Chicks open a whole new kettle of (a woman needs a man like a) fish (needs a bicycle). Why is it, when young girls get it into their heads to form a band, that they immediately try to out-boy the boys? Which invariably means punk rawk. Which, as we all know, is pretty quaint in an ephemeral kind of way but is hardly gonna get anyone to ever take you seriously. Why not try to be Mercury Rev, or UNKLE or Mogwai or Sebadoh (Uh... forget that last one) or any of the other bands that played the Astoria this week instead of screeching down the cul-de-sac that leads to da Ramones?

That said, being in Chicks looks like a whole lotta fun. You get to scream a lot and roll around on the floor in a slightly pre-planned and embarrassing manner and jump up and down and say all the things in a song that you'd say to all those morons who give you such a hard time when you're on the way home from the pub late at night if only you had the courage. Or a black belt in karate. Or a gun.