Music with a message often isn't music at all — not in the way we know (and love) the term. Now, of course, songs with a little smarts or soul are always appreciated — and often prove to be the most lasting. But at the same time there's no denying that too many recording artists take it upon themselves to change the world, caring more about their precious points than their actual hooks. Whether it's the uninsightful ranting of Rage Against the Machine or the mush-brained musing of Tori Amos, noble intentions alone don't cut it.

Throughout her career, Kathleen Hanna has tried her best to make her views as intriguing as her mode of expression. Helping to "create" the subgenre of riot grrrl — rock music as girl power, emphasizing aggression and brains over flowery positivty — Hanna's '90s outfit, Bikini Kill, played punk music with a clear agenda. Whereas the Clash and the Sex Pistols yelled about social/economic inequality, Bikini Kill aimed at the male establishment. 1970s acts like Joni Mitchell dealt with gender bias in the creative community, but it was the riot grrrls who vigorously announced their rage at rock's double standard.

And for a brief moment, it seemed like the point was getting across. For a while there, every year was declared The Year of the Woman. Artists (whether riot grrrls or not) such as PJ Harvey, Liz Phair, Alanis Morissette, L7, Lauryn Hill, Sleater-Kinney, Courtney Love, Bjork, and Sinead O'Connor were making albums as striking (or commercially viable) as anything the men were doing.

But Hanna watched as riot grrrl turned into a cliché, testosterone-heavy hard rock came back with a vengeance, and punk's missionary zeal was replaced by pop-punk's sophomoric adolescence. So, yes, it wasn't exactly the friendliest environment in which to start a new band and make the best record of your life.

Nevertheless, Hanna fronted a trio named Le Tigre that in 1999 released its self-titled debut, a dynamic record that celebrated message-centered music with a rarely felt light touch. The songs harnessed punk's ferocity but lightened its abrasiveness with bouncy keyboards and perfect hooks. Le Tigre didn't just knock you over with its freshness — it created its own really cool universe. Unapologetic lesbian feminists, the band shaped the album as a personal scrapbook of memories and shared loves. They thanked childhood neighbors, rode the train all day through New York, told off celebrities, created imaginary apocalyptic scenarios, debated the merits of filmmaker John Cassavettes, and didn't worry that they were being too arty for the guys to follow.

Two years later, Le Tigre hasn't lost any of its fun. It's a passionate, utterly charming album whose every song is its own treasure but whose underlying themes — the toxic artificiality of pop culture, the celebration of female empowerment — get their due without bashing you over the head.

Le Tigre was so fantastic that it created an unreal expectation for the band, which Hanna has handled commendably in 2001. January brought us a new year and From the Desk of Mr. Lady, an EP of comparable material that indicated Hanna's change of direction. Though still catchy, the songs focused more squarely on political messages — whether it was the brilliantly funny "Get Off the Internet" or the Amadou Diallo-themed tirade, "Bang! Bang!"

As a holding action, the EP did the job, but certainly anticipation was still high for this October's Feminist Sweepstakes, a greater nod to Hanna's outspokenness. And even if Sweepstakes can't match the debut's buoyant rush, it proves Le Tigre wasn't a fluke. Though forcing overt messages about gay rights, sexual harassment, and feminine self-esteem into the mix has in some ways obstructed the music's effortless flow, it represents Hanna's return to the issue-conscious mindset of Bikini Kill.

If her allegiance to feminist concerns seemed mostly cloaked on Le Tigre, this time Hanna abandons subtlety. "For the ladies and the fags, yeah/We're the band with the rollerskate jams," she declares on the album-opening "LT Tour Theme" which springs along with cool assurance. As if to back up her statement, she later gives us a guided tour of New York's pro-lesbian rally on "Dyke March 2001." Unfortunately, by incorporating recorded testimonials from march participants as part of the track, "2001" is one of the few times Le Tigre allows a song's obvious point to outweigh its inherent tunefulness.

But while Tori or Fiona can sometimes make you feel like you're sitting through an overheated feminist lecture, Le Tigre vary between a playful looseness and a devastating, seething vengeance. On Sweepstakes, they usually aim for the latter. "On Guard" ricochets back and forth from Hanna's brutal guitar to her shrieking vocals as she lets every leering construction worker in the world know precisely where they can stick their piggish comments. "My Art" is one of several songs consumed by a desire to even some sort of personal score — not since the heady days of the Use Your Illusion records has an album been so absorbed by its leader's desire to tell off enemies and detractors. Throughout, Sweepstakes can't escape an air of disgust, an emotion that usually grows repetitive and chokes off an album's vitality. What saves Le Tigre most of the time here are the two qualities that enlivened their first disc: eclectic arrangements and Hanna's unique slant on common themes.

Instead of the guitars-bass-drums monotone of traditional punk, the drum machines and Casios she wields on the impossibly dance-frantic "Shred A" and the groovy "Fake French" flirt with cheesiness but succeed thanks to Le Tigre's all-together-now female camaraderie. Rather than undermining the message, the band's New Wave leanings highlight the trio's punishing attack and serious purpose.

The hot topics on this outing aren't quite as original as Le Tigre's — "your job sucks" and "good art goes unappreciated" are not that revolutionary of concepts — but Hanna stills wraps her lyrical interests in the everyday. For someone who gets accused of being humorless, Hanna has an exceptional ability for rousing, personable anthems; even the tired anti-boss sentiments of "TGIF" have a warm, familial vibe pulsing through them. Rather than being didactic, it feels more like a sing-a-long. Hiding behind a Go-Go's veneer, Le Tigre's politics go down a lot smoother than the strident militancy of other blunt female singer-songwriters.

Experiencing a creative rebirth for the first time since the Bikini Kill days, Kathleen Hanna sees that very little has changed around her — people still like the wrong bands, men remain pigs, women will always have to believe in themselves because the deck is stacked against them. Her fans have heard this all before, and they might be disappointed that she can't make undeniable art out of it this time.

True, the world of Le Tigre isn't as approachable as it once was. (At times on Feminist Sweepstakes it feels like they took that "ladies and the fags" line to heart — at the expense of alienating other listeners.) But even if you don't fall into either of those categories, this band has the potential to make as exciting and intelligent a brand of American rock music as any other in the land. (Indeed, the worst you can say about this album is that it doesn't have as many outstanding highlights as the first one.)

"One cool record in the year of rock-rap," Hanna sneers in the acidic "F.Y.R.," and you know she means her own. And even if Le Tigre was the greater album, Feminist Sweepstakes doesn't let that boast float away like so much hot air.

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