think Little Rope is at its core about the same thing as all of the Sleater-Kinney album’s released after the group’s initial comeback, No Cities to Love: Brownstein and bandmate Corin Tucker uncertainly trying to figure out how to evolve their shared artistic identity in a creative partnership that has now stretched thirty years.

After producing a studio album themselves for the first time with their 2021 effort, Path to Wellness, Brownstein and Tucker decide to enlist a collaborator behind the board on Little Rope. John Congleton has worked with a small battalion of alternative rock artists, including former Sleater-Kinney producer St. Vincent (he has a Grammy on his shelf as a result of his work on St. Vincent’s practically perfect self-titled album), and he brings a level of professional polish to Little Rope that sometimes stands at odds with the not-so-secret wish that many Sleater-Kinney fans have for a revival of the raw power found on early standout records Call the Doctor and Dig Me Out. There’s almost a classic-rock sheen to portions of the album; the single “Say It Like You Mean It” represents the first time it’s ever occurred to me to declare that Sleater-Kinney are descendants of Pat Benatar. I’m even more surprised to reach the conclusion that the cut basically works.

Overall, I think Little Rope works more often than it doesn’t, though I should probably concede that I’m an easy mark for the band that I’ve long considered to be my favorite of the post-Replacements era. My old records still play, so I’m all for Brownstein and Tucker continuing to try new things, even if it means they sometimes miss the mark. It’s energizing to hear Sleater-Kinney try on various sonic garbs, or at least versions of the same general outfit cut to slightly different silhouettes. Let them spin through the the doomy thrum of “Dress Yourself,” the glammy, Runaways-reminiscent punk of “Needlessly Wild,” and the majestic, cynical fury of “Hell.” Eleven formidable albums deep, they’ve more than earned the right to wander. Little Rope might suffer from comparisons to Sleater-Kinney’s very best work, but there’s no dereliction in their digressions.