As part of the Best Record of 1989 challenge, we’re taking another look at The B52’s Cosmic Thing. This originally ran in June of last year, and has only been lightly edited for today.
Tomorrow marks 35 years since The B52s released Cosmic Thing, their fifth full-length studio album1 and the first made without founding member Ricky Wilson.
After an incredible three-record run, the B-52s had carved out a place as cult favorites and the perfect soundtrack for any party—out of bounds or not. However, tragedy struck the band when Wilson passed away. The remaining members finished the fourth album but didn’t tour to promote it or really do much with it at all.
We would go to radio stations basically to beg them to play the song. Even the record company thought it was too weird. I thought it was the most accessible thing we had done.
The B52s’ Fred Schneider
The album signals a shift in the group’s style. Wilson’s death was a shock to the system. The quirky lyrics and party band mood were still there, as was the big hair. But this record pivoted to more sophisticated sounds and heavier grooves. It was met with lukewarm critical reviews and low commercial sales and is often overlooked in discussions about the band. If anything, it’s very much a record occupying a liminal space in the band’s discography and marks the boundary between Ricky’s records and the ones that came afterward.
After Wilson’s death, no one would’ve blamed the B52s for calling it quits. Indeed, they almost did. Raw with grief, the band pushed on and released 1986’s Bouncing Off the Satellites, a record that even today has never quite washed off the ash of loss it was covered in. It’s a record from a party band who felt like doing anything but.
Camp and a good time were two of their calling cards, all packaged in lovely new wave sound. Those were largely absent on Bouncing, leaving fans wondering what—if anything— was next.
Like the band, I found this record in a liminal space in my own life. In the fallout after my dad’s passing, my mom and I somehow found ourselves at K-Mart, of all places. Turns out that even in the throes of grief, you need things like potting soil. On that trip, I got a scooter and a copy of this on cassette. I don’t remember asking for either. In hindsight, I think as a recent widow, my mom just wasn’t sure what to do, and maybe throwing some gifts at it all would help. The scooter lasted a matter of months. The cassette is upstairs somewhere as I type this.
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“I lived in a house across the pond from Keith [Strickland], and I’d canoe over to his house…he played me a couple of things, and then we all got together. We said, ‘This is for us, for our healing, and this is for Ricky.’ It was kind of miraculous that we came back together.”
Flash forward 3 years, life is better, though trying to navigate high school in the late 80s was, um, something. Meanwhile, at the urging of Keith Strickland, the group decided to give it another go. You never really know what you’ll get with the B52s (this band gave us everything from ‘Private Idaho’ to ‘Quiche Lorraine,’ after all), and the tracks on Cosmic Thing were no exception. Camp and quirk were out, traded for a much more polished, full sound. New wave was swapped for pop. Much of that was down to the production combo of Niles Rodgers and Don Was, with the legendary Chic guitarist giving the record plenty of funk and Was adding touches of pop magic throughout.
Sound aside, the record also marks a departure from the band’s vocal stylings. Whereas before, they’d done a lot of call-and-response-type stuff or had either Cindy Wilson or Kate Pierson singing alone, this time, the producers had them singing together on tracks like ‘Channel Z,’ ‘Cosmic Thing,’ and ‘Deadbeat Club.’ And by together I mean so closely in tune that listeners would be excused for thinking it was one wonderful voice.
If Bouncing Off the Satellites’ sound signaled the start of the transition, Cosmic Thing represented a clean break.
The lead single, ‘Channel Z,’ with its thumping bass, is infectious and reminds one of ‘Mesopotamia.’ It was purpose-built to be a dancefloor filler. Nevertheless, it fizzled on the charts, not even breaking into the Hot 100.
The title track did a little better, quelling some fears, but it would be the third single that changed everything.
That single the band had such a hard time selling to radio stations?
It was ‘Love Shack.’
The song took its sweet time to work its way up the charts, taking 2.5 months to work all the way up to #3 on the Hot 100 before starting its reentry back to earth. But it’s also never really left the airwaves and can still be heard fairly regularly today.
If there was any question that this was a comeback record, ‘Roam’ erased those doubts. The follow-up to ‘Love Shack’ also made it all the way to the third spot in early 1990 and helped the record peak at #4.
‘Deadbeat Club’ was the last of the singles and made it to #30. It’s also the most wistful track on the album—which, after a decade together, probably makes sense—and if forced to choose, is the one track that’s out of place here. That’s not to say it’s bad—it’s not—but it’s different. Even the best of party bands is entitled to a little reminiscence.
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35 years on, it would be easy to call Cosmic Thing a statement record, and one that marked not only the band’s comeback but their ascent into pop stardom. That’s not quite how it played out, however. Cindy Wilson left in 1990 to focus on her family. The band, now a trio, released 1992’s Good Stuff, only to be met with mediocre sales and middling reviews. Wilson would eventually return, and the band would return to the studio…8 years later. In 2006, they began work on what would become 2008’s Funhouse. It had two singles make the dance charts but is largely forgotten otherwise.
So, where does that leave Cosmic Thing in the grand scheme of things?
It most certainly is a comeback record, and it made clear in no uncertain terms that the band was back (they are literally doing a final run of shows as I write this). Perhaps more importantly, on this record, the band sounds like they’re back to enjoying themselves again.
1989 was as good of a time as any for the band to take some risk and break some new ground. Cosmic Thing is a record that is a little introspective, a bit autobiographical, and a lot of fun.
Effie, Madge, and Mabel would approve.
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What are your thoughts on this record? Do you have any favorite tracks or memories associated with it? Where does it land on your list of albums by The B52s? Share your thoughts in the comments!
The Best Record of 1989: Day 44: #90 Roy Orbison, Mystery Girl vs. #39 Jungle brothers, Done By the Forces of Nature
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at records from Roy Orbison and Jungle Brothers
Note: As many of you know, I recently wrote about a Best Record of 1989 challenge and noted that I’d occasionally write 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—
Let’s talk about Jungle Brothers’ second album. Done by the Forces of Nature isn’t just their best—it’s their crowning achievement. IMO, it’s conscious rap’s finest hour.
Hyperbole? Maybe. But I’ve listened to a ton of albums over the years, and I can’t think of one this consistent from front to back—fifteen tracks, and not a single dud in the mix. No filler. No skits. No middling nonsense. Just bangers. It never gets boring. It never stalls out. It’s sonically rich and wide-ranging. Even the cover reminds me of a happier era.
Picking a pull track here is tough. If pushed, I’d go with “Sunshine” and the infectious “What U Waitin’ For?”. If you’re old enough to remember house parties, this’ll take you right back to being squished into the front room with everyone. And of course, this being made when it was, there’s a group track, featuring Q-Tip, Monie Love, Queen Latifah, and De La Soul. It’s pretty much the full roster of the Native Tongues crew just vibing.
The production is textbook; especially with regards to sampling. Sure, you’ll recognize the samples, but they’re chopped, layered, and flipped into something new. And is that a sample of Junior’s “Mama Used to Say” on “Days 2 Come?” You better believe it. Magic. This was back when producers were alchemists, not just playlist DJs with a loop pack and a laptop. The sample of People’s Choice’s “Do It Any Way You Wanna” on “What U Waitin’ For?” is (chef’s kiss). On a sidenote, this is also fuels Public Enemy’s equally fantastic “Shake Your Booty.”
Sound-wise, you’ve got a sizeable dose of funk, jazz, and—less common at the time—Afrobeat, which fits well with the album’s Afrocentric vibe. But here’s the deal: it never gets preachy or self-righteous. None of that aggressive posturing some so-called “conscious” acts fell into that just got exhausting after a few tracks. Jungle Brothers recognize that rest is resistance. It’s okay to cut loose once in a while! It’s grounded and positive in a way often missing in modern rap.
This is the record people are thinking of when they talk about conscious, alternative hip-hop. It’s the blueprint, but somehow, still underappreciated. Maybe even forgotten in some circles? I’m sure some of that is down to its (relative) unavailability, which is a shame.
If you’ve never heard it, fix that immediately (you can find it on YouTube). If you have—listen again. It’s even better than you remember.
Until now, the only track I’d heard from Roy Orbison’s Mystery Girl was the hit “You Got It,” which seemed everywhere back in the day. With his operatic voice, Orbison has always seemed out of place in the world of rock. That’s not to say his voice is not stunning, only that he’s a square peg trying to fit in a round hole. He’s unique; I’ll give him that.
Mystery Girl was a comeback record in every sense of the word. After 10 years and a run of not-so-great releases, he put out what would be one of his best records. Unfortunately, it would also be the last one recorded while he was alive. Released posthumously, it was finished just a month or so before he passed away.
At the risk of being crass, if you’re going out on a high note, this is the way to do it. I’m not all that familiar with Orbison’s body of work, but taken in isolation, Mystery Girl works. An armada of talent put this together, including (at least) Jeff Lynne, Tom Petty, and the more famous half of U2. Bono and The Edge wrote “She’s A Mystery to Me” for Orbsion, and Bono produced the song.
With a roster like this, there’s always a risk of an album coming across as disjointed, but listening, I’m surprised at how consistent it sounds. There’s no shortage of sheen here—it’s a Jeff Lynne record, after all—but it doesn’t detract from things. The horns on songs like “The Only One” give it a nice Memphis sound.
Overall, it feels like the epitome of an Orbison record. Too bad he never got to see everyone enjoying it.
My vote: Orbison went out on a high note, but Done By The Forces of Nature is a force of nature. By bracket pick and vote are going to Jungle Brothers.
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!
The Best Record of 1989, Day 43: #26 Bob Mould, Workbook vs #103 Skinny Puppy, Rabies
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at records from Bob Mould and Skinny Puppy
Note: As many of you know, I recently wrote about a Best Record of 1989 challenge and noted that I’d occasionally write 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—
The first time I heard Husker Du’s New Day Rising, it was like a kick to the head. The blast furnace riffs, the distortion, the vocals—the record was a revelation. I couldn’t get enough and went on to devour any record of theirs I could find.
The first time I heard Bob Mould’s Workbook, I was surprised. I’d been looking for more of the same and instead got… an acoustic guitar? And was that a cello? WTF was going on here? Where was the feedback? The molten lava feedback? Had Mould gone pop?
Maybe. Or maybe he was just tired of being angry. Either way, Husker Du was dead, and Mould was starting anew. In his autobiography, “See A Little Light,” he notes, “I sensed there was a part of the punk audience that would feel betrayed.” I’m sure there was plenty of that (it’s worth noting that when seeing Sugar a few years later, he emphatically stated that they would NOT be playing any Husker Du songs), but if anyone felt betrayed, that’s on them.
Artists are allowed to pivot, are they not?
I didn’t feel betrayed per se— I hadn’t been a Husker fan that long, anyway. Even if that was justified, I’m not sure I’d put in enough time for it to be justified. It was a case of not knowing what to do with what I had in my hands. I was an angry/angsty teenager, and records like New Day Rising fit right in with that. Workbook opens with a 2(ish) minute acoustic number. This record was appealing, but it was also much more (relatively) poppy. Those two things did not align for 14-15-year-old me.
Much like the Grinch, whose heart grows two times bigger, mine opened just enough to let this record in. It took a few listens and more than a few renewals from the Beaverton Library for that to happen, but I eventually came to love this record.
The aforementioned acoustic track (“Sunspots”) is fine, but things really kick off with “Wishing Well,” which to my ear initially felt like a feedback-free return to form. “See a Little Light” is, for my money, the most accessible track Mould has ever penned. I’m talking about mainstream audiences here, btw.
“Poison Years” is a preview of what was to come with Mould’s next project, Sugar, and proves early that this wouldn’t be all mandolins (or whatever) and pastoral moods. It was all right there; it just took a few listens for it to click for me. Mould is supported by Tony Fier and Tony Maimone here, and they do well to both support him as he strikes out on his own and keep him tethered (this isn’t the last time we’ll see Maimone in this challenge, btw).
And lest anyone still feel betrayed, the swirling maelstrom of the closing track, “Whatever Way The Wind Blows,” offers one last chance to see that the patented sound hadn’t died; it‘d just changed form.
My youngest son recently asked me if he could go with his friends to see Pantera play. My official on-the-record answer was that I needed more info (who, what, here, all the things we’re supposed to be asking). My unofficial answer was “hell yeah.”
My own experience with shows means I require clearing a pretty low bar to get permission. Really, it just involves listening to my prepackaged bit about safety, sticking together (he’s going with friends), and serving up my boilerplate speech about wearing earplugs. Luckily, a lifetime of him hearing me say “What?” makes this an easy sell. But really, I just want him and his brother to have the same transformative experiences I did.
In the winter of 1990, I had a chance to see Skinny Puppy perform. I’m intentionally using the word “perform” here instead of the (linguistically) easier “play.” It was as much a performance as a concert, and it completely rearranged my mind in all the best ways. The kids today would describe it as unhinged.
You could say the same thing for their records. Bites was my on-ramp to the band, and “Assimilate” is still one of my go-to records anytime I’m in the mood to hear something industrial. Many of those elements were still in place on Rabies; Nivek Ogre’s vocal stylings (half growl/half underwater), film clip dialogue spliced into tracks, and synths best described as vaguely menacing. There is an art to creating music like this, and Skinny Puppy are master craftsmen.
Opener “Rodent” starts things off on just the right note. Ditto “Hexonxonx.” You want industrial dance music? You’re gonna get industrial dance music. “Worlock” comes across as something Front 242’s evil twin made. It’s magnificent.
Ministry’s Alain Jourgensen produced and contributed here, and depending on your tastes, either enhances the order or detracts from it. This was the same era as “A Mind Is a Terrible Thing to Taste,” where our Al was shifting further away from synths and more towards blinding speed and off-the-charts BPMs. That works well in limited doses, but feels out of place in spots. And that’s the rub; as a fan of the band, this is a record I enjoyed, but don’t return to the same way I do Bites, Viva Sect VI, or Remission. I like my Skinny puppy synth-y, thank you.
Tracks like “Tin Omen” would be right at home on A Mind…, but on Rabies, they feel a bit like an odd man out. Still, it sounded great live; I just wish I’d worn earplugs.
My vote: To varying degrees, both of these records represent a shift in style(s). Rabies is more of a transition, while Workbook is almost a clean break. There’s really not much other common ground here.
Workbook took time to grow on me, while Rabies never truly landed the way earlier records had. I played it early and often, but it was more about skipping to tracks I liked than letting it play all the way through. Workbook was enjoyable enough to clear the hurdle of my preconceived notions, while Rabies clipped the bar. My vote will be for the former.
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!
The Best Record of 1989: Day 42: #58 Boogie Down Productions, Ghetto Music: The Blueprint of Hip Hop vs #71Young MC, Stone Cold Rhymin’
Good morning!
Today we’re taking a look at records from BDP and Young MC
Note: As many of you know, I recently wrote about a Best Record of 1989 challenge and noted that I’d occasionally write 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—
BDP—and, by extension, KRS-One—have always been lost on me. I have been much more interested in his role as a sort of hip-hop ambassador emeritus and the work he’s done in/for the community than I have in his work as an MC. This is not an indictment of his talent but a testament to where I was in life when he hit.
In 1989, things like “conscious rap” and a return to core principles weren’t on my radar. Sure, I’d take all the boom bap you could give me, but I was more into the beats (and bass) than anything else. Lessons and teachable moments? No thanks. And let’s be honest; as a teenager, hearing rhymes about “bitches” and light crimes was probably more thrilling than anything that would have opened my mind or raised my consciousness. I’m not saying that was cool; I’m just saying that’s how it was.
All that aside, there was a TON of hip hop to pick from in ‘89. We’ve already seen records from LL Cool J, The D.O.C., NWA, Biz Markie, Beastie Boys, with more on the way. No one was left wanting, regardless of what you were looking for in an MC or crew.
So while I was off misspending my youth, KRS-One was spreading a message to anyone ready to hear it. After the landmark Criminal Minded and By All Means Necessary, BDP came back for its third record in as many years: Ghetto Music: The Blueprint Of Hip-Hop.
The record has a dancehall/reggae flavor, reinforced through the samples used and lyrical cadence. Those easy rhythms support some harsh truths and real talk as KRS-One and co. take on all comers. No one’s safe; sucka MCs… crooked cops…you name it. The theme here is peace through strength. To achieve anything worthwhile, you must be willing to fight for it. “World Peace” throws an exclamation point on that, with wit, a deceivingly soulful beat, and a good dose of horns, oh, and a refrain of:
If we really want world peace And we want it right now We must make up our minds to take.. it..
That message was on time in ‘89 and is particularly relevant today. I might’ve passed on BDP back in the day, but Ghetto Music: The Blueprint Of Hip-Hop is too important to leave on the shelf.
The easy line here would be to note that Young MC had a massive hit with “Bust a Move,” and that was that. We could also talk about the chatter calling him an industry plant and grumble about his doing ads for Taco Bell and Pepsi. Doing ads might raise hackles, but they make financial sense. And who better in the game to pencil that out than someone with a (checks notes) economics degree from USC? WTF? Wasn’t everyone in ‘89 trying to talk about how street they were?
Maybe, but is it better to have one massive hit or a string of tracks the heads deem essential? One acts as a de facto annuity, and one gets you…props.
Depending on the criteria, Marvin “Young MC” Young had more than one hit to his name, helping pen some hit tracks for Tone Loc you might have heard. Even on this record, there were no less than six singles. I’ll be damed if I can remember more than two of them (“Principal’s Office” was also pretty good).
And the truth is, Stone Cold Rhymin is pretty good too. Some of the bars sound dated, as does the flow, but I’m listening to this as I type, and the overarching sentiment is one of surprise and mild delight. This isn’t half bad! Reading the liner notes, it looks like our man also had plenty of help; Mario “Mario C” Caldato Jr. is in the mix. Flea shows up. Wild. N’Dea Davenport of labelmates Brand New Heavies appears on “I Come Off.” There’s a lot more here than just the refrain of “if you want it, you got it, “ and a girl in yellow dancing on Arsenio Hall.
As much as I love that song (yes, really!), listening to it today, I’d dare say it’s not even the second or third best track on the record. The title goes to “Know How.” Young gets some help from the Dust Brothers, and using a sample from Shaft and the infamous Apache drum break, they deliver an absolute Banger.
Say what you will about Young MC, but he deserves credit for putting together a feel-good record that never tried to pretend it was anything different.
My vote: One of these records reinforced my (preconceived) notions about it, while the other demolished similar thoughts. BDP is good, carries a worthwhile message, and still just isn’t my bag. It is what it is. Young MC, meanwhile, put out a record far better than I remember/would‘ve given him credit for. I never owned either, but I am a little bummed it took me almost 40 years to dig into Stone Cold Rhymin’.
In sum, you’ve got some music with a message and a feel-good record. I have a feeling this is one match where people will vote for what they perceive as the more ‘real” record. Using that metric, BDP is the winner hands down, and my bracket reflects it.
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!
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!
Kevin Sent 