Trapped Animal

Die-hard Slits fans who aren't put off by the band's newfound professionalism or the greater reliance on keyboards at the expense of guitar will find their faith rewarded by Trapped Animal.

It seems borne more out of logical considerations than organic ones. It doesn’t mean the music is necessarily bad, but rather that it’s animated more out of a lifelessness than anything else. It’s undead music.

Up's German-Jamaican patois still sounds youthful, and bassist Tess Pollitt's dub rhythms still vibrate with reggae power. But with the duo augmented by newer, young female musicians, a more playful approach hits and misses.

On Trapped Animal they bring that approach to bear on a wider range of styles--dancehall, digi-dub, roots reggae, lover's rock - although the title track and Reject stand out as the most originally shaped punky pop songs. [Dec 2009, p. 95]

Despite the 28-year gap since they first disbanded, this lineup resumes as if it were only yesterday, in a joyously abrasive, renegade reggae style with lyrics that don't mess about. [Dec 2009, p. 113]

Some might find Issues a bit too strenuous ("I stand up to them and confront/While you choose to be a cunt, " claims Up) but as fans know, The Slits are meant to be full-on. [Dec 2009, p. 126]

Animal is a study in patience and makes one pine for the visceral indulgence of the past. [Fall 2009, p.60]

As far as the sound goes, they do nicely when they are respectful of the reggae tradition, when they mix punchy punk vocals and reggae, and, occasionally, when they mix world music styles with the former. The move into a more electronic dancehall style, however, mostly combines with poor lyrics for a one-two punch that may knock out many listeners from the very first track.

Trapped Animal is nothing more than an odds-and-sods record being passed off as "business as usual" by a band that doesn't seem to know what that business is anymore.

We’re all for people celebrating the music they love free from boundaries of race and that, but there’s something inescapably grating about hearing a German/English newspaper heiress wittering on about fucking Babylon in thick patois. Crushingly disappointing.

The thick and poorly affected patois, the overproduction, and the sheer terribleness of the songs on Trapped Animal seem, at best, a huge dent in The Slits’ otherwise immaculate armor.