Something interesting has been happening in recent years. Bands are looking back at the 90s, filtering
through the crap and exploring the gems.
Cuz’ while pop rock, boy bands, and nu metal seemed ever-present and
quite unescapable, some really good fuckin’ music happened. The 90s were actually 10 years long. That’s a lot of space for a lot of music –
both great and wretched. This decade
encapsulated 7th grade through the end of college for The Author. And like the available tunes, this time was
both great and fucking wretched. Fans of
the great music of the era would do well to pay attention to what’s out there
today. I don’t intend to be as
well-researched as some or have all the best and obscure references listed
here. This is not Our Band Could Be Your
Life, but…
…when 1990 hit I was doing time
at Miller Grove Jr High. AKA Killer Grove.
My adventurous and terrifying 7th grade year was the result
of school busing. It was a terrible
social experiment and I was beat regularly for being an underclassman, for
being about as goofy as a 13 year old boy with a mullet can be, for being a
whitey, and…for making heavy metal my music of choice. I had five shirts that I rotated; four of
them were band shirts. My favorite of the bunch was my Anthrax T – it featured caricatures of the five New
Yawkers on the front and “State of Euphoria” on the back. I dug some thrash metal, but mostly I dug
Anthrax.
In 1990, things were on the
precipice of slowing down, of introducing ballads, of not raging 100%. I didn’t know that then, but I certainly didn’t
take it for granted at the time. Years
later (call it ’95), still a devotee of Anthrax, I couldn’t help but be gravely
concerned by their alternative leanings.
There was a space for alternative or “college rock”; there was a space
for thrash metal. Hell, there was a space
for rap and pop. It was on the other side
of the gym where the cool kids hung out. Not where I was. Anyway, only in the rarest of circumstances
should these various spaces meet. So it
was pretty disappointing to watch my favorite thrashers react to market forces
and alter their sound accordingly (probably aiding and abetting said
forces). Thrash was over.
That’s why in 2005 when I
first heard
Havok in Denver, Colorado I couldn’t believe my fucking ears.
Kids playing pure, unadulterated thrash and
fucking nailing it! It brought me back to wearing down Among the Living each
morning on my walkman. Imagining circle pitting and headbanging at a concert if
only my folks would let me go.
Havok was
so young at the time, that when a carload of us drove out to the suburbs to see
them rock some parent’s garage on a Friday night, we missed the entire performance
by not realizing that for the kids by the kids sometimes
actually meant kids.
“Is Havok playing here
tonight?”
“They already played an hour
ago. They all went to McDonalds.”
My watch read 9:15.
Havok (all adults now) have turned
into the forerunner of thrash metal revival worldwide. Churning out album after album of perfected
thrash, their sound can’t be matched.
Vocalist David Sanchez nails Testament’s Chuck Billy. Slayer, Exodus, Sepultura. They’re all represented. Played flawlessly without a trace of fucking
irony. Any casual fan of metal will be
impressed by their output. Because they
are a touring machine, odds are they’ll be in your town soon. Of all the bands mentioned herein, I have
been consistently pushing Havok the longest.
By 9th grade, I
was serving sentence in Redneck, GA, population: get-me-the-hell-out-of-here. Sure, there were more metal heads
around. More Metallica t-shirts. More mullets.
There was also wide-spread racism. jaw-dropping use of history’s most frowned upon racial label. A far cry from being jumped because I was
white kid with a shimmering gold 49ers Starter only two years past. But I guess that’s what white flight gets
you. And my parents definitely
high-tailed it after my year of living dangerously at Killer Grove.
My buddy Lanier (surely named
after that large body of water just north of Atlanta) always seemed to be on
the cutting edge of music. He also had
all the best shirts from Gadzooks at the mall.
Lanier introduced me to the Exploited, DRI, The Misfits and
Nirvana. Yeah, yeah I know. I’m ordering him a fruit basket right
now. I clearly remember sitting in the
school auditorium and looking through his recent cassette acquisitions. There was one with a black and white negative
cover photo that caught my eye. I took a
look inside and just saw a guitar player loosely sprawled over a crumbling drum
set. The expression on the guy’s face
seemed to say that even he didn’t know what was going on. It was not rock n roll. It was chaos.
Two seconds later, Teen
Spirit hit MTV.
Nirvana ended pretty early on
in the 90s. The decade still had plenty
of years left of corporate-created douchey bar bands passing off their brand of
so-called new rock for Nirvana/Pearl Jam/Alice in Chains-inspired schlock. A deep voice, introspective lyrics, a
cathartic chorus, and a tribal tattoo were all you needed, dude bro. Ug.
20 years later, small bands,
real bands are picking up the influence.
Not copying, but blending and giving nods to what happened in Seattle
and reverberated globally. Punks who want to play some heavy shit.
Start first with
Black Wine.
Three albums deep now (and a fourth on deck) – this is what happens
when The Ergs! meets with the psychedelic crunch of Hunchback.
It’s heavy and angry, but graceful, as if
Neil Young was on SST.
Sabbath riffage
filtered through the Meat Puppets.
Also
exploding out of the Garden State are
Screaming Females.
Marissa Paternoster shreds like fuckin’ Angus
Young behind Steve Albini’s production ala In Utero.
Her throaty groan like a signature
makes their sounds uniquely theirs.
They’ve
been pounding away for years with a prolific back catalog of ever improving tuneage
and are well-deserving of their recent accolade. Finally,
Big Eyes delivers a
catchey punch of pop-driven rockers on their recent LP on
Grave Mistake.
Relocated from NJ to Seattle (go figure),
think pared down 70s rock like the Runaways or early Kiss. While not relying
too much on riffs, their infectious hooks get caught in the brain. It reminds
me of bands like The Breeders that went down easy and made me feel good about
myself amidst plenty of mid-teenage self-loathing.
Note: all of these three
bands feature female vocals (at least partly).
All of these bands have ties to NJ. They’re all power-trios. I’ll be
damned.
Athens, GA was home to possibly
the biggest alternative (cum mainstream) band of the 90s – REM. But REM had nothing to do with the
post-hardcore/pop-punk/sludge-grind bands I was seeing in various basements around
the isolated college town. DIY or die! We boycotted nearly every actual venue in
town in favor of all-age spaces. Oblivion,
Hot Water Music, Action Patrol, Ann Berretta, Promise Ring, Damad and a string
of regional locals like Quadiliacha, The Martin Family, Tres Kids. It was loud, intimate, often boring,
sometimes astounding.
Back then, I wore my hair
long like an asshole. I wore shirts too
big that concealed my freshmen 15 or my sophomore 25. I was pissed at
everything, self-righteous and self-assured, but utterly confused. I might cringe at some of those memories, but
mostly they elicit a smile or two. That’s
why hearing bands today sincerely capture that 90s basement vibe warms my aging
heart.
For any and all of you
looking for that fix, I would direct you to two bands and labels of note.
Tenement and their forthcoming record on
Don Giovanni.
Glass Hits and
Snappy LittleNumbers out of Denver.
Tenement just
screams of the era.
Buzz ala Dino Jr
laced with uplifting, imperfect vocals.
These guys are more prolific than my wallet will allow, but their Don
Gio debut is bound to be worth the bucks.
That label has supported many of the aforementioned and expertly caters
to the genre.
Chuck Coffey, aficionado
of great music through and through, spearheads the Snappy Little Numbers label
and relishes in nostalgia tuned to present day.
Empty Palace emphasizes the 70s; Hooper, early 2000s pop-punk channeled
through Sunny Day; Friends of Cesar Romero, Elvis fuckin’ Costello.
For the purposes of today’s subject, I want
to dwell on Glass Hits who again seem to conjure thoughts of dusty basements,
of $5.00 shows, of barely-employed summers.
When I first heard their LP, I immediately reached for disc 2 of my
Dischord box set.
But before long, I was
listening to Void.
Those demons
exorcised, I got to go back to Glass Hits and truly dig their effort.
Put them on your radar.
Now, I left out plenty of
good bands here for sure. So many bands,
so little…you know. And I held back on
plenty of memories both important and embarrassing and irritating. Important, like Ken Stanton lending me Brain
Drain, my first legit introduction to Ramones.
Embarrassing, like belonging to the B-52s fan club. Irritating, like
being forced to listen to the Metallica black album on repeat in gym class.
You’re doing yourself a
disservice if you draw the line on your musical interests at a certain
year. It’s easy to criticize and
scapegoat influence as a deficit of originality. But don’t forget, Nirvana was heavily
influenced by the likes of Pixies and Melvins.
It seems like all the bands of that era owe a debt to Husker Du as
well. Led Zeppelin stole blues riffs. So
what? Influence, tribute, gratitude are
crucial components. An old friend used to say while hunched over his fret-board,
“talent borrows, genius steals.”
