This one is a bit bittersweet for me, because on one hand, it is the culmination of a great discography: the seventh album in a career with no bad albums, The Woods makes this punky indie band sound like frickin’ Led Zeppelin, and, with its varied selection of songs (including a ten-minute guitar showstopper), acts as a greatest hits for one of the greatest bands of the 90s and early 00s. On the other hand, it wasn’t their last album. Ten years after The Woods, Sleater-Kinney reunited, dropped a respectable album, and then teamed up with St. Vincent (while she was making her most boring music), and then cranked out another two or three albums of lame pop music. Most egregiously, they canned their drummer Janet Weiss (who’s one of the best in the biz), favoring studio musicians and drum machines. It’s a bummer coda to one of the best punk bands of all time, but it doesn’t take away from the majesty of The Woods.