Tucker and Brownstein got their start in second-tier riot grrrl bands, for fuck's sake. In Heavens to Betsy, Tucker gave voice to vengeful waitresses, dysfunctional lovers and that one righteous teacher who'll help burn down the school. The best thing about Brownstein's band, Excuse 17, was her melodic, uncliched guitar.

They threw their lots together in 1995 and, with the first of five drummers, eloped in Sleater-Kinney.

But their potential wasn't immediately obvious. On the group's self-titled debut, Tucker hadn't yet perfected the unhinged vibrato that would enthrall fans and alienate others. More typical was the paranoid babydoll delivery that enlivened the generic sludge that passed for rock guitar in the '90s. They had the sound ("Be Yr Mama") and the fury ("Last Song"), but they didn't know how to dole out the elements in equal proportion.

They got it together for 1996's Call the Doctor. The title track led the way, with the two frontwomen doing what they do best: dishing up dueling words and guitars. Tucker's outrage soared, while Brownstein, a little deeper in the mix, came off as the voice of reason. Dig Me Out followed the next year, and every song's a classic: the exuberant title track, the insatiable "Turn It On," the sugar rush of "Little Babies." Even haters had to give it up for new drummer Janet Weiss, playing hooky from Quasi. Tucker and Brownstein hatched the egg and nurtured the bird, but Weiss pushed it out of the nest and got it to fly.

After that indisputable triumph, The Hot Rock was doomed. Nothing short of pure adrenaline would suffice, so the trio didn't even try. They attempted to dial it down, but it was like a forklift trying to be a fork. They rebounded with All Hands on the Bad One and led the post-9/11 protest-rock wave with One Beat.

But by last year's The Woods, the strain was showing. The music was great, but making it tore them apart. To their credit, they held it together long enough to take their biggest songs to the biggest rooms, where they proved themselves in front of Pearl Jam fans night after night.

The greatest rock band of our time? Only when you're up front at a show, forcing your next ex to listen to Dig Me Out or dancing around your apartment to All Hands on the Bad One. But Sleater-Kinney were always relentless. Even when they slowed down, they were the most intense thing going. So don't think of it as a breakup. Think of it as a breather.

With one perfect album and one in striking distance, it's fair to say Sleater-Kinney's better than virtually all of their peers. But if you think they got this far independent of their status as women — or in spite of it — you haven't been listening.

(m_fine@citypaper.net)

Mon., July 31, 8 p.m., sold out, with Rogers Sisters, Starlight Ballroom, 460 N. Ninth St., r5productions.com.