Tweens are your first sloppy tongue kiss. And probably every sloppy tongue kiss after that too.
A self-described trash-pop trio born from Cincinnati’s DIY scene, Tweens are messy in all the right ways — and they certainly know it.
On April 15th, frontwoman Bridget Battle pounds through a slick and sloppy set under a low ceiling at Mahall’s in Lakewood. Her hair sticks to her lips, and I get the feeling she’s at home here, in somebody’s basement, Sam Cowan and BJ Marsee sweating behind her on bass and drums.
Battle’s songs are saccharine hooked and drenched in fuzz.
When she stomps at her pedals in a pair of blocky suede platform heels, a pack of kids crowd in and stomp with her. She is as much a pop song wiz-kid as she is an inheritor of the riot grrrl legacy. “You’re sayin’ you want me for real now, baby,” Battle sings on her debut’s clear standout. “But forever is long, long time.”
It is, indeed. And Battle makes no promises.
Snagged from the Midwest DIY scene by Kim Deal to open a leg of the Breeders’ Last Splash anniversary tour before they’d even released a full-length album, Tweens exist at the complex intersection of gender, punk, and pop-culture over time — the product of a sound and sensibility decades in the making.
They are The Ronettes’ third cousin from out of town — dressed like Babes in Toyland, side-eyeing The Runaways from the corner of the party.
They are perfectly nasty, but not entirely innovative.
In fact, the only innovation Battle offers up is inadvertent — in the distinctly third wave lyrical narrative she crafts both on Tweens’ self-titled debut, and live at every show.
Battle’s lyricism has little interest in gender politics. So if you’re looking for the kind of intentional narrative that Hole deliver on Live Through This — one that hinges on Courtney Love’s own bodily autonomy, her perception and performance of femininity — then don’t hold your breath. Tweens don’t sport that kind of depth just yet.
But Battle does do something special, perhaps without even realizing it. She crafts a narrative that is squarely millennial — not half as introspective or rooted in body politics as “Doll Parts,” but seriously relevant in its simple disillusionment and honest boredom.
Among other things, Battle is bored with dudes who can’t seem to catch a well placed hint, always too nice or too serious.
“I’m too young to be this tired,” she sings on “Bored in the City,” — exemplifying the exhaustion of a house show packed with the same humorless hipster dudes who show up over and over in Tweens’ ongoing lyrical narrative.
On “Girlfriend,” Battle wails “I never want you to believe, I wanted to be/ Never want you to think/ That I’d be your girlfriend.”
On “Be Mean,” she repeats herself, just in case these dudes didn’t catch on the first time. “Loving you is such a bore,” she yelps. “There must be something wrong with me/ Because I want you to be mean.”
Sometimes, Battle lacks clear direction. But that’s not important.
What is important — and, perhaps, the most exciting thing about Tweens — is how young they feel. They’re scummy and fun at every turn. And they still have room to grow.
Tweens are poised to unfold into the next decade with a finer vision. And even if Battle isn’t sure where she’s going, we’re happy to be along for the ride.
When a teenager takes a knee in front of Battle with his iPhone, she barrels through every flash unfazed. She twists and drops to her knees, her dark hair curtaining her face. Like she yelps on “Star Studder,” her debut’s closer, all she knows is what feels good.
And in the end, that’s all Tweens need to know.
At least for right now.
Cover Photo: @louisdhaas Instagram