"Revolve" by The Melvins

By Neal Dusedau

The Melvins might be a band some people love, but I’m not one of them. “Revolve” was vaguely a hit in 1994 and I really liked it. But I actually bought the album before “Revolve” hit the radio. Was I in touch with the underground? Did I have feelers out to find out what the next hot thing was? No. The Melvins had been a moderately successful band for ten years when this album came out. But what made this album call to me was the power of Kurt Cobain.

I bought Come As You Are: The Story of Nirvana by Michael Azerrad a few months after Cobain’s death. I wanted to buy it sooner, but word on the street was a new chapter on Cobain’s death was being added. I read it cover to cover in one sitting. Not only was it filled with great quotes from Kurt, but it was also an easy way to find out about bands I might like. After all, If Kurt liked them, they had to be good, right?

I don’t think I’ve owned an album that I listened to less in my life. Every time I popped it in I would skip straight to “Revolve” and when the song ended, my time with the album ended. I never gave the rest of the album a chance and I don’t regret it for a second. Listening to it now I still really like it. The sound of 90’s angst always warms my soul. Has any word fallen off the planet more in the last ten years than “angst”? I blame 9/11 and George W. Bush. How can you have teen angst when you think "evil-doers" are out to get you?

Meanwhile, this album began a sad trend that would continue all the way through college. Buying an album without listening to it, but trusting that it would make me cooler if I owned it. In middle school, how a band sounded was secondary. I just needed it to sit on my shelf, ready for a friend to casually ask, “Oh and what’s this band?” so I could school them with said band’s relevance and influence, proving my coolness or what a douchebag I was (depending on your point of view).

It’s not all bad. There were other bands that Cobain led me to that I ended up liking. I think this same book mentioned Sonic Youth. So when I placed my order for eight CDs for the price of one through BMG music service (tell me you took advantage of this deal in the 90s. not to be confused with Columbia music house’s rip you off deal), I went for Sonic Youth’s Day Dream Nation. It was actually completely awesome! But for every hit there’re tons of misses.

The last time I bought something solely on reputation and hipness was in Early college. At that time “Post Rock” was the cool thing to be into. I tried. I really did. But it was boring as all hell. Sort of like jazz if solo’s were forbidden. No, that’s not right. Like instrumental lite-FM. A few bands of the genre are great. The Sea and Cake, some of Tortoise’s stuff, Trans Am… But the band that started it all, Slint, put me straight to sleep. And their album is continually named the best blah blah of the all time by all sorts of semi-respectable indie websites. I think after I blew 50 dollars on Post Rock albums I learned to at least give something half a listen without buying it. And that’s how this all ties together: just like those crappy Post Rock records, I didn’t listen to a second of The Melvins before I bought the album. I wonder if younger folk reading this can even understand the concept of paying money for music, much less buying music without getting to hear thirty seconds of the song first to see if you actually like it.

"Lust For Life" by Iggy Pop

By Chris

I remember the movie Trainspotting, because that's where I first heard "Lust for Life." I was 15 years old sitting in my suburban mall's movie theater. I was a socially awkward teen, full of angst and raging hormones. I felt alienated from my Abercrombie wearing peers with their love of Dave Matthews Band, classic rock, and gangsta rap. As Iggy pounded his way into my head with declarations of over indulgence and raw emotion, I knew this was what I'd been looking for. The funny thing about coming to that conclusion right then and there was that I saw the movie with my mom, younger sister, and younger brother. I had lied to my mom in order to get her to take me to it. I told her that it was an action movie, and starred Sylvester Stallone. Afterward, I felt bad for exposing my then 9 year old sister to graphic depictions of sex, drugs, and violence. But it was worth it.

What I associate with that song is me coming out of my shell. I remember my best friend and I getting into punk. "Lust for Life" got me started going to local shows at VFWs, and churches. Of course, there was hair dye, silk screening, mail order, and drinking. There was getting sent to the office for wearing shirts that were inappropriate for school. However, when I got out of high school, and went onto college in the city, my interest in punk faded. I ran out of what was driving me in that direction, and my dedication to punk was replaced by interest in other types of music.

Listening to "Lust for Life" twelve years later, I like the song, but it doesn't have the same punch. I remember "Lust for life" as my go to song for when things were tough and I was upset. It was a reminder not to take things too seriously. Yet as much as I loved that song and despite all the music critics who talk about how important punk is... I'm still a bit embarrassed by my punk phase. Mainly its because I wish I would've went through it faster. I'm kind of a slow learner in terms of what makes me happy. A bit stubborn, too. My senior year in high school, I remember a supervisor at a fast food restaurant I was working at giving me a backhanded compliment. We were having one of those "philosophical" conversations that's painful to recall. At some point in the conversation I declared that I was a punk. He told me he was surprised, because I seemed to have more going for me than that.

"Down" by 311

by Neal Dusedau

I have a confession to make. In 1995 I told my friends that my greatest wish was for grunge to finally die and let my incredibly novel idea for the next wave of music take over. You guessed it, I prayed for a day when rap and rock would mix together to create the ultimate form of music. To this day, I still blame myself for what my simple request did to the world.

But at the time it made sense-- I was in need of more bands like Rage Against the Machine. If I could do it over, I'd never pray for what happened to the late 90s music scene, but I swear, at the time I couldn't predict what was going to happen. And it all started with 311.

311 was the answer to my prayers. When "Down" first hit the radio in July of '96, I bought the album and then I bought their t-shirt to celebrate my wish come true. Could this just be the beginning of a trend? Were there more bands mixing power cords and rap? I needed to find them. Ah! Sublime! they scratched on their records. Not quiet rapping, but still pretty good, the forces of rap and rock were mixing.

I spent the summer after freshman year working at our town's local day camp. I walked the mile to camp every morning with my yellow Sony discman in my hand playing the 311 album. And while "All Mixed Up" and "Stay Home" were good, they didn't rock (and rap) me like "Down" did. I had never heard such cranked up crunching guitars. I think they gave me the energy to deal with obnoxious eleven-year-old campers refusing to participate in the sport, game, or craft of the day.

"Down" was the kind of song that ballplayers play when they're at bat. It rocks really hard without being divisive. It's poppy while being aggressive and the rap lyrics are offensive to exactly no one. So how do I feel about it now? I want to say it sucks, but that wouldn't be honest since I just listened to it 4 times in a row without smashing my face apart. I guess it's kind of a good song-- but the kind that's only good if you haven't listened to it since 1996.

During the summer of '96 I tired of 311 faster than my campers tired of track & field day (Run! Run! Run all of your energy out before lunch-- nope, they were way too smart to fall for that). Soon after 311 left my life, I realized my prayer had been answered and I was satisfied. The combination didn't exactly work, but it was a worthy experiment. Thanks for the help, God!

The story should end there. Everything was back to normal. Nope, I'm a Jew dealing with an old testament God. How dare I not relish the rap and the rock mixed together? Throw it away after a few months? Not on God's watch. The following summer Three Dollar Bill, Yall$ was released and my perfect dream became the state of music's worst nightmare. Limp Bizkit took over and led the way to a bunch of bands that I don't remember except to say they were much worse than 311 and made you change the radio station twenty seconds into any of their songs.

Makes me think that if I had prayed for world peace, all war would have ended, but then the overpopulation that would ensue would starve us all. Too extreme?

"Fly" by Sugar Ray

by Katie

History will be unkind to Sugar Ray. Their legacy will undoubtedly be of a SoCal punk band (if anyone even bothers to remember that they were once "punk" at all) that cashed in on their one radio-friendly song and continued a Phelps-like winning streak of mom-rock hits. Not to mention the fact that their adorrrrrable frontman parlayed his music career into the totally credible hard-hitting news program Extra and the gripping documentary, The Pussycat Dolls Present: The Search for the Next Pussycat Doll.

You may not remember, but "Fly", before it became a cheesy adult contemporary hit, was played on the much cooler alternative stations. It was one of those songs that transitioned from the alternative-rock radio stations to the Top 40 once it began to gain steam. And as soon as that juggernaut started, WATCHOUTBABY, cuz this shitrollercoaster ain't got no brakes.

I don't remember much about my 10th grade chemistry class other than the time my teacher brought in his acoustic guitar and played a song he had penned himself about the mole (the scientific unit of measure, not the creature or skin condition, as noted in the lyrics). But I do have one very happy memory of being in an especially great mood because all morning I had "Fly" stuck in my head. It was one of those few stuck-in-the-head moments that's the opposite of annoying - it's a song you really truly like, and every time it plays in your head, your brain tingles. The best way I can describe this is that it feels exactly like a second glass of white wine.

Over the summer of 1997, "Fly" became a huge hit and eventually became pretty annoying. By the time school started again in the fall, the captain of my soccer team had added it to the "SIKE-UP" mixtape she made for practices, at which point I knew the song was truly dead to me. This may have been my first taste of having the feeling that I had liked a band FIRST but it was ruined because now these unhip jocks were into them.

I would also just like to mention that this mixtape also included "Tubthumping" by Chumbawumba.

You know what, though? "Fly" is a fucking awesome song. Throw this on at a party, and people will go fucking nuts, I guarantee it. If you sing this at karaoke, you will have gained the admiration of men and women alike.

Addendum to this story: Sugar Ray put out a new album last week. Seriously. Epic wins bookended by epic Fails; hakuna matata, amigos.

"Sullivan Street" by The Counting Crows

by Jodi Hildebrand

Yesterday, while bumming around in our den/office/guest room/music room, my boyfriend picked a song from MY iTunes. As the nice acoustic strums started, I said out loud, “Ooh, I like this, what is it?” Seconds later, the whine of Adam Duritz kicked in, and a surprising shame washed over me.

In efforts to purge our house of unwanted crap, we’ve been getting rid of old CD’s, Books and DVD’s, and before purging, I’ve tossed a few old favorites on the computer, just to have in case. (In case of a 90’s party? Who knows?) One such CD was the Counting Crows live album “LIVE ACROSS A WIRE” including a set from the VH1 show The Ten Spot and one from MTV’s Unplugged ( Do they even DO Unplugged anymore?)

I will admit…I loved the Counting Crows. Folky Guitar Rock, “cool” look, and, what I’ve realized is KEY to any music I love, TOTAL SING-A-LONG-ABILITY. Tell me you can listen to one minute and NOT be screetching “Rouuuuuuunnnnnnnnnd Heeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaeeeere, we all look the same.” “Mr. Jones” will make you dance. “Long December” will make you cry. “Rain King”? Come on!

Sooo, as my man and I serenaded each other with “Sullivan Street”, amazed that we both knew all the words after all these years, I realized that, today, to me, Adam Duritz’s voice might be one of the most annoying in history. But to my 13-year old self, he was a poet. His voice filled with all the sorrow, angst and all around whininess that 13 year old girls have. He sounds like an insecure girl who was growing out her short hair-cut. He sounds like a busload of chlorinated swim team kids.

I went to a Counting Crows concert after the release of their second album with a couple of the above-mentioned chlorinated kids. (LIVE opened for them. I hope someone writes a post about LIVE someday.) We’d just gotten our licenses (In fact, I don’t think I even had mine yet) and drove OURSELVES to the show. Whoa. Duritz was so drunk (or whatever) he was falling all over the stage. Trying to stand on speakers, but unable to keep his balance. But it didn’t really matter. We didn’t need him anyway. We were annoying enough. An entire ampitheater of teenagers and moms, squealing his lyrics back to him (and now in retrospect, sounding better?). Dancing to Mr. Jones, nodding our heads dramatically to Long December. We didn’t even notice when he forgot the words, because we knew them well enough. This was really good sing-a-long music.

Yesterday, in my grown-up den/office/guest room/music room, it was still good sing-a-long music. It was a much more sarcastic, sing-a-long, but for a few minutes we took the way home that leads to Sullivan Street. (Oh, and then listened to the rest of the album too…)