GIF via Lars Gotrich/NPR

The raw emotion of "One More Hour", "Get Up", "Start Together", and "Sympathy" really put me over. Fandom is a funny thing, and when it's genuine it's often outside our control. We respond viscerally—crying, clenching our chests, screaming til our voices crack—and only realize afterwards how wacky and possessed we look. Glancing around the frontrow on Thursday night in New York, I recalled images of girls freaking out to the Beatles in the 60s:

In an interview surrounding No Cities to Love, Carrie Brownstein explained how riot grrrl impacted her: "I thought, 'This is the sound my heart would make it I could amplify it.'" That's something I've felt while listening to Sleater-Kinney, too, and I finally got to hear it loud—booming through massive clubs, occupying physical space, creeping into my bones and reminding me why music matters so much. It was energizing. So, tell me, what did you think?

Jillian Mapes: I was just starting college when Sleater-Kinney called it quits. I hadn't been cool enough to discover them, or much music made by women, when I was in high school. I was convinced Sleater-Kinney would remain a Missed Connection, at least in a live sense. So I was anxious as hell to finally experience S-K live.

At the show on Friday at Terminal 5, NYC's most miserable venue, I experienced a wave of emotions I hadn't expected. The show started with less palpable fervor than I had hoped, but something hit me a few songs in, as the band picked up speed and volume. Corin Tucker, Carrie Brownstein and Janet Weiss looked so feminine and fashionable—but not in the overtly sexy way that rock'n'roll permits, or even requires, of women who don't choose androgyny—while conjuring so much musical fury. It was an incredibly powerful juxtaposition.

My whole life, I have been girly and interested in style. For a long time this side of me felt at odds with my interest in obsessing over and playing rock'n'roll. It's no coincidence that my teenaged tomboy phase took hold during my most active years playing electric guitar. I never thought Sleater-Kinney's clothes would matter to me, but seeing Tucker ripping it to shreds in a girly pleated skirt and heeled boots felt a little like a "fuck you" to rock's history of hyper-masculinity—much like Sleater-Kinney itself.

Suzy Exposito: Men: still as painfully oblivious as they were during Sleater-Kinney's inception in 1994. Downstairs at Terminal 5, friends of mine complained of rabid Fred Armisen fanboys and tall dudes parking front and center in the pit, blocking the view of many diehard fans under 5'4". The cool rock'n'roll blogosphere must have told these brosephs that this particular girlband show was a historic event, or something, which means they were obligated to Manifest Destiny their way to the front! And act thorougly unimpressed, with the exception of Dancing Man in Ringer Tee. (I salute you, Dancing Man in Ringer Tee.)