Man, these B.C. punks are serious! I've never seen such a determinedly pierced, tattooed, dreadlocked, chin-tufted audience. It seems like Halloween. Perhaps it is a holiday of sorts. Tonight's show at the funky, balconied VECC is part of the fifth annual Rock for Choice, a benefit promoting abortion rights and by all indications, a wildly successful Vancouver institution. There are six acts on the bill, another is squeezed in between sets, and the atmosphere is fervent and communal. But politics and music can be a difficult mix. After Sleater-Kinney sets up, the threesome exit the stage while one of the night's ringleaders plays a 10-minute audio tape in which an abortion provider describes the horror of being shot in his own kitchen by anti-abortion protesters. Although perhaps a compelling testament to battles fought to protect hard-earned women's rights, as a lead-in to a rock headliner, the tape proves decidedly lacking. For whatever reason, Sleater-Kinney takes the stage with a subdued, almost grim demeanor. Gone are the whispered confidences and the broad grins that preceded the Olympia show. Have the rough edges evident in that show proved a difficult fix? "Start Together," the lead track on The Hot Rock, opens the show, and it's still hard to get a handle on it. But they do "Joey Ramone" next, a smart move that gives them a shot of confidence and the crowd a reminder of why it's here. By the third song of the evening, the new "God Is a Number," the guitars are clicking, Janet's laying into her set, and Corin's scrunching up her face and giving her vocal all. No mistaking this: precisely the sort of ire for which the band is renowned. "Heart Factory," from Dig Me Out, is a revelation. Janet redoubles her efforts and sends the song into an orbit far beyond that of its recorded incarnation. Before "Get Up," the single from the new CD, Corin admits, "I've got a bit of a cold, so I've got kind of a Stevie Nicks thing going on." "Not that that's bad," she adds hastily. But that "Stevie Nicks thing" is most in evidence as the show reaches its climax. The B.C. fans can hardly be aware of the "Words and Guitar" debacle of three nights previous. But the band knows. Carrie and Janet begin the number with stolid determination. Their eyes are on Corin. Corin's eyes are shut, clamped tight. But when the moment comes, she not only remembers the words, she rips into them with a fury, annihilating the memory of the earlier failure, her voice hoarse and husky, her enunciation precise and feral. All of a sudden, Carrie and Janet are beside themselves, beaming at each other. Carrie appears to be laughing out loud. Rainbow-hued heads bang in glee. It's a triumphant moment, and for the band, a collective sigh of relief. This time, the encore is anticlimactic.

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