Alternative and Indie

Ween “Pure Guava” (Elektra, 1992)

Talk about a uniquely weird major-label debut… The New Hope, Pennsylvania duo Ween were coming off two strange indie albums that were definitive cult artifacts: God Ween Satan: The Oneness and The Pod. (I’m going to ignore the pre-God Ween Satan cassettes, if it’s okay with you. Right here I’ll admit I’m a Ween dilettante, so I’m sure that the hardcore fans will find much in this review about which to quibble. So be it.) Jumping to Elektra in the wake of Nirvana’s Nevermind blowing up, Ween somewhat spiffed up the production values on Pure Guava and let their pop instincts flow while still allowing their soiled freak flag to flutter wildly in the sooty wind.

Naturally eclectic, preternaturally goofy, and seemingly prodigious drug-partakers, Gene Ween (Aaron Freeman) and Dean Ween (Mickey Melchiondo) treated genres such as prog, psych, punk, funk, metal, folk, country, reggae, and gospel like Beavis & Butthead treated societal niceties. These scatologically minded guitarist/vocalists could play their asses off, but they had an aversion to doing things straight (in at least two senses of the word). You can hear their perverse inclinations bloom like the daisies that everyone’s going to be pushing up.

Speaking of which, Pure Guava features Ween’s biggest hit, “Push Th’ Little Daisies,” which lit up MTV, back when that station served a crucial music-biz function. It’s a decidedly amiable slice of hot-fun-in-the-summertime pop with cute, helium-aided vocals and guitars warped to a smeared jangle. Sounds amazing when you’re baked, I’d imagine. Its success must’ve made Elektra feel smug over their risky signing paying off.

The shinier production and bigger budget didn’t erase Ween’s innate trippiness, even on a sincere loner plaint such as “Little Birdy.” With its whispered vocals and solemn melody, “Tender Situation” exemplifies Ween’s ability to blur the distinction between seriousness and parody. The bizarre Theremin-like noises that brighten the song’s corners sure keep the listener guessing.

“The Stallion (Pt. 3)” and “Don’t Get 2 Close (2 My Fantasy)” basically invented Tenacious D, thanks to their overly formal vocal enunciation, faux-prog flourishes, and absurd lyrics—a mixed blessing, to be sure. Better, though is the excellent, low-key novelty rock of “The Goin’ Gets Tough From The Getgo” and the lo-fi, crazy-angled funk of “Reggaejunkiejew”—which is about 100 times better than its title. “I Play It Off Legit” might be the most nonchalantly cool song in Ween’s voluminous catalog; remove the mumbly vocals and it wouldn’t sound out of place on Tortoise’s first album.

“Pumpin’ 4 The Man” is a speedy country pisstake whose music crushes the stoopit lyrics while “Sarah” is a dewy, heart-on-sleeve ballad that kind of foreshadows “A Tear For Eddie,” Ween’s tribute to Funkadelic’s “Maggot Brain.” This is contrasted by a slew of tunes in the record’s second half that are full of creative instrumentation and odd stylistic juxtapositions, unfortunately marred by jokey vocals and cringey lyrics that wear out their welcome. That being said, “Mourning Glory” is an adequate Butthole Surfers tribute.

Pure Guava peaks on “Springtheme,” a sublime homage to Prince at his most blissed out and falsetto’d. It’s such a laid-back, suave seducer of a song, it should come with birth control. Again, it’s hard to ascertain if Ween are parodying or honoring, but whatever the case, the magic here is undeniable. This may be a minority opinion, but “Springtheme” is Ween’s best song… by at least a few nipple hairs. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Dinosaur Jr. “You’re Living All Over Me” (SST, 1987)

On their second LP, You’re Living All Over Me, Dinosaur Jr. emerged as the missing link between Neil Young and Meat Puppets. Leaping back and forth across the chasm of pre- and post-punk with a rare agility, these three Amherst, Massachusetts musicians—guitarist/vocalist J Mascis, bassist Lou Barlow (who also played ukulele and “tapes”), and drummer Murph—created exhilarating beehives of primal rock noise.

You’re Living All Over Me‘s nine songs possess a swarming density and they ebb and flow with frightening intensity. Mascis sings as if his entire record collection got washed away in a flood. His parched, forlorn vocals ride fuzzed waves of Zuma-fied feedback, and the turbulent swells of melodic noise have a genuine poignancy and beauty that were uncommon in American post-punkdom of the ’80s.

Right from the start, “Little Fury Things” (Mascis had a thing for misspellings—see “Kracked” and “Raisans”) captures Dinosaur Jr.’s perfect balance between tenderness and turbulence. On “Kracked,” Mascis generates a thrilling update of Bubble Puppy’s wheelie-popping guitar frenzies. The aptly titled “Sludgefeast” out-grunges all of the genre’s big names as it mudslides all over the stereo field. “The Lung” is just a brutal tear-jerker, surging and wailing and shredding like you’d expect from the most sensitive badasses in Massachusetts. The heart-shattering rocker “Raisans” is as catchy as anything on Nevermind and should’ve been a hit; the melody during the line “She ripped my heart out, beating” is god-tier, especially given the lyrics it accentuates.

“Tarpit” achieves another emotional high (or is it low?); it’s a woozy power ballad for which Mascis’ laconic drawl is ideally matched. And while Barlow’s “Lose” is just C+ Dino Junior, the album-closing “Poledo” (basically the birth of Sebadoh, as it’s a Lou solo joint) is a bizarre curveball. An disorienting lo-fi collage that deals with archetypal Barlow-esque romantic and existential conundrums, “Poledo” mixes earnest and urgent folk-rock passages with harsh noise blasts and some of the most moving ambient drones ever finessed by an indie rocker. It’s a real stunner, and, to this day, it’s unbelievable that J let Lou put it on the record.

When You’re Living All Over Me was released in 1987, its unconventionally traditional sound seemed like a true revelation. Thirty-seven years later, the album stands as Dinosaur Jr.’s crowning achievement, even as the band has slouched into the status of underground rock’s respectable elder statesmen. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

The Vaselines “Enter The Vaselines” (2009, Sub Pop)

Kurt Cobain’s favorite Scottish group, the Vaselines, are best experienced through this compilation. The peak songwriting of guitarist/vocalists Frances McKee and Eugene Kelly occurred on early EPs Son Of A Gun (1987) and Dying For It (1988), with somewhat diminishing returns happening on 1989 debut album Dum-Dum. You can hear all of these recordings, plus a bonus disc containing live performances and demos of the Vaselines’ best-known songs and a middling cover of Gary Glitter Band’s “I Didn’t Know I Loved You (‘Til I Saw You Rock ‘N’ Roll),” on Enter The Vaselines.

The album—and the Vaselines’ career—kicks off with “Son Of A Gun,” an unbelievably catchy blast of adrenalized biker rock/sunshine pop. This song established the Vaselines’ dual-vocal magic, with Kelly’s deadpan cynicism and McKee’s dulcet coos forming an ideal opposites-attract dynamic. Nirvana reverently roughed it up in their Incesticide rendition. The epitome of jubilant, gland-powered pop for hedonistic youth, “Dying For It” and “Teenage Superstars” tear recklessly thorugh some forgotten ’60s garage, emitting squeals of echoey guitar that whoosh through your hair like a farfetched simile. They’re sublimely debauched songs, to be sure, and the former is one of the greatest songs of the ’80s—so good that Nirvana knew it was pointless to cover it. “Molly’s Lips”—which Nirvana did cover—slips into a gentler shimmer of guitar and features bicycle-horn squeaks and McKee’s enchanting, minty-cool vocal. Another Kurt fave, “Jesus Wants Me For A Sunbeam,” will leave you dewy-eyed and giggling with its viola and resigned girl/boy voices wringing dumb poignancy.

By contrast, “Rory Rides Me Raw” is a slow-rolling janglefest about being relentlessly fucked, while “You Think You’re A Man” is a saucy cover of Divine’s sneering, trashy hi-NRG banger from 1984. The latter was certainly a quirky choice for a Scottish rock group to tackle. The handsome, burly rocker “Sex Sux (Amen)” was as close as the Vaselines came to gr*nge. Similarly, the raunchy “Monsterpussy” cockily struts like fellow Scots Jesus And Mary Chain ca. Automatic, but with higher estrogen. More heaviness comes on “Dum-Dum,” flame-broiled biker rock with a self-explanatory title, and “Let’s Get Ugly,” whose chaotic hard rock that reveals an affinity for Blue Cheer. The epic, marauding rock and roll of “Lovecraft” exudes an air of danger—plus sitar and tabla embellishments—that you’d never suspect from looking at photos of these cute Scots.

Countering that machismo, the Vaselines dip into some Nancy Sinatra/Lee Hazlewood-like balladry on “Slushy” and “No Hope,” the latter being a conversational ballad about addiction/alcoholism. And with “Dying For It (The Blues)” a cool, sludgy, slowed-down version of their best song, the Vaselines show a heretofore hidden side and a willingness to not take themselves too seriously.

More than just a footnote in the turbulent saga of Nirvana, the Vaselines deserve their own prominent place in rock history as perhaps the best band named after a lubricant. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Beat Happening “Beat Happening” (K, 1985)

K Records founder Calvin Johnson and his Beat Happening band mates Heather Lewis and Bret Lunsford spearheaded the influential international pop underground movement in America, where a not insignificant number of youths clamored for twee, sensitive indie rock in the wake of hardcore’s macho aggression. And Beat Happening were all too gleeful to give ’em the low-fidelity, bare-bones goods on their self-titled 1985 debut album. (The original Beat Happening release contained 10 songs; it was later expanded to 23 on various editions.)

The Olympia, Washington trio released some very good records after their first one; 1988’s Jamboree, with its oft-covered, swaying ballad “Indian Summer,” particularly resonates. But Beat Happening represents the band in their purest and most moving form. One would have to be among the planet’s most hard-hearted people not to be affected by these rickety, awkward, and charming tunes.

The members’ rudimentary instrumental skills, the lack of low-end frequencies, and Johnson’s flatter-than-Herman Munster’s-noggin singing didn’t prevent Beat Happening from creating a grip of classic songs. Accusations that they can’t really play or sing ring hollow when the results are this compelling. Beat Happening’s modestly sized catalog testifies to the players’ ingenuity within limited abilities. Sure, virtuosity’s nice, but there’s a lot to be said about cool ideas expressed in a shambolic manner. (The Shaggs, for one, built a rabid cult following out of it.)

The very unpolished nature of Beat Happening’s songs allowed them to impact listeners harder. The lack of sonic clutter enabled Calvin, Heather, and Bret’s raw, untutored voices to convey cleverly relatable emotions regarding love, sex, and food with a winsome effectiveness. The songs on Beat Happening are the sonic equivalent of stick figures, yet they’re somehow imbued with a vivid dimensionality.

Album opener “Foggy Eyes”‘s endearing jangle-pop is like waking up from a pleasant dream on a sunny Sunday with no pressing obligations, ably demonstrated by Lewis’ earnest and unadorned singing—which is not quite as flat as Johnson’s. Although her voice is limited, Lewis effectively communicates romantic obsession in the 93-second gem “I Let Him Get To Me.” Another Lewis-sung tune, the bouncy, peppy rock of “Down At The Sea,” is adorably child-like, anticipating the C86 sound that animated UK indie-pop in the mid ’80s.

Johnson asserts himself on the mic with “Bad Seeds,” radiating belligerence on this malcontent cousin of the Cramps’ cover of Ronnie Cook And The Gaylads’ “Goo Goo Muck.” A garage-rock anthem for the world’s misfits, this might be the most sinister cut in Beat Happening’s catalog, although it’s nowhere near the intensity of, say, Birthday Party. The live rendition included here is nastier than the studio version and as murky as the Mississippi River. Johnson informs the urgent rock of “I Love You” with a lustiness seldom heard in the era’s indie scene. But the mesmerizing “Our Secret” stands as the album’s musical peak, as it slackly, almost funkily chugs and boasts the group’s most infectious guitar riff, while Johnson paints a portrait of a surreptitious romance in his foghorn, plaintive tones.

I’m not gonna lie: Beat Happening hits differently when you’re middle-aged or older. This is definitely young-people music. Nonetheless, your graying self can still appreciate it, deriving amusement from the fresh-faced drama and poignancy that Beat Happening forged with beguiling amateurishness. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Yo La Tengo “New Wave Hot Dogs” (Coyote, 1987)

Goofy title and all, New Wave Hot Dogs was the beginning of a fantastic run of albums by New Jersey indie-rock stalwarts Yo La Tengo. That stretch from this one to President Yo La Tengo, Fakebook, May I Sing With Me, and Painful plowed a narrow but very rich seam of tough-and-tender rock that used the Velvet Underground’s fertile catalog as a template. Might as well borrow from the best, right?

Yo La Tengo—guitarist/vocalist Ira Kaplan, drummer/vocalist Georgia Hubley, and bassist Stephan Wichnewski (later James McNew)—seem to have inhaled the VU oeuvre as prepubescents, and New Wave Hot Dogs was the result. Nobody simulates the cooler side of the Velvets better than YLT—except for the Feelies. Of course, when you’re band includes a former rock critic (Kaplan wrote for NY Rocker) who sings like a higher-pitched Lou Reed acolyte, siphoning influences from the Velvets is expected. At least these superfans had the guts to wear their fandom on their sleeve by covering the deep cut “It’s Alright (The Way That You Live).”

But, to be fair, YLT generate their own distinctive ax heat; check out the rancorous rave-up “House Fall Down,” the PSF Records-esque speed-freak eruptions of “The Story Of Jazz,” the twisted noise jam “Let’s Compromise” (featuring guest guitarist from Bongwater, Dave Rick). Another guest, dB’s guitarist Chris Stamey, delivers a Bubble Puppy-esque solo on “Lewis.” Kaplan glazes his understated Velvetoons with feedback that stays just long enough to make its point. The too-brief “Lost in Bessemer” proves that YLT could forge a moving, intimate instrumental, too; it’s their “Embryonic Journey.”

Alternately manic and contemplative, New Wave Hot Dogs leaves a pleasant afterglow. It took YLT a while to shake their VU obsession, but they’ve gone on to hack their own niche in the indie-rock stratosphere. However, it’s odd that they’ve let New Wave Hot Dogs (and the equally wonderful President Yo La Tengo) languish in out-of-printland for over 35 years. Or maybe it’s some legal b.s. beyond the band’s control? Whatever the case, it’s problem that needs rectifying. -Buckley Mayfield

Located in Seattle’s Fremont neighborhood, Jive Time is always looking to buy your unwanted records (provided they are in good condition) or offer credit for trade. We also buy record collections.

Royal Trux “Cats and Dogs” (Drag City, 1993)

Akin maybe only to Guided By Voices for their non-ironic use of classic guitar rock fodder, Royal Trux came together out of noise dirges and suspended clangor when they pushed “Cats And Dogs,” making steps toward indie-rock stardom (yuck, gag) that would never really come (still gag).

What’s for real though is Neil Hagerty’s playing. Bluesy riffs, heavy riffs, nonsense noise interludes, all skewered or unwound… “incendiary” is the word and so is “unique.” Sure it’s only two people, guy-girl combo, plus a friend? Session drummer? Anyway, the stand-in holds the beat and can be driving or plodding. Just enough to support distorted spillage.

Not only do you get a three-piece on “Cats and Dogs,” the best possible line-up in a rock format, but you get referential hard rockin’ material mostly free of the tounge-in-cheek. And it makes the cut: more grit than crit. -Wade

Guided By Voices “Get Out Of My Stations” (Siltbreeze, 1994)

A single released before or after Bee Thousand? Same year (a prolific one for GBV) anyway, this EP also acts as a great companion piece. While Bee Thousand sounded like it came from many Rock-historical backgrounds as well as many varied recording environs, Stations is GBV set around a campfire, maybe with a transistor radio. Or maybe more like GBV unplugged…

“Scalding Creek” and “Melted Pat” are drumless, bassless acoustic jams, while “Queen of Second Guessing” is hissing squelching cassette reel noise atop guitar strum and spacey drum padding. Side B has the closest thing to legitimate songs on the whole thing, and that’s not a statement to authenticate it as the quality part of the release. But what nice tunes. “Dusty Bushworms” is especially warming in ways that remind you Pollard’s most emotive Bee Thousand moments.

One of the nicer singles (as in balanced) by GBV in their prime! -Wade

Ponytail “Ice Cream Spiritual” (We Are Free, 2008)

An ecstatic rush in LP form, Ponytail wound up centrifugal surf riffs with stomping drums and added one shrill singer that managed to invoke the space between Bossa starlets and Yoko Ono. While it makes since that their square one instrumentation had them opening for Battles and Hella, they didn’t come off so much as rigid math-rockers thanks to Molly Siegel’s vocal contribution and some exciting (lively!) lead guitar breakaways.

Proof of this shines through on “G Shock” and “Celebrate The Body Electric” when lead guitarist Dustin Wong actually breaks free of rhythm and indulges in solos (Hendrix is a hero of his). And for every other track he is a great foil to vocalist Molly Siegel’s joyous outbursts, while the hyperagile rhythm section churns away.

A short lived act from Baltimore that apparently put on some mad parties (one involving a Kool-Aid Man costume breaking through a wall), Ponytail delivered a rush of energy that was swirling and positive, and not such a bad thing to be drawn into. By “Ice Cream Spiritual” they were at the peak of their powers. -Wade

Mi Ami “Watersports” (Quarterstick, 2009)

Mi Ami have an ability to execute aural peaks and valleys like few pop groups have ever known how to do. Within each individual song is a crescendo, from the whispered and paranoid panting of Martin-McCormick and subtle metal beating from Palermo, to a racket of all the brutal parts looking each other in the eye and screaming. Just as quickly, though, they can drop it down and develop a groove, usually with the assistance of the bass, that envelops one’s sense of rhythm, all-encompassing.

A brilliant example of this is the two-song assault of “The Man In Your House” and “New Guitar.” “The Man In Your House” begins understated and disconcerting; an effects-laden guitar line covers the track in an odd, quiet blanket. From there, Martin-McCormick’s whispers grow to shouts of sex and sadness, while his guitar screeches and wail. The suspense grows as the track gets louder, and then it immediately segues into “New Guitar,” a jittery, stilted statement of seemingly nothing, carried out with Martin-McCormick’s competent hands manhandling and tearing at his guitar. The song’s beginning is a brilliant resolution to the song before it, and once this primal energy beams out, the trio jumps back four steps and carries out a mid-tempo groove, complete with a bass line rooted in funk and dub.

So much of Watersports’ appeal is in its embrace of the physical, but the album’s final third is a dirge into the mental abyss. Indeed, the album consists almost entirely of the members going ballistic on their respective parts, but this happens so sparingly, if at all, in the final two tracks. “White Wife,” a manifesto towards sincerity and honesty, is quiet, sad, and slow. Here, the trio is exploring their sonic workspace in a very profound way: not through flexing their chops, but through creating space. The song, probably the most cerebral track on the album, dips and undulates until you get to “Peacetalks/Downer,” which, like the best of shoegaze music, creates volume in lines that should be quiet. It all builds without changing, until the album slowly fades into oblivion.-Tyler

Cat Power “What Would The Community Think?” (Matador, 1996)

Mammal music was how Richard Meltzer described Chan Marshall’s music. Probably one of the last positive statements he said about anyone musical (that wasn’t playing jazz, blues or country maybe), since he called the decade of the 90’s an “empty room” and had long before pulled the plug on rock in most any form.

After the double barrel shots of “Dear Sir” and “Myra Lee,” Marshall went for something a bit prettier and more ornate than her stripped-down debuts. Not that Chan’s themes have changed much; it’s all nervous woman-breakdown content, but each song doesn’t sound so morbidly hopeless this time around. Steve Shelly of Sonic Youth is still drumming and some SY feedback rubs on the production in places, but for the most part this is Chan’s vision, and while the songs are brighter with chimes and steel pedal all is not well in this Southern girl’s world.

Originals “Good Clean Fun” and “Nude As The News” can leave a slab in the back of your throat with their honesty and moments like “They Tell Me” are very country-derived and sound just as true. Gearing up for Moon Pix, Chan shows that she can work people into her own personal foil and come up with something more elegant. But her own reinterpretation of “Enough” near the closer is still anxious and skittering, like what the inside of her head must’ve been like. -Wade

The Smiths “Strangeways Here We Come” (Rough Trade, 1987)

The last album by The Smiths may be the last one you’ll pick up. And while popular consensus would rank “The Queen Is Dead” and “Meat Is Murder” as their best full lengths, I’d vouch for this one. This decision didn’t come overnight, rather, it came after my formative years of Smiths-fandom in a moment of clarity, when Morrissey’s rants seemed to have less wallop but a bit more pronouncement.

Not that Steven Moz has become any less angsty on this release. If anything his wit is at it’s most refined here, just before his solo career dulled it, turning him into a caricature. His musical foil, Johnny Marr, shows off more chops than ever as well. “Strangeways…” puts the studio to use more than ever before, but don’t let that scare you into thinking this was a last-ditch effort assembled in post before the fall. Studio adventuring leads The Smiths to some of their most spacious and interesting recordings yet, like “Death of a Disco Dancer” and “Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me.”

Lyrically, Moz touches on themes that you’ve heard before, but there is more humor here that may touch long-haul fans of Morrisey’s work rather than those jumping into Smiths albums during adolescence. The key here is time, not for wisdom gained but for longing, even for those dour times. Life is funny like that. – Wade

TV On The Radio “Return To Cookie Mountain” (4AD, 2008)

Drones, loops, samples, plus plenty of live instrumentation create the defined sound that TV On The Radio engulf themselves in. Tracks can be made in a hip hop foil, but don’t really convey the feel, and they rarely rock out (except on the well-arranged radio fodder of “Wolf Like Me” and few other album tracks), so what is it exactly that they do?

On the opener for “Return To Cookie Mountain,” fractured samples create an eerie and depressive mood for vocalist Kyp Malone and troupe to spill their souls on. In truth, “I Was a Lover” really could be the centerpiece of the album, but they decide to hit us with it first. Samples stutter, horns and sitars create a morose atmosphere and lyrically, it’s all about cycles, days going by. Maybe getting a grip when it looks like good days are long gone. This cycle of sound and repetition flows through the whole of “Cookie Mountain,” and gives something for Kyp to ride his observations over.

Repeated listens may reveal meaning behind their mostly esoteric lyrics; all in all it’s very self-conscious stuff. TV On The Radio can be lumped in with the Arcade Fire / LCD Soundsystem camp, where an inability to stop being cognizant prevents them from being a conventional pop group, or a sweaty id-driven rock band… If a group can be carried on sound alone though, TV On The Radio have a unique niche locked down at some musical crossroads that’s worth a look. -Wade