The Alternative 90s, the AV Club's Retrospective: 1997

Today, we continue the journey through a remarkable period of music history. This series is meant as a companion/reaction piece to Steven Hyden’s Whatever Happened To Alternative Nation? Accurately subtitled as “One man’s year-by-year journey into 90s rock.” You can get this highly recommend work on Kindle for just $2.99. Do it!

Look back for previous editions where we covered part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, and part 7.

 

Hyden’s approach to 1997 is centered almost exclusively on two bands. Oasis leads things off. Their third full-length, Be Here Now, was released in April of that year. But much of the attention is on the years preceding it. Hyden shares his memories of first finding their debut, Definitely Maybe, in his local record store and blasting it on his mom’s car stereo while cruising around the Appleton, Wisconsin area. 

There is something so very American and wonderful about how the freedom to drive at age 16 has a personalized soundtrack, isn’t there? In the early 90s, cassette tapes were cheerily loaned or copied, be they albums or homemade mix tapes, and much musical excitement took place on the suburban streets or stretches of highway. I could name a thousand of these instances, but the most fun one I can recall is when our friend Boris presented “Jump Around” to everyone in Brad’s Toyota Paseo. Not a lot of space to jump around inside a moving Paseo, but we somehow managed to follow the song’s directions without causing a crash.

Hyden states that Oasis was one of his favorite acts in the second half of the 90s, which is something that was surely true for many people. As he put it, “Great Oasis songs were like sharks – no brains, all teeth, and out for blood and naked girls.” They were purported to be the second coming of The Beatles, only with selfish rockstar attitudes. The second half of this was true, but the failure of Be Here Now kiboshed the loftier ambitions. Yet, their popularity was earned with some of the catchiest tunes of the decade, and a clear step forward for rock music.

Radiohead provided the perfect contrast. Another UK group that started off as a band to complain about. Another Bush who was merely ripping off the Pixies and Nirvana. “Creep” was a huge hit off their first record, but not remotely original. Their second album, The Bends, showed some musical progression, with some memorable songs, but was not exactly breaking new ground. Which is why OK Computer landed as perhaps the biggest revelation in music history. This is not hyperbole.

I vividly recall hearing “Paranoid Android” for the first time, accompanied by its insane NSFW video (which could not be more 90s). This was not just different for Radiohead. It was different from anything anyone had heard before. The entire record presented a perfect merging of the band’s talents and pointed to an entirely new direction for them as an avant-garde yet incredibly popular rock band, something that hadn’t existed since the 1970s. Hyden makes the point that, in addition to the very public rivalry between the two acts, Oasis and Radiohead can be seen as divergent entities

Radiohead looked like Gallant to Oasis’ Goofus. Oasis was in hock to the past, relying on the stature of the British rock heroes they were stealing from to give weight to oversized gestures not even the Gallagher brothers could pretend to be enthusiastic about anymore. Radiohead appeared to be ahead of the curve, forecasting the paranoia, media-driven insanity, and omnipresent sense of impending doom that’s subsequently come to characterize everyday live in the 21^st century.

 

In the end, Oasis definitely definitely felt like the end of something. They had two great albums with songs forever cemented in the musical consciousness of pretty much everyone. And then they ran out of worthwhile things to play and to say. As mentioned in the last post, there were a ton of very good English bands in this space, but the one that took this sound forward, in the most neutered way possible, though drawing a bit on Radiohead’s influence as well, was Coldplay. That’s worked out very well for them, but it certainly feels like we could have had a better trajectory. Hyden brings them up with a relatively positive mention. But this book is 14 years old, and things have, let’s say, evolved.

 

I know this is not how Hyden was going about it, and he says in the prologue “you’re going to complain when I leave certain bands out.” But given how morose 1996 felt, it’s worth noting that we got either seminal or level-up albums from the following acts: Hum, Poster Children, Richard Buckner, Old 97s, Get Up Kids, At the Drive-In, No Knife, Modest Mouse, Blur, and Spiritualized. Foo Fighters came into existence and put out the indelible “Everlong.” The Verve had the most accomplished record to date (though, of course I prefer their earlier stuff). All this is to say that the early 90s chapter of alternative, grunge in particular, ended after 1994, and seemed like it would simply die, either of overdoses or lack of newness. OK Computer is the hall of fame player, but look at that list. These are all “alternative” acts, but across at least eight different subgenres. The best bands in the new century would be generally coming from the paths carved out by these trailblazers and their late 90s peers.

In 1997 I graduated college and moved back to Chicago. I missed the radio station and the colossal wealth of music and musical knowledge (i.e. loveable geeks) that I was immersed in. But I started a job and got lucky that there were other music geeks on the team. I had some disposable income and was living in a city chock full of great venues, one that no band ever skipped on a North American tour. We were surely in a new era, but the explosion of new ways to be an alternative band meant a never-ending pursuit of excitement. This doesn’t apply to the masses anymore, but I didn’t have to care about that. Who needs masses when you can see your favorite new shiny thing at the Double Door?

Do we have Radiohead to thank for that? No idea, but they deserve credit for elevating alternative more than anyone had in years. I’ll let Hyden wrap up, noting their status and their progression:

Nobody gets more respect than Radiohead. Other artists look to Thom Yorke for musical guidance, and his band is the gold standard for how to conduct a rock ‘n’ roll career with a measure of ethics and dignity. But let’s not allow our memories to pull a fast one on us. Once upon a time, Radiohead only wished it was special.

The Alternative 90s, the AV Club's Retrospective: 1996

Yes, we are still going through one of the great eras in music history, when the inmates briefly ran the asylum. This series is meant as a companion/reaction piece to Steven Hyden’s Whatever Happened To Alternative Nation? Accurately subtitled as “One man’s year-by-year journey into 90s rock.” You can get this highly recommend work on Kindle for just $2.99. Do it!

Look back for previous editions where we covered part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, and part 6.

 

And now, we’re fully on the saddest part of the downswing of the alternative movement. The book focuses on human tragedy in 1996, and it’s probably the right way to go about it, sorry to say. Alice In Chains has been mentioned mostly in passing in previous chapters, but they were one of the four huge Seattle grunge bands and deserve a deeper dive. This is not only because Dirt was such a blistering masterpiece. The attention is paid more to Layne Staley’s slowly unfolding demise, which he himself called out well in advance.

Staley died of a drug overdose in 2002, but his presence in Alice in Chains ended in 1996, so in a sense his career was over then. The sex, drugs, and rock n roll were simply reduced to drugs.

Hyden then addresses the overdose of Sublime’s Bradley Nowell. The band was generally unheard of until after Nowell’s death in May of 1996, but soon their singles were everywhere, forging a new kind of alternative music subgenre. I recall people saying “I hope they tour soon, would love to see them live.” That was unfortunately not going to happen.

We’ll get into why he focused on those two frontmen and the cultural fulcrum at play. But while we’re at it, it’s worth noting that Blind Melon’s Shannon Hoon also died of an overdose with just nine weeks remaining in 1995, shortly after the release of their unfortunately overlooked sophomore record, Soup.  This also represented another end for alternative, in which Blind Melon had progressed past their highly successful hippie roots rock into something more interesting. Hoon had previously sung on Guns N Roses’ single “Don’t Cry,” and was therefore part of the bridge discussed in part 2. I can see why this didn’t make Hyden’s chapter, as Blind Melon was in effect reduced to a one-hit-wonder, but Hoon’s death was yet another sign of the bad times.

Personally, I never understood the appeal of Sublime, but the chapter helps me understand a bit more about where it came from. This was a different message and approach. A much more laid-back version of the culture where nobody should take themselves too seriously. Even the music was not as intricate nor muscular. Also, I was probably, at age 21, a bit too old for Sublime? It went against nearly all of my musical proclivities as someone who wanted power and intensity from this kind of art. It’s why I love Mahler much more than Mozart.

Hyden talks about the fact that this kind of music was a rejection of the cultural sensibilities that were inherent to grunge and alternative.

Soon, even bands directly inspired by the early 90s bands would conveniently set aside the feminist idealism those groups were known for in favor of an unapologetically assertive masculinity that was both reactionary to recent rock history and restorative of the old status quo.

Those sensibilities were in part a pushback of the hair metal and misogynistic cock-rock that preceded them. So perhaps this was in a sense a reckoning, or just a balancing out of the cyclical nature of American culture.

It surely didn’t help that grunge and alternative had become more derivative and watered down. Stone Temple Pilots was probably the best of the mediocre copycats, but their 1996 record produced no enduring singles. (And yes, in 2015 their lead singer, Scott Weiland also was found dead on a tour bus following a drug overdose.)

In truth, with a quick scan of 1996 releases, at least in my record collection, it’s mostly bands I’d long adored putting out merely good releases that are far from their best work. Down on the Upside, Chim Chim’s Badass Revenge, Good God’s Urge, Dust, Evil Empire. 1996 was a “placeholder” year where bands either were at the end of their productive period or were trying to figure out their next move.

There were two standout releases from established artists at opposite ends of the alternative spectrum. Tori Amos had in effect created what would become the Lilith Fair movement over her first two records. They were highly personal, powerful, and well-crafted albums that captured fans from a wide range of personal tastes. Her third effort, Boys for Pele, was both more stripped-down and challenging with odd rhythms and instrumentation. The provocative output was panned by some critics and misunderstood by many fans. To me it stands not just as her best, but one of the top records of the back half of the 90s, but I don’t think it changed the trends. She never made a record as ambitious as this one again.

Near the end of the year, Tool released their second full-length album, Ænima. This brought a combination of top musicianship prog rock to both alternative and metal audiences. People who were drawn to the band initially by gothic puppetry and heavy-crunching choruses were asked to keep pace with strange time-signatures and three tracks nine minutes or longer. And they did. It’s been said that the worst thing about Tool is the stoner bro fanbase. But the fact remains that few rock bands can even sniff what they’re capable of. Some heavier bands would aspire to Tool’s intricate approach, though, alas, for the next several years, most would go the route of Korn, Stained, Slipknot, and Linkin Park.

Meanwhile Beck showed up with Odelay, his most acclaimed record. At the time, it definitely felt like the intensity of Alternative was over, and slacker rock would replace it. Hyden’s point is that Sublime’s rise was charting the direction that the mainstream movement would take – more slacker, less cerebral, more white guys rapping over rock.

1996 feels like a death knell for so many reasons. Yet we’re all still here, listening to music. As we’ll see in 1997, there was an opportunity for new beginnings on the rise. It’s just that the glorious period of inmates running the mainstream asylum was fully complete. We were back to Zubaz pants again, just with a slimy, grimy look.

The Alternative 90s, the AV Club’s Retrospective: 1995

I’ve been feeling the urge to resurrect this here blog for a little while now. It seems I have not added to it in over two years, and that was just a blip after a previous 3.5 year hiatus. But I have the urge to write, and recently said my final piece about sports. I can’t make any promises, but today’s the day to restart because I stumbled into some unfinished business, already made clear by the title of this post.

My kindle was stolen, and it took well over a year to get a replacement. I finally have, and the first book I started reading was something I already read in its entirety. Steven Hyden’s Whatever Happened To Alternative Nation? Accurately subtitled as “One man’s year-by-year journey into 90s rock.” All of these chapters were originally published on the AV club, but now only the first entry is available on their site, as far as I can tell. However, the rest has been republished as a kindle book for the low, low price of $2.99.

I have already written reaction pieces to part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, and part 5. These are meant to accompany the work written by Hyden, and to be clear I think this is a fantastic read. So ideally, find a way to get your hands on his work, then check out mine. And now, without further ado, 1995.

 

This blog stalled out for many personal and professional reasons around early 2011, which is somewhat aligned with when these articles were published. At the same time, I can see why I never made it past 1994. It’s facile to say that Cobain’s suicide marked the death of the alternative era. But as you’re about to see, 1995 is when the dirt started being poured on, and well, it’s not thrilling.

Hyden begins by bagging hard on a band I quite liked for a while, but never loved, York PA’s Live. In honesty I don’t think anyone ever loved this band. Their first full-length, Mental Jewelry, had something to it, despite them obviously taking themselves too seriously, and then Throwing Copper became a massive hit. Hyden lays out how all of that happened. And also how damning it can seem. Nobody is actively listening to these guys any longer.

For me, seeing them perform at the State Theater in Detroit on the Throwing Copper tour was what dulled my interest. Whatever magic they had did not translate to in-person performance, something most people who have experienced their shows agree upon. Has there ever been a more ironically named band?

This is all set up to greater tragedies. Hyden sets the scene:

1995 was a time when the superficial aesthetics of alternative music – down-tuned guitars, downbeat melodies, frowny-faced (but still telegenic) stars – had been fully absorbed by corporate star-markers, who set about flooding the market with high commercial bubble-grunge bands that took everything that seemed fresh just three years earlier out of context and straight into the meat grinder.

Yes, that’s a big ol’ yikes. I had previously complained that Hyden was not calling out warmed-over regurgitation like Collective Soul and Candlebox. Turns out he was waiting for this moment to lay the hammer down. Live was just the jumping-off point. At least they were a real band who made their own music, even if they got much bigger than they probably should have.

He then appropriately takes Bush for a ride, pointing out how blatantly, intentionally derivative their music was. He almost begrudgingly gives them credit for doing a smart job following the trends. It’s no surprise that we basically did not hear from them following the success of Sixteen Stone. There’s only so much to say about this album, but the point is it did sell over seven million copies worldwide. This comment is worth sharing:

There’s also the awful ballad “Glycerine,” a song I’ve always hated and occasionally slow-danced to.

In 1995 I spent my summer in London as part of a study abroad program. Bush was already getting very popular by the time I took off. Yet I did not hear any songs by Bush until I returned to college at the end of August, even though I was living in their hometown. The 1995 British version of alternative rock was still massively popular, and there was no shortage of single-named UK bands getting airplay constantly – Oasis, Pulp, Blur, Verve, Suede, just to name a few. But I imagine Gavin Rossdale could have walked down any street totally unnoticed in London then.

But there were darker things happening back home that I was blissfully unaware of, drinking my pints and eating my fish n chips.

Over the summer, a brassy Canadian had launched a seemingly benign salvo across the southern border, but little could anyone have predicted, “You Oughta Know” became the song of the summer. I don’t recall the first time its bratty tones reached my ears, but my “what is this mess?” reaction to hearing it caused a clear reaction from friends who said, “You haven’t heard this?” As Steven explains:

Even more than Sixteen Stone, Jagged Little Pill demonstrated that mainstream pop had assimilated the sound and feel of alt-rock and could now turn out artists that fit the mold without all the troublesome baggage of BS punk rock credibility.

Yeah, but 33 million copies. 33,000,000. Seriously, what the fuck? It turns out that this was far more craven exercise than Bush’s Nirvanization of their existing sound. As you may know, Alanis Morrissette was a failed pop-star in her home country. This, despite a juicy gig opening for Vanilla Ice on his tour.

It turns out, this was simply a pairing of Morrissette's vocal abilities with professional songwriter Glen Ballard who was already highly successful with Wilson Phillips among other achievements.

 I’ll let Steven explain:

In the aftermath of Pill’s incredible success, Morrissette and Ballard both spoke of having an instant creative connection, writing their first song together within minutes of meeting each other: “It was as simple as me picking up my guitar and hitting a couple of chords, and she would go ‘I like that,’ and she would hit a melody and I would hit it back to her,” Ballard recalled in an interview. Morrissette and Ballard worked quickly throughout the sessions for the record, spending no more than a day writing each track.

You don’t say…

We could belabor this, but I prefer to touch on something else that is a bit buried in this chapter, but perhaps more relevant. Hyden talks about Guided by Voices’ Alien Lanes, and how he evolved from largely grunge-centric, to focusing on more “college-friendly” music (my wording). The series is of course prioritizing the most popular music of the time, as one would expect.

But it got me thinking that I also had a very fortunate awakening. I was DJing at the campus radio station, WCBN. By rule, you had to spin freeform, which means drawing on all kinds of music genres. This opened my mind and ears up to an incredible spectrum of what music can be. While I never “walked away” from alternative music (I’m currently listening to Pearl Jam’s Vitalogy for some strange reason), I did walk all over, and truly embraced new opportunities.

Indeed in 1995 things were rapidly deteriorating. I don’t recall them getting much better, which means I go into 1996 with a bit of dread for what may be lurking there. But I will continue reading this 14-years later flashback of Hyden’s 14-years later flashback. Go get the book if you want to follow along.