photo by Allison Michael Orenstein; inset by Aliya Naumoff

"Tammy Rae Carland and Sleater-Kinney! Vivienne Dick and Insane Clown Posse!"

It's not the first place we'd expect to find Kathleen Hanna's name, but there it is, subtly tacked onto the credits for Neal Medlyn's Wicked Clown Love, a 2012 experimental work "built around the music and culture of hip-hop duo Insane Clown Posse, their devoted fan base the Juggalos, and other forms of male bonding and ritual." Showing at the Kitchen next weekend, Wicked Clown Love's hammy event description on the venue Web site elaborates:

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DVD cover

We are on the cusp of a riot-grrrl resurgence, or so we hope. Early last year, NYU's Fales Library announced that the institution had acquired Kathleen Hanna's 1989-1996 papers. Then in the fall, news of a Hanna documentary spread, with activist/poet/Sister Spit staple Sini Anderson at the helm, blessed with her subject's collaborative approval. The Kathleen Hanna Project, the film's working title, also inspired a tribute concert at the Knitting Factory last December that staged the Bikini Kill firebrand's past-and-present peers (Kim Gordon, Team Dresch's Kaia Wilson, Toshi Reagon) and descendents (Coco Moore, Care Bears on Fire) covering the third-wave feminist's work for footage. That night, Hanna exhumed her pre-Le-Tigre alter-ego Julie Ruin, performing four songs and announcing that she was working on new Julie Ruin material.

Now, we have another testimony to Hanna's influence and post-riot-grrrl evolution, Who Took The Bomp? Le Tigre On Tour. Comprised of travel footage from the band's This Island tour, Who Took The Bomp? is an endearing portrait of a seminal-feminist trio who, more than six years later, are phasing into roles as public intellectuals. We recently spoke with director Kerthy Fix, who is also responsible for the Stephin Merritt non-fiction film Strange Powers.

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​Kathleen Hanna is slowly creeping back into the limelight -- a few nights after taking the stage during her own star-studded tribute show at the Knitting Factory, the Riot Grrrl luminary/semi-recluse showed up at an Our Hit Parade fete at Joe's Pub for a long, rambling, thoroughly engrossing multimedia presentation that begins, of course, with "I'm gonna tell a story about the '90s." Discussed: Kurt Cobain, fake abortion clinics, hangovers, the ubiquity of "Smells Like Teen Spirit," and being forced to strip to Janet Jackson songs for the pleasure of a hardcore band (named Muttonchop) your own band had opened for earlier that day because your van needs $1,000 in repairs. And then, of course, she further contributes to the ubiquity of "Teen Spirit" by singing it herself, with a whiff of "Rebel Girl" in there too, of course. She oughta do Broadway. (OK: Off-Broadway.) (Off-Off-Broadway.) Probably a Beastie Boy somewhere in here, too:

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Murray Hill introduces the night's star attraction.

The Kathleen Hannah Project
The Knitting Factory
Saturday, December 12

Better than: Any actual battle of the bands that I've ever attended.

We are gathered here tonight at the Knitting Factory to praise Kathleen Hanna, not bury her. Though it's understandable if you get confused -- it's been a minute and half since we've heard from her. As a musician and feminist icon, Hanna's achievements, from the riot grrrl majesty of Bikini Kill to the body-moving dance beats of Le Tigre, are undeniable, but she's fallen largely silent for the past few years, apparently teaching at New York University and, most recently, earning a co-writing credit on Christina Aguilera's flop Bionic. Between her absence and the extended hiatus of Sleater-Kinney, it's been a tough couple years for lovers of feminist-charged anthems. Tonight, though, they'll all come roaring back.

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​L. Magazine comes up with the suitably photocopied-in-black-and-white flyer announcing the deal, which will send Kathleen Hanna's papers from the years 1989-1996 to the library, where the collection will "support scholarship in feminism, punk activism, queer theory, music history and more." Fales already has one of the best archives of downtown lit in the world, a bunch of which was reprinted and otherwise dissected in our friend Brandon Stosuy's Up Is Up But So Is Down: New York's Downtown Literary Scene, 1974-1992. So this makes more sense than the inevitable chortling about Bikini Kill show posters being placed in temperature controlled rooms, etc, might lead you to believe. Although there is something sad about the drive to do things like that. Better than oblivion? Depends on how punk you were, I guess. [L Magazine]