Alternative Rock Music: July 2004 Archives

Born from the still faintly smoldering ashes of Versus (the favorite band of most of my Asian friends), +/- began as something of a surprise for most that band's anxious following: an ethereal trash heap of half-thoughts and scattered ideas that would eventually go on to a more traditional, predictable alternative rock format. But for a brief second, +/- seemed like they could do almost anything.

forming in the downtime of Versus' indefinite hiatus, James Baluyut began self-recording a confused song cycle of one-off numbers he'd been amounting and along with Versus drummer Patrick Ramos, started playing out. the record that followed, self-titled long playing debut album, was an uneven mess of laptop pop, balladeering, and indie rock, with no particular clarity outside that of Baluyut's impossible love woes. but with enough loose ends to fuel a half-dozen lesser records, +/-'s debut was one of seemingly incredible potential, and with a live show that only improved upon the albums erratic ideas, the follow-up was certain set the groundwork for Versus' next chapter.

Teenbeat soon released the full-band follow-up Holding Patterns EP, a more focused, conventionally indie rock release that, though possessing a clarity unseen on their debut, also suggested a perhaps less compelling future for the band. With a world of possibilities at their disposal, it seemed that +/- had gone the easy route, falling into the comfortable patterns of their former band.

By the time of the release of You Are Here, the deal was sealed, +/- had scrapped disparity for formula: radiohead rock. And though their sophomore record was certainly a more cohesive statement, it was clear that +/- was going to be little more than the new Versus, a comfortable title, to be sure, but one not to befitting the Greatest Band of All Time.

Little disclaimer: we are in the middle of the busiest week of the year probably for us here at GBoAT because of festivals and concerts and new jobs and best friends moving away and being on vacation. Therefore, we will not have an entry for Saturday, but we will be back at full strength next week (with some great stuff from the likes of Marianna Ritchey and Marisa Meltzer). Thanks for the patience. GBoAT is just starting.

Oh man, another day 90's alternative rock band to heap praise upon. I'm sure one day I'll be heaping praise on Marcy's Playground and Seven Mary Three. To quote Zac, "I heard somewhere" that most people's favorite music of all time is the music that they liked from age 14 to 18, and therefore you fine people are inundated day after day with bands that I was into during this period. Personal biases aside the 90s were an amazing and unique period for music. Never was there such a time where so many pre-existing bands who were creating music locally and independently were sought after, signed by major labels, and played on the radio. Possum Dixon was from Los Angeles and they were just dudes with jobs, who started a band, and recorded music. There were no agents no managers, no booking companies, until they got signed and then there's were swarms of them.

The project of Rob Zabrecky, Robert O'Sullivan, and Celso Chavez was a energy filled art pop group with driving keyboards and guitars. Showing strong new wave and Modern Lovers influences the band always put on super live shows. Possum Dixon brought a film noir aesthetic to it's album artwork and to it's lyrics. The band's lyrics also leaned towards broken hearted angst and job talk making for a more complete picture and lyrical depth.

Possum Dixon self released and EP and a tape before they were signed to Interscope records in 1993. Later that year their eponymous major label debut was released. It was an incredibly uptempo affair that featured a number of the songs that were on their earlier self-releases. With sometimes goofy sounding vocals and simple song structurers the songs were kept afloat with their strong energy and catchiness. The band's second album for Interscope, 1996's Star Maps, was a much more complex, moodier affair. They pulled the energy back a few notches giving the songs much more space, allowing them to develop and show their strength. Star Maps was Possum Dixon's highest moment. One more album followed in 1998, minus keyboardist Robert O'Sullivan, New Sheets was produced by Ric Ocasek and it's easy to tell. New Sheets is much simpler and more power pop than Star Maps and it feels a bit uninspired. Possum Dixon's day was done like so many other band's signed during the roaring 90s they were dropped by their label due to underwhelming album sales and they called it a day. Right now thinking about Possum Dixon and all the other 90's bands that got signed and that had just the tiniest taste of success is depressing me. These bands were doing their own thing, making music for the right reasons, and then preyed upon by trend exploiting record labels. Sure, they had it good for a while but it's just sorta sad. Possum Dixon brought it. They brought it real good, but they were just one of hundreds of forgotten bands of the alternative 90s but they will always be The Greatest Band of All Time.

The second stage at Lollapalooza was apparently some sort of a golden appetizier tray for me from which I could pick bands that would stay with me for years and years ad this is the second band (the other being Shudder to Think) getting the GBoAT treatment from me that I had an enlightening experience with at a Lolla second stage. It was that 1995 Lollapalooza with Pavement and Beck and The Jesus Lizard and Hole and Sonic Youth. Man, good day, seriously, and the highlight of that good day was the 2 hours plus that I spent at the 2nd stage. I skipped a good portion of Cypress and all of Hole to hang out at that bastion of cool, the 2nd stage. The Roots were totally rad, Hum were so loud and amazing, and then Pavement played a second set of mostly requests. It was so great. Alright, enough of the embarrasing reminiscing, but the point is there was something important about that 2nd stage that I paid 28 bucks or 35 bucks or whatever to see. It was such an important step in the deepening and broadening of my music understanding. That Hum performance especially was one of those epiphaninal events. I was standing there dumbstruck looking up at this man who was one of the dorkiest looking dudes I had ever seen in my life. He was playing the crappiest looking guitar I had ever seen and leading his band in this incredibly loud and powerful music. I mean his guitar looked like crap. It was this crummy looking Yamaha or like Suzuki or something and it was an awful bright green and it was so scratched and carved. It looked like it was purchased for no more than what I paid to get into the concert and that was the most exciting thing ever. Man, it pumps me up just thinking about it. Just the concept of a 17 year old realizing that not everything has to be all Stone Temple Pilots is awesome. Standing there in the dusty field in the warm summer night air mouth wide open. All right, enough of the cliche teenage epiphany let's talk about the band.

Hum came out of the suprisingly legit music scene from Champign/Urbana, Illinois. The leaders of the scene, The Poster Children, took Hum under their wings and released their first two albums on their own label. Two members of The Poster Children even joined Hum. The first two albums had a lot of promise and the songwriting was interesting but the production really dragged the albums down. They were signed to a major label after touring with some big acts like Shellac, The Jesus Lizard, and Smashing Pumpkins. Bringing up the Pumpkins is interesting, because Hum is compared to the Pumpkins quite a bit. Both bands are heavy on the heavy and also bring the pretty. In 1995, everything went haywire. Hum released their major label debut, You'd Prefer An Astronaut, and the single "Stars" became a hit on alternative radio. They toured and toured and sold a bunch of records and then it sorta fizzled in a very classic mid 90s alternative sorta way. They took too long to record the follow up and the whole alternative thing died, you know, so Hum faded away. BUT, they did record the follow up, called Downward is Heavenward and it was released in 98, and it came out amazing. It's one off the most underrated albums of that period. It sold poorly though and the band had a van crash, and dissolved later that year. The members moved onto new projects (Centaur, National Skyline) and Hum will be mostly forgotten.
Hum put out two excellent albums of crushing guitars and soft mumbled vocals.
Most importantly, like all other bands to ever perform on a Lollapalooza second stage, they are The Greatest Band Of All Time.

In a late entry to the other week's tragicomedy we called "Greatest Album of All Time," I offer another incredibly soft-handed record for your consideration. Please cut me some slack on this one—I've been doing these regular updates almost completely alone for a week, and I'm getting a little tapped. Anyway, without further ado: Frank Black.

("Wait, is he really writing about the effing PIXIES?!?! So this is what projected embarrassment feels like...")

In 1993, about a month or so before Charles Thompson broke the news to the rest of the Pixies that the seven year trip was officially over (a move that his pocketbook has clearly come to regret), he began spending some time holed up in a studio with Pere Ubu-ite Eric Drew Feldman to work on a handful of new songs written to escape the trappings of the Pixies sound. Things were looking hopeful for the duo's efforts, so upon disbanding the Pixies, Thompson put the finishing touches on his new songs, and Frank Black (an inversion of his long time stage name Black Francis) was officially born—with the resulting album, despite all of his efforts to the contrary, sounding a whole heck of a lot like the Pixies.

Though consciously more structurally diverse than the bulk of the Pixies oeuvre, Black's self-titled debut is largely a reflection of his particular contribution to his celebrated band—acting as sort of a perfect counterpoint to the Breeders' pre-break-up Pod, that together define the two most distinct halves of the Pixies (sans a little Santiago for good measure). The record is largely a celebration of America's pop dynasty—besides songs written in specific tribute to the Ramones ("I Heard Romona Sing"), Iggy Pop ("Ten Percenter"), and featuring a cover of the Beach Boys' "Hang On To Your Ego"—the record touches on a multitude of American pop mainstays. But in spite of its intentional divergence from the Pixies throne, I've always largely considered this to be the final Pixies record—if only because its relative consistency has a lot more in common with that band's output then that of Frank Black's widely disappointing solo career.

Widely available at our nation's finer thrift stores and pawn shops (I bought my copy in perfect condition for the sum of $1.50), Frank Black is, admittedly, a little uneven—but in much the same tradition of previous GAoAT ponyexpressrecord, its high points shine just shy of his finest work. Frank Black is certainly not the Pixies, nor even necessarily on caliber with the best of the post-Pixies records (Kim Deal's output being in places arguably better than Jesus himself)—and surely a record that charts the first mile-marker on the downward curve of his lengthy creative plateau (what would quickly become Black's meteoric decline) could hardly stand in the annuls of pop history as a creative high-water mark. But look it up in a tattered, poorly bound reference book called GBoAT? It's the Greatest Album of All Time.