Now on her third album fronting The Distillers, Brody Armstrong should be sick of the Courtney Love comparisons, and those who base them on her recent trading-up of rock star partners—Queens Of The Stone Age's Josh Homme replacing Rancid's Tim Armstrong—and some murky concept of punk treachery may be on morally unsteady ground. Armstrong, though, can't hide her artistic debt to Love: that scarifying rasp, the gory anatomical metaphors, and, most importantly, a knack for converting the punk du jour into ultra-commercial rock. Coral Fang is at once punchy and overwrought, and blessed with some extremely good, if slightly monotonous, tunes. Armstrong would do well, though, to temper her Hole obsession: surely her appearance on the forthcoming Love solo album must be the final act of fealty required?

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