Washington’s Tsunami were, throughout the 1990s, one of the banners of alternative rock, entrenched around a rough-edged, amateurish style. Singer Jenny Toomey had previously played in the Geek, who had released two cassettes, Herasure (Geek, 1987) and Hammer (Simple Machines, 1991). At the beginning of the decade, Toomey was involved in three or four bands, from the Slack of Bates (Simple Machines, 1991) to My New Boyfriend of Supersaw (Simple Machines, 1991). Above all, however, she had formed Tsunami with Andrew Webster (bass, ex-Bricks), Kristin Thompson (guitar), and John Pamer (drums).

The group adopted the rigorously independent ethic of the city’s hardcore scene, but their sound was quite different: the cassette Cow Arcade (Simple Machines, 1991), in particular Answerman, evokes the rock of 1960s freak bands when they parodied 1950s groups.

The effervescent little songs of the EP Headringer (Simple Machines, 1991)—Flameproof Suit (with a chorus worthy of the Fastbacks), World Tour (hard rock for riot grrrls), Ski Trip (a country tune in waltz time), Kickball Babe (shouted in a minute to a pow-wow rhythm)—are driven by frenetic cadences and sung by Toomey in a register halfway between a girl-group ingénue, a riot-grrrl, and a rustic Nashville diva.

The countless singles of the first two years—from the aching ballad Genius Of Crack (Homestead, 1991) to Left Behind (Sub Pop), from Punk Means Cuddle, a Velvet Underground-style progression, to the slow, sinister boogie of Walking Tour, from Could Have Been Christmas (Simple Machines) to Beauty Pt II, from the rousing Load Hog to Kidding On The Square, from Not Living to Crackers—are confessional pieces delivered over the abrasive chromatic textures of the guitars and feverish rhythms, with an effect that is more psychedelic than punk. The lyrics are epoch-making: “A lie is the shortest distance between two faces.”

The definitive manifesto of their “lo-fi pop” was the album Deep End (Simple Machines, 1993). If the attitude is that of the kids next door playing amateurishly, in reality the arrangements are sophisticated (within the limits of their means). But the album is ennobled above all by the musicians’ uncontainable energy.
Jenny Toomey’s strong rural timbre rides the gallop of frenzied quadrilles such as In A Name, 460, and Stupid Like A Fox, with guitars and all instruments pounding the rhythm wildly or “detuning” in the manner of Sonic Youth, leaving the impression of a hybrid between Native American pow-wows and the Velvet Underground’s boogie-ragas. Toomey brings a fervor worthy of Hope Nichols and Patti Smith (albeit in a very different vocal register, less hysterical and more guttural).
The band accompanies her at a constant gallop. Even the adolescent chant of Slugger, which could have been by Juliana Hatfield, is propelled by vigorous syncopations and distortions. But the group’s character is defined above all by the singing: over the harmonic chaos of Lucky, Toomey’s voice soars powerfully and intersects with the others in a fireworks display of vocal harmonies; and in Water’s Edge, over a hectic Siouxsie-like rhythm, the two female voices weave a dramatic narrative, dueling in high notes and nearly off-key screams.

Toomey grows enormously as a singer and leader, so much so that the Tsunami of The Heart’s Tremolo (Simple Machines, 1994) seem like Washington’s answer to both Beat Happening and the Indigo Girls. Toomey’s introverted and raw personality emerges both in simple, melancholic songs like Loud Is As Loud Does and in prickly compositions (the plaintive tone and mechanically strummed guitars of Quietnova, the neurotic bursts of Slaw) that have something deeply unhealthy about them.
The slow, dreamlike fade of Cowed By The Bla Bla, which conceals a trembling melody, even recalls the harmonic miracles of Luna and Mazzy Star—those songs that manage to uncover poetry even in the icy geometries of skyscrapers. If Be Like That represents the peak communicativeness of this method of not communicating, the title track represents the opposite extreme, a sound so degraded and demotivated as to become violent. Perhaps only the frenetic flamenco backing the contrite lament of Le Bride D’Elegance preserves the naive electricity of the first album. The group continues to reveal new facets: Fast Food Machine is a jazzy ballad born from the intersection of the Joni Mitchell of Court And Spark and the Tim Buckley of Starsailor.
Once again, we are in the realm of rock played in a deliberately sloppy manner, caring more about content than form. It is only in this attitude that one can detect their kinship with the great tradition of Washington punk rock.

In 1995 Jenny Toomey (who also played with the Grenadine) felt the need to sing without being submerged by instrumental noise and launched the side project Liquorice. On the single Stalls (Simple Machines) and the album Listening Cap (4AD, 1995), aided in production by Warren Defever (His Name Is Alive), Toomey thus adopts the guise of an acoustic singer-songwriter. In Team Player she even recalls the golden-era Joni Mitchell. She is not afraid to experiment with the country banjo in Cheap Cuts and with the new-wave synthesizer in Blew It, but in essence she has regressed to the humble, stripped-down format of folk.