A kid came into Championship Vinyl last Tuesday trying to return a Sleigh Bells CD. "Too aggressive," he said. I didn't give him his money back. I told him that was the point.
Here's what you need to understand about Sleigh Bells: Derek Miller was a guitarist for Poison the Well—hardcore kids who knew their way around a breakdown—and Alexis Krauss was teaching elementary school when they met at a Brazilian restaurant in Brooklyn in 2008. Miller asked if she could sing. She said yes. What came out was the most deliberately confrontational pop music since the Jesus and Mary Chain fed their guitars through jet engines.
This playlist is the complete Metro setlist from August 5th, 2022, plus bonus tracks, which means someone recorded every song, sequenced it, and said "this will make you run faster." They're not wrong. But here's what they're really saying: Sleigh Bells is what happens when you take cheerleader chants, run them through guitar distortion that physically hurts, and dare people to call it pop music. It's the musical equivalent of running when you're angry—which, let me tell you, is the only time running actually works.
"Justine Go Genesis" opens with that signature Sleigh Bells wall of sound—Derek's guitar tone is basically a Marshall stack falling down stairs while Alexis chants over it like she's leading a pep rally in hell. By the time you hit "Riot Rhythm" and "Tennessee Tips," you're in their world: maximum distortion, minimal bass, vocals that oscillate between sweet and screaming. Mom Music Records put out their debut Treats in 2010, and critics didn't know what to do with it. Too pop for indie kids, too abrasive for pop radio. Barry loves them. That's how I know they're actually good.
The middle section—"Demons" through "Locust Laced"—is where the set gets interesting. These are deep cuts from Bitter Rivals and Reign of Terror, the albums where they started interrogating their own formula. "Rule Number One" has this moment where the noise drops out completely and it's just Alexis's voice, and you remember she can actually sing. Then the guitars come back in like a car crash. That's the trick: they make you think there's going to be melody, then they take it away. I've been in relationships like that.
"Infinity Guitars" at track eleven is the moment. It's from Treats, it's their most famous song that isn't "Rill Rill," and it's pure id. The guitar riff is three notes repeated until you either love it or hate it—there's no middle ground. When it hits during a run, you're either going to PR or walk home. There's a reason they play it in the middle of every set: it's the Wall Breaker. It's the track that reminds you why you're doing this in the first place.
The back half gets weird. "I'm Not Down" and "A/B Machines" are from their later records, where they started letting in more space, more dynamics. Then "SWEET75" comes in like a seizure. But "Rill Rill" at track fifteen—their biggest hit, built on a Funkadelic sample—is the commercial moment in the set. It's the one your ex-girlfriend knew. They always play it late, like they're apologizing for being accessible.
The final stretch—"Crown On The Ground" through "Road to Hell"—is the victory lap. These are the songs that defined them: maximum distortion, Alexis somewhere between cheerleader and riot grrrl, Derek's guitars sounding like they're actively trying to destroy your speakers. "Holly" is brutal. "Road to Hell" is how they close every show: loud, confrontational, unapologetic.
Here's what nobody tells you about Sleigh Bells: they're a two-piece. It's just Derek and Alexis. Everything else is backing tracks and pure commitment to the bit. They're not a band—they're a conceptual art project about volume. And somehow, it works for running. Because running isn't about pace or form or VO2 max. It's about channeling whatever anger or heartbreak or restlessness is making you lace up in the first place, and turning it into forward motion. Sleigh Bells understands that. This playlist is sixty-five minutes of pure sonic assault. It won't make you faster. But it might make you angrier. Which, for some of us, is the same thing.
