The Best record of 1989 Day 41: #7 The Stone Roses, The Stone Roses vs. #122 Lounge Lizards, Voice of Chunk
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at records from The Stone Roses and Lounge Lizards
Note: As many of you know, I recently wrote about a Best Record of 1989 challenge and noted that I’d be occasionally writing some of these up.
I’ve started doing some quick hits of each matchup and posting them directly to the page. Some will be longer, some won’t, and some might just be a handful of sentences. There’ll probably definitely be some typos.
Check ’em out and let me know your thoughts! Chin wags & hot takes welcome! Sharing and restacks are always appreciated.
KA—
If this were a tweet, I’d sum up this record thusly: Incredible first three tracks. Pretty weak run in the middle, before pulling out the flat spin and redeeming itself. Things are capped off with one of the filthiest grooves of the era. Particularly good if you happen to be off your face while listening.
Well, Twitter (still not callin’ it X) is an absolute dumpster fire. You’ll have to bear with me as I work my way through the reocrd.
The Stone Roses (the band) and The Stone Roses (the record) were both served up to us fully formed as things we were somehow required to like. I’m not sure who the invisible tastemakers were who deemed it so, but here we are. And there we went—to Tower Records to each get a tape or CD of our own. Copies just wouldn’t do, you see.
So! You have a record with absurdly high expectations, PR buzz ripping through my part of the world, and cassette in hand. Now what?
Well, you should know that (depending on mood) your Fast Forward and Reverse buttons are going to get a workout. The opening track, “I Want to Be Adored,” is a slow burn, building up slowly until bursting open with some of the best sounds on the record. It’s short on lyrics and long on mood, and it’s awesome—though I’m not sure I would’ve slotted it in at A1.
“She Bangs The Drums” is a lovely bit of pop that sounds like the band either rooted through their parents’ record collection or fell into a time machine set to 1967. It’s bright and “up,” a strong contrast to the moodiness on the rest of the record. It’s a goofy love song about a guy in love with a girl drummer, but hey, who wouldn’t want that? “Waterfall” is…okay… It rounds out a solid opening trio. And here’s where things take a turn…
“Don’t Stop” is frankly awful, with “Bye Bye Bad Man” only slightly better. At 53 seconds, “Elizabeth My Dear” is about 52 seconds too long.
The opening riff of “(Song For My) Sugar Spun Sister” sounds like another song, and trying to figure out what it is has been driving me bonkers. If you have any ideas, please comment!
At any rate, the song isn’t terrible. And it’s not awesome, either. Better than the three that precede it, but that‘s a bar low enough to be a tripping hazard.
Right about the time your fast-forward button will be begging for mercy, comes ”Made of Stone,” and not a moment too soon! It’s strangely uplifting and a nice break from what we’ve just been through. While looking at the lyrics, I learned this track is supposedly about the car crash that took artist Jackson Pollack’s life. Go figure.
We’re right back at it (hitting buttons, that is) for “Shoot You Down.” This strikes me as one of those songs someone brought to the studio and either made a compelling case for or lost a bet. Dealer’s choice.
I vaguely recall a bit of indignation at “I Am the Resurrection.” 1989 America was a particularly pious one, and thinking about it now, I wonder if that became part of the record’s appeal for us? Nothing ships units like a bit of rebellion. At any rate, opinion on the track itself was split in my circle, with people either really digging it or barely being able to stand it. I was firmly in the former camp, and still am. It’s not the best song on the record, but no matter, it still works. At 8+ minutes, it’s entirely too long and does devolve into a weird jam band type thing, but in 1989, this was about as close as I was gonna get to digging anything of the sort, my love for the Grateful Dead still being several years off.
The original release didn’t include “Fool’s Gold,” but I’m gonna call an audible and pretend it did. Why? ‘Cause it’s incredible, that‘s why. I know it‘s not for every taste, but it was right up my alley. Mani’s Bass? On point. Reni’s drumming? Off the charts. John Squire’s guitar work is good too, but it’s the rhythm section that carries it.
That this record is seeded at #7 for this tournament tells me two things: nostalgia has a long shelf life, and that maybe there was something to that PR campaign I mentioned up top. If nothing else, it’s got a long tail. This is a solid record, but is it #7 seed good? I’m not seein’ it.
When I think of jazz, I usually think of either Thelonious Monk or the poppier side (e.g., George Benson). The sort of “this is a work in progress, and we’re not really sure where it‘s going, but we’ll have fun along the way” stuff is kind of a blind spot for me. Doubly so anything made after the Eisenhower administration. It always feels like a squonk too many, or just dissonant enough to turn me off. The idea that you‘re supposed to see the notes between the notes (or whatever) always felt like a papering over for what was most likely a jam session by the local chapter of psychonauts.
There’s a third lane as well; the one that evokes images of places like New York at dawn, the sort of grainy image with the early light of, say, 6 AM, a taxi (obvs), and steam coming up through the vents. It’s this sort of noir imagery that I couldn’t shake the entire time I listened to this. It’s the sort of record that could only be made in NYC (note: I haven’t looked to see if it was or not).
Sure, there are plenty of squonks and odd notes, and a few tracks suffer from a touch too much sax (‘Sharks”), but there are some fun things like elements of blues here. “Tarantella” is what you’ll hear as you’re walking into the best funhouse you’ve ever been to. “A Paper Bag and the Sun” is almost too esoteric for its own good (notes between the notes and all that), but somehow managed ot become my favorite track on the record.
In the end, that smiling sneakiness is what made this such an enjoyable listen. Will I come back to it? It beats me, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find myself using it to soundtrack a Saturday morning breakfast. I would probably fast-forward through “Sharks,” though.
My vote: A lounge Lizards win would be a hell of an upset—and stranger things have happened— but in this case, I think name recognition will carry The Stone Roses far further than the record alone. And I need every win I can get, cheap or not. My bracket pick and vote will be for them.
Any thoughts on either of these records? Agree/disagree with my takes? Which one of these would you vote for? Sound off in the comments!
#47 Kristy MacColl, Kite vs. #82 Gang Starr, No More Mr. Nice Guy
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at records from Kristy MacColl and Gang Starr.
Note: As many of you know, I recently wrote about a Best Record of 1989 challenge and noted that I’d be occasionally writing some of these up.
I’ve started doing some quick hits of each matchup and posting them directly to the page. Some will be longer, some won’t, and some might just be a handful of sentences. There’ll probably definitely be some typos.
Check ’em out and let me know your thoughts! Chin wags & hot takes welcome! Sharing and restacks are always appreciated.
KA—
I first found Kristy MacColl, as I suspect many others have, through the “Fairytales of New York” song she did with The Pogues. Today, it seems the consensus pick for favorite Christmas song among hipsters. It’s one of those songs that’s somehow everyone’s favorite, that you’re just expected to like. I find it interminable. And for a long time, I used that as an excuse not to delve any further into her work. Silly me.
Other than that, all I really knew was that she did “They Don’t Know,” a lovely bit of sugary pop that was covered by Tracey Ullman. This is a small bit of trivia that has yet to come in handy. And did you know Tracey Ullman had her own show that featured recurring interstitial animation skits about a family named The Simpsons? I’m incredibly fun at parties and Bar Mitzvahs.
Back to Kite: MacColl was the daughter of folk singer Ewan MacColl, who, by most accounts, sounds like an asshole and may be why she steered her own career toward a poppier sound. Refusing to be pigeonhole (or molded) into whatever label execs thought a pop star should be, her career floundered a bit. She found a niche performing on other people’s records (see above) while still chugging along in her own career. Kite is her sophomore outing, released 8 years after 1981’s Desperate Characters (see above again). I should tell you now that I brought every preconceived notion I had to the party. I was expecting a record that alternated between dirges and folk songs.
And holy shit was I wrong! Sure, there are strains of folk here and there, but this record is …dare I say, jaunty? Opener “Innocence” was a delight and will be on a few playlists going forward. “Mother’s Ruin” slows the tempo, but is in no way a downer. There’s a Kinks cover (“Days”)!
Maybe more importantly, while it does concede that she’s good at singing other people’s work, often at the expense of her own, it also gives her a chance to showcase her own chops. MacColl can, in fact, write a helluva song.
There’s some overproduction here and there—then husband Steve Lillywhite was behind the boards, and I wonder if he was aiming to make this as accessible as possible (i.e., hoping to help his wife find commercial success). Not every edge has to always be sanded off, you know, but after a listen or two, I’ve decided that’s a feature, not a bug. I’m obviously late to the party, but Kite has proven to be a nice surprise.
Ask five people to name their favorite Gang Starr record, and you’ll get six opinions. Odds are also good that No More Mr. Nice Guy won’t be one of ‘em. It’s not that it’s a bad record, it’s that the others are soooo good. Dj Premier and Guru have rightfully earned a spot in any GOAT discussion, but in 1989, they still weren’t on the map.
If nothing else, this record feels ”new,” like everyone‘s still new to the game and each other. They’re all feeling each other out and finding their levels. There’s a lot of first-day energy here, right down to the lyrics that feel kinda boilerplate.
Mark the 45 King is here, and his signature sound colors a couple of tracks. On the one hand, that‘s a good thing. On the other hand, it immediately took my mind to all the different tracks he was on at the time. Gang Starr’s unique style is what made them what they are. That’ll come in time, but it isn’t fully formed here.
I’m mindful that retroactively comparing this to their later records isn’t fair. Again, this is a solid record, especially for 1989—it’s just not on the level of what was to come.
Track picks: “Gotch U,” “2 Steps Ahead”
My vote: At the risk of undercutting literally every point I made above, my vote goes to Gang Starr. RIP Guru.
Any thoughts on either of these records? Agree/disagree with my takes? Which one of these would you vote for? Sound off in the comments!
#18 Kate Bush, The Sensual World vs. #111 The Wonder Stuff, Hup
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at records from Kate Bush and The Wonder Stuff
Note: As many of you know, I recently wrote about a Best Record of 1989 challenge and noted that I’d be occasionally writing some of these up.
I’ve started doing some quick hits of each matchup and posting them directly to the page. Some will be longer, some won’t, and some might just be a handful of sentences. There’ll probably definitely be some typos.
Check ’em out and let me know your thoughts! Chin wags & hot takes welcome! Sharing and restacks are always appreciated.
KA—
Oh, to be one of the people who first found Kate Bush through Stranger Things! I love that (seemingly) an entire generation was exposed to “Running Up That Hill.” That’s tempered somewhat by my fear that it’s as far as they went. As good as it is, even “just” checking out Hounds of Love leaves a lot on the table.
Talking about that album in our Top 100 series last year, I noted:
What can I say about this record? I love that so many people have found it thanks to Stranger Things (at least, I hope they’ve gone past “Running Up That Hill”). It is an exquisite take on love, life, heartache, and death; it’s a synth record. It’s theater in the round. It’s an album with millions and millions of listens, and it feels like it was made for you and you alone. It’s got a song for the dance floor (“Running Up That Hill”), one for a quiet morning (“The Morning Fog”), and everything in between. Hounds of Love is anthemic. “The Big Sky” is over the top and as ostentatious as anything else you’ll see in this series. And I’m here for all of it.
I stand by all of that. The record is a must listen, and (IMO) should have a spot in any record collection. It’s Kate’s Pet Sounds, and in the same way that the Beach Boys were judged on everything that came after their landmark record, so too was Bush. Hounds of Love has a long shadow, and it’s easy to see why later work got lost in it.
The stylings on TheSensual World don’t exactly help. Hounds of Love is bold, anthemic pop. Its lyrics are full of dreams. Every track feels like an entire Broadway show packed into 4-5 minutes.
In other words, it’s everything The Sensual World is not. Don’t get tit Twitsed; I love this record, but it’s easy to see why someone whose onramp was the over-the-top pomp of, say, “The Big Sky” might feel put off by this record’s slower, romantic sounds. Artists have to be willing to pivot, and this feels like a record made by someone coming into their own, and less like a record sculpted by outside influences. There’s less spectacle and more intimacy (in every sense of the word). One needs only listen to the opening title track to see that.
If Hounds of Love is Bush breaking free of the cocoon, The Sensual World is her fully free and flying under her own power. This record has an elegance that we’d previously only seen sparks of. Depending on your preferences, the songs are either elegiac or affirming, and usually a bit of both. Songs like “Running Up That Hill” are a protest of male power, while this record is a celebration of female agency.
I don’t have a title in mind for “best record that came out after Pet Sounds that you should definitely listen to,” but if all you know of Bush is Hounds of Love, your next stop should be The Sensual World.
Around 1989, something strange happened. It felt like every band decided to pivot to a much more psychedelic sound—the Charlatans, Inspiral Carpets, you name it. The Wonder Stuff were no exception.
Hup, their follow-up to The Eight Legged Groove Machine, is full of swirling guitars and sounds that resemble those of other bands. If left out too long, everything blends into one blob, and the tracks become indistinct.
Luckily, the band takes care to avoid that here. While predecessor LP was sharp, quick, and to the point, Hup takes a longer route. To be clear, these are pop songs, but there’s more to them on this record. Also: Banjos and fiddles. Those aren’t usually found on an expressway.
If you‘re looking for a track with some oomph, “Them Big Oak Trees” has got you covered. It’s the standout track on the record. “Good Night Though” is a gut punch with its verse of
“Don’t play that awful song, she said ‘cause then we’ll know that the party has gone on too long.” I said, “This stairway ain’t to heaven This one’s to oblivion”
If anything, that should be the record’s closer and not at the halfway mark. I’m sure there’s some reason for sequencing it where they did, but I can’t see it. Makes the rest of the record feel like it was almost an after though— and it; ‘s anything but. “Gimme Some Truth” is another track worth double-clicking on.
If there’s a knock on the record, it comes in comparison to follow-up “Never Loved Elvis.” The latter is blatantly poppy and varied. You could make the argument that Hup is exactly what I described above- monotonous, similar from front to back. I’d instead argue that it ‘s focused. They knew the sound they wanted to make, went itno the studio, and came back out with exactly that.
Hup is the record that planted the band’s flag here in the States. The next LP would bring a modicum of fame, with the sublime “Caught in My Shadow” seeing some rotation on MTV and airplay. There are a handful of songs here that easily could’ve made their mark on listeners. Shame they never did. I’m guilty of using the term “underrated” like a comma when summing up records, but in this case, it fits.
My vote: Hup’s a good record, but The Sensual World is a great one. Kate Bush for the win.
Any thoughts on either of these records? Agree/disagree with my takes? Which one of these would you vote for? Sound off in the comments!
#50 Lyle Lovett, Lyle Lovett and his Large Band vs. EPMD, Unfinished Business
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at records from EPMD and Lyle Lovett
Note: As many of you know, I recently wrote about a Best Record of 1989 challenge and noted that I’d be occasionally writing some of these up.
I’ve started doing some quick hits of each matchup and posting them directly to the page. Some will be longer, some won’t, and some might just be a handful of sentences. There’ll probably definitely be some typos.
Check ’em out and let me know your thoughts! Chin wags & hot takes welcome! Sharing and restacks are always appreciated.
KA—
If EPMD’s 1988 debut, Strictly Business, put the duo on the map, its follow-up, Unfinished Business, cemented their spot. The record is an incredible sophomore outing. Hip-hop back in the day had more weight: chunkier beats, rugged samples, and more bounce to the ounce (sorry, not sorry). The beats came out of the trunk like a left hook, except this was one you didn’t want to duck for.
That’s not to say that the duo of Erick Sermon and Parrish Smith don’t have flow- the pair has bars for days. But they lay down that flow over some industrial-grade beats. There’s fewer moving parts. Less is more. Things pop off with “So Wat Cha Sayin'” a bruising 5 minutes of funk with the infectious sampling of BT Express’“If It Don’t Turn You On (You Oughta Leave it Alone), layered over some drums from Soul II Soul of all people. Knick Knack Paddy Whack has a sample you’ll likely recognize. Try and see. Those samples and scratches are courtesy of George “DJ Scratch” Spivey, and his work on the 1s and 2s should not be overlooked here.
That flow might be their superpower. The two play off one another like two friends on a patio or sitting at a picnic table on their work break. They’re puttin’ in work, but it never feels labored (FWIW, I think P is better technically, while E has better flow per se.).
That’s not to say Unfinished Business is a no-skip record—you can feel confident in skipping “It’s Time 2 Party” and “You Had Too Much to Drink—but the good far outweighs the bad. Sermon and Smith are all business, and on this record, business was good.
I’ve never quite been able to read Lyle Lovett. Is he country? Something else? And how exactly did he and Julia Roberts wind up together? Lucky him.
That he’s never quite ascended to A-list stardom means that most audiences (and A&R reps and programming directors) were also stumped. But for those that get it, his records are a treat.
I hadn’t heard this one before, and if I’m honest, I wasn’t ready for the bluesy/jazzy/band-y flavor here. It’s good, just not what I thought would be on order. On brand for the man, I suppose. For example, I did not have “Here I Am” with its monologue in the middle on my bingo card. Nor was there a spot for a straight-faced cover of Tammy Wynette’s ” Stand by Your Man.” Yet here we are.
This record is light years from what I was playing in ’89, but listening now, it’s pleasant (not derogatory). I can easily see myself giving this a spin over brunch or on one of those rare days when I get to lie on the couch with Gizmo and stare out the window. It feels like Lovett came to terms with not being a “star,” embraced it, and made the record he wanted to make. Lucky us.
My vote: My heart (vote) says EPMD. My head (bracket pick) has me sayin’ Lyle Lovett.
Any thoughts on either of these records? Agree/disagree with my takes? Which one of these would you vote for? Sound off in the comments!
We’re in for a treat today! Author Rob Janicke stops by to talk about his book,Slacker—1991, Teen Spirit Angst, and the Generation It Created.
It’s weird, this online life. There are people I’ve known for years—that I feel like I’ve known longer— that I’ve never been in the same room (or even the same time zone) with.
Rob Janicke is one of those people. He and I first connected as editors for the same online publication. It quickly became clear that we had more in common than a penchant for using a red pen. Our music tastes run largely in parallel, but so too did a lot of our early years, and the transformative role music played in them. More than once, I’ve said that it’s not an exaggeration to say music saved my life. It certainly saved his.
I’ve quipped that he and I were often at the same shows, just on opposite coasts. Except that it’s not a joke. Having those chats makes me wish I’d saved more than 1-2 of my ticket stubs. Who saw which band first, depending mainly on which side of the country the van left from?
Rob stepped away from his editing role to start a new project—a project that ultimately became Slacker—1991, Teen Spirit Angst, and the Generation It Created. As you’ll see below, it’s been a long road, and the final version looks very different from that initial pitch.
I will tell you now that reviewing this book was tough. It’s a project I’ve rooted for, and I was ecstatic to get an early copy of it (NOTE: for more on how to win a signed one of your own, read on). In other words, you shouldn’t have any expectation of objectivity here. Spoiler alert: it’s awesome. That said, I’m not just being nice when I tell you this is a harrowing and exhilarating read in equal parts.
It would’ve been easy enough for him to write a fairly straightforward look back at that early 90s scene. People love that sort of thing, right? Maybe even punch it up by making it into an oral history full of stories from those lucky enough to have been there. Instead, Rob weaves together that history with that of his own life. Ultimately, that blend makes for a much richer, more interesting story.
The shiny parts are an easy read (hanging out at the record store, going to shows, etc.). The book also dips a bit into the science of why music moves us the way only it can. If you’ve ever had your mind rearranged by a slab of vinyl, this’ll be relatable. All well and good.
However, the book also touches on some darker parts of life as a latchkey kid. That’s his story to tell, and he doesn’t gloss over any of it. My copy is full of highlights, dog-eared pages, and notes in the margins- some of which were questions I wanted to make sure to ask him.
Slacker isn’t a puff piece for GenXers looking to relieve their youth; there’s no garden hose memes, or rants about “kids these days.” Rather, it’s for anyone looking to read more about why that very specific time had such an outsized impact on our lives and pop culture. It was an era that changed the world, one life at a time.
If you’re of a certain age, it will absolutely resonate with you. You’ll likely see your own life reflected back at you the way I did.
I recently (Finally!) had a chance to speak with Rob. In our wide-ranging chat, we discuss the Slacker origin story, where it started and ended up, and the opportunities writing the book has presented.
The discussion has only been lightly edited for grammar and flow.
KA—
Congrats on the book! I know this has been years in the making. For those who may not be familiar with the backstory, could you walk us through how Slacker came to be?
Thanks, Kevin! You’re right. SLACKER started with some personal introspection during the COVID-19 pandemic and kind of took on a life of its own soon after I wrote the first few pages. It was April 2020, and I was in my backyard watching my dog play. As I’m sure you remember, life was pretty strange back then, as we were all locked down in our homes due to the pandemic and had to pass the time somehow.
While standing in the yard and sort of daydreaming a bit, I recalled a conversation I’d heard on a podcast or radio show earlier in the day. During that show, the year 1991 was brought up, and I remember thinking, “damn, next year (2021) we will be 30 removed from ‘91”. It blew my mind. I tend to think of life in terms of music, and for me, as many Gen Xers, 1991 was a massively important year in terms of music and culture. It changed everything.
So, with that in mind, I went back into my house and just started writing my thoughts down about that year, what it meant to me, the music I discovered, and the impact it and so much of what came after have had on me right up through this very day. A few months later, I found myself with over 30,000 words, some chapters, and the skeleton of a book.
To avoid making this answer too long, I’ll fast-forward to a meeting with a publisher (after many rejections or simply being ignored by other publishers had taken place) who was given a description of my “book” by a mutual friend. Luckily for me, they loved the idea and wanted to learn more. As they say, the rest is history.
One thing that sets this book apart is how it takes your own story and parallels it with what is happening in the music scene. It would’ve been easy to write a more straightforward history of the scene–and a lot of people would’ve dug that. What made you decide to pivot this into a more personal narrative?
This is a great question because, at first, the intention was to chronicle the scene without too much of a personal narrative. I don’t believe there are many books that do that with regard to the early Seattle movement. There are plenty of books on bands and artists from that era, but I can’t think of one that walks you through the overall story.
As I was writing it, though, it became obvious that the reason I love the music and culture from that period as much as I do is due in large part to how it shaped and helped me from the earliest moments of me hearing it. I couldn’t separate myself from the music. I’ve always believed that the personal lyrics and vulnerability of the songs played as much of a role as the sound of the music did in creating a global fanbase.
Millions upon millions upon millions of people cared about this music and still do today, so it didn’t seem right to leave my story out. I knew other fans would be able to relate because their stories probably mirrored mine in many ways.
You make no secret of your mental health struggles here. For me, this made reading the story that much more authentic. What sort of other feedback have you received from people? Have you been doing (or plan to do) any speaking on the topic as you do press for the book?
I appreciate you saying that. In early drafts of the book, I hinted at certain things about the issues and trouble I had back then, but I wasn’t fully letting go. I have to give credit to my publisher, Inspired By You Books, and their editors for teaching me how to let go. They saw what I was doing and worked with me to dig deeper and allow myself to be more upfront about my life rather than tiptoe around the more difficult topics.
As far as feedback, I’m so grateful that it’s been overwhelmingly positive thus far. They like the musical aspects for sure, and many casual fans of the era have told me they learned so much about the scene, how and when some of the bands started, etc. One thing almost everyone has said, though, is that they were taken aback by my story (most people in my life knew little to nothing about some of the more personal aspects) and that, in some cases, has given them courage to start talking about past trauma they’ve been through. Some have even told me things that they never told anyone else.
I wasn’t prepared for that, but I cannot tell you how happy it makes me that people struggling with things found at least a small step towards dealing with their struggles because they’ve read my book. As for speaking engagements surrounding the topic of mental health and/or how music plays a role in healing, I’ve given a few talks so far and absolutely plan on doing more.
There’s a passage–and I’m paraphrasing here– that says, “When strange things get stranger or just played out, and the youth of any generation decides it’s time for a change, things happen.” In your opinion, are we there now? We could take this in numerous socioeconomic directions, but I’m specifically interested in hearing how it might relate to music and how we discover and consume it. Listening parties are back in fashion. Blogs are in vogue. Are we there? If so, what’s that next phase look like?
I hope so!! Had I been asked this question prior to 2020, I’d say that we may never see a change in music or youth culture again. I was pretty sure of that. Since then, however, I have changed my mind. I think we’re living through very strange, difficult, and dare I say bizarre times right now, and I’ve seen and heard more than a handful of bands and artists rising to the challenge of creating something new.
Back in the day, music discovery was limited to Top 40 radio, MTV, fanzines, corporate magazines, and, to a lesser degree, your local scene. Distribution for the local or underground music was essentially nonexistent, so without major record labels and the money and power that came with them, we “discovered” what they told us to. It just so happened that what they gave us in the late 80s and early to mid-90s was pretty damn great. That music was the definition of change and rebellion to the norm at that time.
In today’s musical and cultural landscape, that doesn’t exist outside of pop music (included in that are the vanilla versions of hip hop and country). But because of streaming technology and the social media revolution, we can find anything we want. It takes more effort than it did back when it was spoon-fed to us, but it’s more fun this way.
I find most of the new music I love by diving down rabbit holes on YouTube or Instagram, Spotify, and the like. They say that if something was truly great, or at least powerful enough to have made a large dent in culture, it will find its way back every 25-30 years. This is because the original youth audience has grown up, had kids of their own to expose it to, and those kids have reached an age where they become inspired enough to put their spin on what they’ve been shown.
I think we are at that point now. I feel like the future of music will get edgier and angrier than it has been in a while, and hopefully, it will become popular enough to influence future generations to continue that sonic cycle.
In the book, you state that “Smells Like Teen Spirit” isn’t the best song on Nevermind, but rather that “Lounge Act” is. That’s a take sure to raise some eyebrows. Say more on that, please.
Ha…I’m glad you picked up on that. Let me first say that I LOVE “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” I thought it was an amazing song in 1991, and I think it’s an amazing song now. I honestly do not get tired of hearing it. It’s the reason the scene had a chance to take off and thrive, so it’s undoubtedly one of the most important songs of all time.
As far as my comment about “Lounge Act” being better, it’s a matter of taste. ‘Teen Spirit’ has that perfect verse-chorus-verse arrangement (the song actually begins with the chorus but without any vocals so you don’t really get the full punch) to it so once you get through the first chorus, the formula is there and you know what to expect.
Like I said, amazing song, blew me away when I first heard it. “Lounge Act,” with its infectious bassline that starts the track, instantly finds its way into your bloodstream. It’s just a great, solid groove. But as the song continues, it slowly builds up, feeling a little anxious and ready to explode.
The problem is, you don’t know where or how it will explode because the verses and choruses don’t change much, except for those slight upticks in tempo and feel. Then, the last verse hits, and structurally it’s the same as the others except Kurt is now screaming the vocal part. This is the payoff. It floored me the first time I heard and I just fell in love with it from that day on. It’s so simple yet I can’t recall hearing a song with such a slow build up (for a fast song no less) that leads to this visceral pounding.
As you look back now on the process of writing this, what surprised you the most?
The biggest surprise is that I finished it. I gave up a couple (or five) times. I took month-long breaks from writing a single word. I fought bouts of Imposter Syndrome. I had never written a book before and had absolutely no clue just how hard it would be. I believed in it though, so no matter the obstacle or length of time, I was determined to finish it.
One of the people you interviewed stated [they] believe record stores are more important than churches or cathedrals. I agree and would add concert halls to the list. What do you think it was that made those places so sacred for people like you and me?
Yes, that was John Richards, host of the morning show on KEXP in Seattle. He’s a legendary figure on the music scene, and since he’s my age, he was there when it all started. I loved speaking with him.
Record stores, along with music venues, as you mentioned, were the communal foundation for music fans from our generation. I lived in my local record store from 1991-1994. I spent most weekends going to small and medium-sized clubs in NYC to see any and every band I could. This was during the very infancy of the internet and more than a decade before any semblance of social media, so these places are where we found our tribe. People who wanted to watch, listen to, and discuss music.
It’s where we not only felt welcomed but also belonged. Those stores and venues, although owned by others, were ours, and we all felt it.
Towards the end, you touch on the idea that describing what it was like to be on the scene in 1991 will never come close to actually being there. Was trying to do that one of the reasons for writing this book? Mission accomplished?
Absolutely! When I was in college, I spent a ridiculous amount of time in the school’s main library for a kid who barely held a C average. I wasn’t studying or doing homework as you can gather by my previous sentence. Instead, I was reading every book I could find on The Beatles, The Rolling Stones, Led Zeppelin, and any other musician or band I liked or simply heard of.
I immersed myself in cultures I wasn’t alive to see for myself but wanted to learn about. I’ve always been the type of music fan who reads every liner note inside the album jacket, every story and interview in the magazines, and watches every documentary I can. I was a sponge and information about music was the water. The more I knew about my musical heroes, the more I wanted to listen to their music.
Fast forward to today, or more importantly, when I started writing the book, I wanted to “pay back” the authors who wrote all the books I read from days gone by and hopefully have SLACKER become one of those books for some wide-eyed kid wanting to learn about music he or she wasn’t alive for. I want it to be a historical document as well as a relatable story of a kid who had his ups and downs, but through these bands, and through this music, made it out far enough to write a book about it all and hopefully inspire others to do the same if they so choose.
Mission accomplished? I think so, but time will tell I guess.
Last one, just for fun, you got tickets for a show this weekend. Who are we going to see?
Hmmm. Well, if you’re talking about a band from back in the day, it would have to be Nirvana. I say that because they’re just about the only band from that era I didn’t see. As you know, they broke big very quickly, in January of 1992. That’s when Nevermind went to number one on the Billboard album chart and the band only lasted a little more than two years beyond that. They didn’t tour a ton in the States after Nevermind took off, and for me in New York, most of their shows were for TV and a few invitation-only shows.
If your question is geared for the present day, I’d say we’re going to see either Bad Nerves or Winona Fighter.
Thanks so much, Kevin, this was a lot of fun!
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#15 Madonna, Like a Prayer vs. #114 Peter Murphy, Deep
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at records from Madonna and Peter Murphy
Note: As many of you know, I recently wrote about a Best Record of 1989 challenge and noted that I’d be occasionally writing some of these up.
I’ve started doing some quick hits of each matchup and posting them directly to the page. Some will be longer, some won’t, and some might just be a handful of sentences. There’ll probably definitely be some typos.
Check ’em out and let me know your thoughts! Chin wags & hot takes welcome! Sharing and restacks are always appreciated.
KA—
In 1989, Madonna was everywhere. How you react to that sentence is a tell. Older readers will simply nod in agreement, with younger readers wondering what the fuss is. She was riding high on a string of hit records. She’d tried acting with somewhat less success. She’d been in a high-powered/, hot-tempered marriage with actor Sean Penn—the kind of wild ride that launches entire tabloids—or at least it did in 1989.
By the time Like A Prayer rolled around, most of that was beginning to show her. But Madonna Louise Ciccone was never one to shy away from a bit of controversy.
Ask that same crowd about MTV, and they’ll likely launch into a stemwinder about the channel actually playing videos. That’s true. There was more to life than just Tosh 2.0 ad infinitum. They also premiered videos in a way that harkened back to the glory days of Hollywood. A Madonna video? That was a big f’in deal. And it was appointment viewing.
You also have to understand that anything even vaguely religious was likely to give legions of Americans the vapors. Add a little interracial love into the mix, and you’ve got a bona fide scandal on your hands—a scandal that, at the very least, cost her a Pepsi commercial.
That video was for the title track on Like A Prayer, her blockbuster record. In the years up to this, she’d shown she was never afraid to push boundaries, but to this writer’s ears, the record serves as a dividing line: On one side, you have her earlier poppier sounds. This is the world of “Holiday” and “Angel.” Fantastic tracks, but there’s not a lot of heft there.
On the other hand, you have an artist trying to take back control of the narrative. She’s not Sean Penn’s wife anymore. She doesn’t owe anyone. Free of those guardrails, she’s free to push up against the corners and pressure test her sound. She wasn’t gonna answer to anyone.
If the title track didn’t telegraph that message, the second track, “Express Yourself,” surely did. This is Madge’s declaration of independence, and it’s a banger.
It’s not a clean break, though. “Til Death Do Us Part” is a bit of easy-breezy pop reminiscent of so much of her earlier stuff. “Cherish” doubly so; so much so that I could have sworn it was actually on True Blue. All well and good until you read the lyrics for the former and realize she’s singing from inside the dystopian hellscape of an abusive relationship. Oof.
Knowing the history (or at least what we read about in the papers), it’s hard not to see this record as explicitly autobiographical. And maybe it is. Today, stars leveraging trauma for clicks and money is par for the course. Thirty-six years ago, not so much. And in the end, maybe it doesn’t matter. Art and real life have always been a blurry line for her. What Like a Prayer made clear was that anything after this was going to be on her own terms.
That both Love and Rockets and Peter Murphy have records in this challenge should tell you something about the bumper crop of records we got that year. When talking about Love and Rockets earlier in the series, I commented that it felt like they were trying to make as un-Bauhaus of a record as possible. The same holds true here, with the band’s frontman shedding many darker themes and moods for something…accessible? The tracks here have a bigger, almost bombastic sound. His deep voice makes for quite a contrast against the (relatively) lighter sounds. It’s not hard to imagine a much more mainstream act doing “Crystal Wrists.”
Dare I say that Murphy is a fan of pop?
Lyrically, the record leans towards themes like love and the world around him. You have to work to untangle those words, though. Murphy likes to wrap his lyrics in riddles. They’re often enigmatic, and the challenge makes deciphering them feel all the sweeter. If you need an exact time to call Bela Lugosi’s death, let me point you to the 4:18 mark on the hit single “Cuts You Up.” This is when everything bursts open and the track hits peak exit velocity. It’s anthemic.
Bela Lugosi is dead, and he’s not reanimating for this record.
My vote: I’m a friend of the goths, but it was always gonna be Madge.
Any thoughts on either of these records? Agree/disagree with my takes? Which one of these would you vote for? Sound off in the comments!
34 Bonnie Raitt, Nick of Time vs. #95 The Field Mice, Snowball
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at records from Bonnie Raitt and The Field Mice
Note: As many of you know, I recently wrote about a Best Record of 1989 challenge and noted that I’d be occasionally writing some of these up.
I’ve started doing some quick hits of each matchup and posting them directly to the page. Some will be longer, some won’t, and some might just be a handful of sentences. There’ll probably definitely be some typos.
Check ’em out and let me know your thoughts! Chin wags & hot takes welcome! Sharing and restacks are always appreciated.
KA—
Blockbuster…Comeback…Second Act…Phoenix-like. These are all descriptors for Bonnie Raitt’s Nick of Time record, and they’re all words you’ve read before. You won’t have to reread them here, but I think it’s important to note just how much that idea of starting new colors this record. Raitt was recently sober, out of a relationship1, and looking for a new label.
Capitol took a chance on her, signing her to a smaller-scale deal. It became a hit, and the rest, they say, is history. It’s a great story! Plenty of friends came along for the ride (Herbie Hancock, half of CSNY, etc.), and a Hiatt cover is always a good thing (“Thing Called Love”).
But here’s the deal; at this point, it wasn’t a comeback.
After all, if you’ve never had a hit, what are you coming back to?
Most people will recognize “The Thing Called Love,” the sultry title track, and “Have a Heart.” Today, the latter is a regular on your local grocery store’s playlist, but in 1989, it was everywhere. These three are solid and make an excellent case for the record. But she really shines on lesser-known tracks like “Real Man” and “The Road’s My Middle Name.” The latter is your standard blues that Raitt’s voice is made for.
By this point, Raitt had been through it and was ready for a new chapter. Free from high expectations (or really any expectations at all), Raitt could be herself and sing about the things on her mind. On the title track, Raitt sings, Life gets mighty precious when there’s less of it to waste. With Nick of Time, she made a record that sounds timeless. Yell “Noonan!” all you want; Raitt’s not gonna miss here.
If Raitt was at least a known quantity, The Field Mice were the exact opposite. I’d never heard of them, let alone this record.
No vocals for the first couple of minutes is a choice. It’s also maybe not the best one if you’re making a pop record in 1989, but what do I know? Maybe they were “doing it for the art,” or whatever.
Snowball is charming, I suppose. If you like softer side jangle pop, this’ll check a lot of boxes. I suspect that whoever nominated this did so out of an outsized sense of nostalgia. This could have reminded them of grad school (or the British equivalent) and a love that lasted only until graduation. Most of us have one of those, right?
Otherwise, the record is serviceable enough. As noted, there’s some pleasant jangle on here, and some fun bits of twee pop. Kinda feels like The Housemartins meets Prefab Sprout. But in 1989, there were quite a few better records to pick from, even within this subgenre.
My vote: Gimme some full throated blues from someone who’s seen some things any day. My bracket pick and vote will both be going to Bonne Raitt.
Any thoughts on either of these records? Agree/disagree with my takes? Which one of these would you vote for? Sound off in the comments!
#31 Ministry, The Mind Is a Terrible Thing to Taste vs. #98 Sepultura, Beneath the Remains
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at records from Ministry and Sepultura
Note: As many of you know, I recently wrote about a Best Record of 1989 challenge and noted that I’d be occasionally writing some of these up.
I’ve started doing some quick hits of each matchup and posting them directly to the page. Some will be longer, some won’t, and some might just be a handful of sentences. There’ll probably definitely be some typos.
Check ’em out and let me know your thoughts! Chin wags & hot takes welcome! Sharing and restacks are always appreciated.
KA—
I’m very much in the “Make Ministry synth pop again!” camp, but also loved The land of R*pe and Honey. I also had no reason to be angry about anything, but teenage angst is funny that way, I guess.
At any rate, earlier this year, frontman Al Jourgenson decided to listen to the masses (or his accountant) and put out The Squirrelly Years Revisited, a remaking/refresh of those early records.
Writing about it I noted,
In May of 1983, Ministry recorded With Sympathy. Frontman Al Jourgenson then spent the ensuing years telling anyone who’ll listen that it’s awful. If the “Make Ministry synthpop again “memes are anything to go by, many people never go to the memo. They’re also now getting what they want…kind of.
After With Sympathy, Ministry recorded Twitch and then began releasing a series of industrial and metal records, both as Ministry and with side projects like Revolting Cocks. All well and good until you make the same record several times in a row. The first time you hear a record like The Land of Rape and Honey, it’s amazing. But it only takes a few records to see that Jourgenson was on autopilot. For me, it was like the music version of the law of diminishing marginal returns.
Sometimes I wonder if with each passing record, Jourgenson was trying to get further and further away from those early releases. But here’s the thing: people liked records like With Symptahy and Twitch—at least where I lived, anyway. And even today, the coolest people I know still work “Every Day is Halloween” into their October playlists.
The Mind Is a Terrible Thing to Taste feels like him in a full sprint. It’s a great fusion of thrash, metal, and industrial. It’s bruising and the sort of record that is either perfect for channeling the misdirected anger you have in your life, or leaves you feeling like you’ve been in a bar fight. Better this than punching a wall or running red lights. The riffs are jagged, the beats pulverizing. It’s like taking the hardest parts of Skinny Puppy and dialing them up (they too would experiment with “louder, faster, more!” soon enough). The best parts of the record are where Jourgenson seamlessly blends industrial and metal elements. Tracks like “So What” are almost-almost!- Dance floor ready. You can run, but you can’t hide.
If nothing else, it serves as a decent enough vehicle for escape. Speaking of which, it’s worth noting that Jourgenson was absolutely off his rocker on drugs at this point.
At any rate, with each Ministry record, I grew further away from them while also (ironically) more into the Ministry adjacent bands like RevCo, and Murder Inc. Go figure. Listening to this again feels like falling into a time machine where I’m again fretting about acne, some girl, and god knows what else.
Pity my friend Mark. He is responsible for so much of my music discovery. He tried so hard to get me into Sepultura. This was literally a decades-long project. And yet, it was all for naught. It took a bracket challenge on Bluesky of all places to finally get me to listen to them.
And look, this record rips! If you’re a metal fan, you’ll love it. It’s in the same wheelhouse as LPs like Metallica’s Kill’ Em All and even Suicidal Tendencies. Perfect for ripping along back roads at 110 mph. Best played loud and not on a pair of work speakers at 8 AM, but you do what you gotta do. if I had to name a pull track, “Inner self” would do the trick.
All in all, a solid outing! A cursory glance online says that this is also a fan favorite, so there’s that.
I wouldn’t have much minded this as a teenager, but I likely would have only gone as far as getting a copy from someone. Maybe. I was just too far gone into other genres to dig this. Besides, a lot of the same people listening to this in ‘89 were the ones throwing me into lockers during passing time. Sorry, Marky, but I’m going to pass.
My vote: Chicago > Belo Horizonte. Would love to hear what you think!
Any thoughts on either of these records? Agree/disagree with my takes? Which one of these would you vote for? Sound off in the comments!
63 The Primitives, Pure vs. #66 Bob Dylan, Oh Mercy
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at records from the Primitives and Bob Dylan
Note: As many of you know, I recently wrote about a Best Record of 1989 challenge and noted that I’d be occasionally writing some of these up.
I’ve started doing some quick hits of each matchup and posting them directly to the page. Some will be longer, some won’t, and some might just be a handful of sentences. There’ll probably definitely be some typos.
Check ’em out and let me know your thoughts! Chin wags & hot takes welcome! Sharing and restacks are always appreciated.
KA—
Pure is The Primitives’ sophomore record, following Lovely (home of the hit “Crash”). They’re often lazily categorized as “pop,” though I’d say any Venn diagram should include pop, power pop, and new wave. On this release, I might add a smaller circle for psychedelia.
This record is a sign of the time, and no one was impervious to the “Madchester” sound. You can hear bits and pieces of it worked in throughout the record. Pure is an album loaded for bear with lethal hooks and jangly guitars— all supporting Tracy Tracy’s distinct vocals. This makes for a solid if disposable batch of pop songs.
Here’s the thing, though; things get interesting when the band starts playing further afield- I’m thinking specifically of the tapping into that experimental psychedelia, but more importantly, tracks where guitarist PJ Court takes over on vox. Maybe it’s because it’s an unexpected change, but I found those tracks to be the record’s highlights. You would be excused for mistaking “All The Way Down” for a Jesus and Mary Chain track. “I Almost Touched You” sounds like (insert your fave Madchester band here), but is still a fun listen.
Ultimately, this record was a pleasant diversion. Certainly not unforgettable, and unlikely something I’ll reach for again, but with a couple of tracks that’ll probably wind up on a playlist or two at some point.
Kinda like a lot of the Manchester bands of the era.
As soon as I saw this record made the cut, I knew this was coming.
I know that no matter what I write, no matter how many angels sing, I will get at least one reply telling me that it wasn’t enough, that I hadn’t quite prostrated myself correctly at the feet of Dylan. And how dare I?
There will invariably be some invective telling me to go F myself as well. Which, ok. I mean, I get it. This is a man people love dearly. He could read the phone book, and someone, somewhere, would laud it. Someone else would pore over the lyrics with a Talmudic intensity, searching for hidden meaning from our Minnesota magi.
I am not one of those people.
I can respect the love people have for him. I find his influence on music and pop culture interesting. But I have to be in the mood—I mean, really in the mood—to hear some Dylan, and even then, it’s limited to small doses. My runaway favorite song is this version of “Jokerman,” and most of that is because he’s playing with The Plugz.
He made a Christian rock record, and it didn’t go down well. My first thought was that this was another helping of that, and a sermon from Bob Dylan was absolutely not something I needed.
Cueing up opener “Political World” made defaulting to all my preconceptions easy. I vaguely remember hearing it, and wondered if I’d found it as pedestrian then as I did today. We talked about Lou Reed’s New York recently, and all I could think of was how much better he did the “The world is shit” bit better with his “Dirty Blvd.” track.
(sigh)
But a funny thing happened on the next track (“Where Teardrops Fall”); I found myself almost… enjoying it? What was happening here?! “Everything Is Broken” has an easy rhythm and groove that is even better. Was I…was I digging a Dylan record? Order was restored with “Ring Them Bells,” a ballad that did absolutely nothing for me. It’s nice, I guess. I’m sure one of the reply guys has this on their funeral playlist. That’s fine, too. “Man in the Long Black Coat” felt vaguely Biblical, like he hadn’t quite moved past the idea of witnessing to all of us. It’s also got about 12m listens on Spotify as I type this, so clearly someone, somewhere digs it.
Ultimately, Oh Mercy breaks a streak of some awful records, even by his standards. That’s a notch in the win column. Daniel Lanois and the musicians did well to create a soothing and uneasy atmosphere (depending on the track).
Compared to his other records, I found this to be pretty good! Not bad, even! But it’s still not something I’d proactively reach for. And it’ll never beat that version of “Jokerman.”
I’ll see you in my inbox.
My vote: The winner here meets Paul’s Boutique in the next round, so any victory’ll be short-lived. My bracket pick played to my confirmation bias (80s kid energy vs. Ok Boomer vibes). But after listening again, my vote today’ll likely go to Dylan. Would love to hear what you think!
Any thoughts on either of these records? Agree/disagree with my takes? Which one of these would you vote for? Sound off in the comments!
2 Beastie Boys, Paul’s Boutique vs. #127 Cardiacs, On Land and in the Sea
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at records from Beastie Boys and Cardiacs
Note: As many of you know, I recently wrote about a Best Record of 1989 challenge and noted that I’d be occasionally writing some of these up.
I’ve started doing some quick hits of each matchup and posting them directly to the page. Some will be longer, some won’t, and some might just be a handful of sentences. There’ll probably definitely be some typos.
Check ’em out and let me know your thoughts! Chin wags & hot takes welcome! Sharing and restacks are always appreciated.
KA—
Last fall, Sam Colt and I took on the absurd fun idea of writing up our respective Top 100 lists. We started at 100, and over several weeks worked out way to the top. I’ll say only this; Paul’s Boutique made it’s appearance pretty late in the game. Felt strange trying to describe what is best described as the band’s magnum opus, but below is/was my attempt.
Around the time this came out, a guy was something of an extra in the movie of my life. He was a DJ, and I’d see him everywhere. Tower Records, house parties, on the street; you name it. I lived in a suburb, but it wasn’t that small. He would refer to himself as “{your] hip hop connection” and hand us a business card, which I guess was the late 80s way of building a brand. I dunno. But he was really good at turning people on to new records. One of them was Paul’s Boutique.
Running into him on the street, he was evangelical about the record, almost begging us to buy it and see for ourselves. I did…and was promptly disappointed. In hindsight, I should‘ve known a DJ would talk up a record built on samples- so many, in fact, that a lot of them are almost unrecognizable. But I was expecting/half hoping for a License to Ill PT II. That, of course, wasn’t going to happen. Time and the band had moved on.
What we got instead was nothing the world had ever seen. MCA hadn’t yet gone full monk, but he was already cooler than a cucumber in a bowl of hot sauce. Tracks like “Shake Your Rump” show Ad-Rock and Mike D largely dropping the frat boy bit but none of their swagger. For anyone looking for “Brass Monkey” or a similar ditty about chasing girls, “Hey Ladies” will have to do. “Sounds of Science” is still a banger. “Looking Down The Barrel of a Gun” feels like an homage to the Cookie Puss days. This is a hip-hop record, but they were a band first.
It took me a while, but I came around to his record. Several months later, I was at a party where my DJ friend was spinning wax. He played “Sounds of Science,” and the place came alive. Later that night, we were outside smoking, and I told them I loved the record. “Man, I told you!” he said, “If you ever need a DJ, let me know,” pressing yet another business card into my hand.
Thirty-something years later, my son tagged along with me to our local record store. He liked rap and was looking for what would be his first vinyl buy. I sold him on Paul’s Boutique the same way I had been all those years—and miles—ago. He walked out the door with a copy.
If listening to Paul’s Boutique made me feel 10 times cooler, playing On Land and in the Sea did the opposite. I know there’s a whole world of fans out there that dig this sort of thing, but it just felt like a bit that would show up on an episode of The Young Ones. Something Vyv would love and something Mike the Cool Person wouldn’t touch. Rick would go predictably berserk, and Neil would say something out of pocket about carrots, or whatever. Hijinks ensue! Yawn.
My vote: Is there any question? A record that upended a whole genre for the better, or one that had me looking for some Anacin? Paul’s Boutique. All day.
Any thoughts on either of these records? Agree/disagree with my takes? Which one of these would you vote for? Sound off in the comments!
Kevin Sent 