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Resurrecting the Raincoats was a good idea. Thank you, Kurt. Adopting Joan Jett and her Runaways as honorary grrrl moms was downright heartwarming. Thank you, Bikini Kill. When third-wave punkers picked up these bands, the intent proved a mix of both tribute and making sure that the Raincoats, Joan, and others weren’t going to be lost to Trouser Press guides and VH1 encomiums. Some artists didn’t travel the divide so well: Flipper, Penelope Houston (ex-Avengers), Big Star. Some didn’t get beyond the holy-shit-they-are-sooo-weird-factor: the Melvins. Some, such as Liliput and Tom Zé, are just getting their reissued due. But others should never receive the punk-canon treatment. Amy Ray, one half of the Indigo Girls, is one of them. With Stag, she gets a great punk-rock push from backing musicians including the Butchies, the Rock*A*Teens, and Joan Jett, but it’s the Whitney Houston mode of production. The Girls resonated with a crowd that likes a little merlot mixed with its earnest girl-on-girl lite rock. And they proved that every subculture wants its own Dylan/Springsteen persona, however mediocre. Ray’s solo outing keeps pretty much in lock step with that tradition—overly earnest (check “Laramie”) still sounds overly earnest. Fortunately, there are no songs about Al Gore. It’s a shame about Amy Ray. With the Butchies, and Tami Hart at 8:15 p.m. Wednesday, April 4, at the 9:30 Club, 815 V St. NW. $10. (202) 393-0930. (Jason Cherkis)