"Everybody leave me the fuck alone 'cos you don't understand where I'm from," singer Drama Arthur squeaks on Isolationist. On opening track 'Brainstem Only', "you fucking asshole" is repeated over and over. The female members of Wound are not happy ladies. Guitarist Sondra Menthers says the band would "like to see more women, especially angry women, being heard". Well, I would like to see more women, especially sane women, being heard. Granted there is something unfair about the way the criminally successful Alanis Morissette is derided as a moaning bitch, but Thom Yorke is held up as a tortured artist. Similarly, Hole, listed by Wound as one of their contemporaries, are automatic frauds. But actually aspiring to a Hole/Alanis hybrid, or Riot Grrl also-rans L7 and Babes in Toyland, is not exactly a healthy ambition. The Slits, also on Wound's love list, were a good band. Back in 1977.

Wound are difficult to take seriously in their comical attempts to weave a social agenda into their plastic anger: "D.A., KKK, CIA/You're all the fucking same" on 'You're All The Same', for example. "And don't forget to kill your local congressman," is the charming P.S. "Out 4 Blood" is poppy and pacy in places, only occasionally drifting off into "see, I can play" guitar solo land.

Wound are so immature, they are laughable. But even unintentional humour can lift po-faced rawk from Pearl Jam levels of annoyance. Female American punk? Stick to Sleater-Kinney.