Hot, soapy chicks on an album cover is a good sign. Hot, soapy chicks screaming on the said album’s content is even better. Daughter is a trashy New York quintet that dredges up the dark nasties of the city’s inglorious rock past, with scant acknowledgement toward the polished garage-pop trend that has swept the city. The dozen tracks on “Skin” are ass-draggingly heavy and thoroughly unpolished. But the bitch-tough harmonies of M.L. Platt and Nicole Lombardi ensure a certain catchiness, while two boy guitarists and a boy drummer just try and keep up. (Even on the straightforwardly collapsing pummeling of “Hit Me,” Platt seems barely under control.) Not a touch of femininity dares alight on “Skin”, but it’s nonetheless the exact kind of album you’d want to take home after a night of hard drinking.
This article appears in Jun 4-10, 2003.