Details: Pressed on 180 gram apple red opaque vinyl. First there's Marisa Rodriguez herself, whose name at the figurehead of the whole enterprise is perfectly justified. When a lot of hard rock is always on the hunt for a strong female vocalist, you're not finding many in the up-and-comer circuits that can surpass Rodriguez. It's why she's the only one the album cover-she's the superstar. In fact, you could go a step even further-she justifies the entire existence of Marisa and the Moths as a band. Without her, this could feel a lot less good overall, squatting in the antespace between '90s alt-rock, grunge and hard rock that, nowadays especially, can seem a little limited. It's what makes What Doesn't Kill You's 16 tracks spring out the most vociferously without a shred of subtlety to be found. There's a statement looking to be made with this album, on all fronts. The question becomes, then, how far behind Marisa herself are The Moths lagging? Well, despite how this sort of music is by no means engineered for something of this size anymore, What Doesn't Kill You isn't lacking for quality. Chronic bloat is a very real, very present factor, but not in a way that precludes the good stuff. In fact, it arguably can provide more legroom to rise up, and beat accusations of being repetitive and played-out in this context. Cursed is a great opener on that token, removing the rock standards entirely for piano, strings and Rodriguez's perfectly pitched emotionality that gives so much more in this kind of environment. It's also true of Straight-Laced, sporting the album's prime cut of choruses that the sparse solemnity of alt-country makes all the greater. Really, this whole piece could be just a gush session over Rodriguez as a vocalist, and it'd be perfectly justified. She's got everything you'd want-power; range; fluidity; the ability to channel the effects of her contemporaries while also sounding like her own performer. And it does speak volumes when, on average, What Doesn't Kill You's vocal lines are it's big standouts. There's an implacable determination to the way that Wither Away and Gaslight rise like columns of rock from the ocean, contrasted with Sad that's more strutting and fun. On an album that has Rodriguez wrenching herself free from abusive relationships and malicious mental perceptions, the breath of embracing humanity is truly impressive. What's even better is that she's a natural at them all, whether it's vulnerability, navigating self-love again, or rising ten miles high in an act of incredible defiance. All of that is to say there's a rather clear distinction between where she stands on this album, and where The Moths do. You'd presume so when the band's name has them effectively relegated to backing players, and while it's unfair to suggest an anonymity in performance akin to glorified session musicians... it's not totally wrong. They are responsible for the worst part of the album, that being Fake It Till You Make It and it's attempt at bouncy pseudo-punk that's too flattened and spineless to feel all that effective. Most of the rest, meanwhile, isn't too bad, but there's not much flavour to be extracted either. Rodriguez often seems mixed deliberately louder and further forward, and an instrumental palette that already has an issue with really wailing or cutting loose becomes even more sequestered. It's absolutely worth a go for Rodriguez alone; she's a genuine talent that deserves a breakthrough yesterday. Maybe that's the limit of things, though. The pattern of uber-talented singletons arising unprompted from Marisa and the Moths would suggest so.