It seems like the sort of thing that Clark, whose highly stylized albums often glitch and crackle, might have pushed for — but she actually nudged the band towards the record’s brightest sonic moments. “She loves a major key,” Brownstein says. ”There are still things that are very grounded, disgusting, and right in the dirt of it. We used to find that prettiness in other ways, whether it was horns screaming or whatever. But we were able to find that realm — the grit and the guttural — in a different way.”

Where Sleater-Kinney’s past records have relied on the friction between Brownstein and Tucker’s guitars and voices, The Center Won’t Hold frequently relies on the friction between sweet melodies and bitter words. “Restless,” the only song that Brownstein’s ever written on an acoustic guitar, comes off so innocent that it might as well be a nursery rhyme — but the chorus has a sharp edge: “My heart wants the ugliest things / My heart is the ugliest thing.” “The Dog, The Body” includes Sleater-Kinney’s poppiest chorus ever, on which Brownstein sings, “I'm just the fist without the will to fight.” Then there’s “Can I Go On,” which rivals The Woods' “Modern Girl” as a stress dream dressed up as a pop song. “Everyone I know is funny / But jokes don’t make us money / Sell our rage, buy and trade / But we still cry for free every day,” Brownstein sings. The chorus is sweet and borderline suicidal: “Maybe I’m not sure I wanna go on.”

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In these major-key moments, when Tucker and Brownstein articulate their darkest fears, gravity seems to dissipate. “That's what I feel like the whole record is about,” Tucker says. “We all have these terrible feelings. When you have them alone, they're insurmountable. But when you have them together, it turns into a funny rock song. Its power is diminished. You have them together and you commiserate. Even if there's nothing we can do, even if Trump is President for four years—”

“Anoints himself king and there's a dynasty,” Brownstein interjects, before Tucker cuts back in as quickly as she used to on Sleater-Kinney’s most barbed songs. “Yeah. If we can stay together and have some moments together and commiserate together as people, it's much more bearable.”

“We always wanted people to feel seen and heard in our music — a sense of belonging,” Brownstein surmises. “It's a band that revolves around need and necessity, for us too. I think the audience senses that.”

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In the midst of all the anger and angst on The Center Won’t Hold — major key and minor — there’s “Love,” which, Brownstein says chuckling, “is the only one that isn’t dark.” The song is a history of Sleater-Kinney in miniature, told by Brownstein over skittish drums and arpeggiated staccato guitars. It runs through their formation in Olympia — their punk instincts and desire to raze everything including themselves through music, and their deep-rooted anger. It leads to a mission statement: “There’s nothing more frightening and nothing more obscene / Than a well-worn body, demanding to be seen.”