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.

Top 50 Albums of the 00s - #12: Sigur Rós - Takk...

Yep, we're counting down the top 50. Click here for overview and criteria.

So the last posting in this series was, [checks watch] nearly four years ago. I have been extremely busy. And nobody, apparently reads blogs anymore. But if Twitter is about to die, maybe it’s time for a comeback? I referenced last time that this list was originally built nearly 10 14 years ago, and it's reasonable to expect that if I were to make it again today, there may be some alterations. Of the albums yet remaining at the top end of these rankings, the shakiest one is Takk…. Sigur Ros was new to me, and when this album arrived it felt like this bold, symphonic intent that was right up my alley – made just to impress me. I played it a lot.

But something has happened in the interim. Two things, I think. First, I eventually didn’t find the depth I would need for an album to stay in heavy rotation and therefor rank up with my all-time favorites. Is that because the lyrics are not actual words? Is it because there are only so many hooks in these songs? Or did I just move on to others things? I had big stretches of time in the 00s when I was single. Now I am married with two children. This is perhaps individual music and I have scant individual time nowadays.

  The second, and I may be wrong here, it feels like the world caught up to Sigur Ros. This kind of powerful, modern symphonic style approach became the norm in movies and car commercials. In fact, Sigur Ros provided the soundtrack for various car commercials. So perhaps they simply cannot stand out as they did 15 years ago.

I of course gave the record another coupla spins as I prepared this post, and it indeed landed flat for me. That said, there are still a few standout tracks. “Glosoli,” which impressed me so much it was the original “I just have to post this youtube and that’s it” entry, is still compelling with its steady build to an irresistible crescendo. 

 

But the standout is Sæglópur, which starts off innocently enough and then brings in a mix of darker tones to provide a base that it can quickly grow from. In an album reaching for anthemic moods throughout, it’s the one that most achieves it. And honestly is enough to give the record top 50 status almost on its own. It may not fit my life nowadays, but it’s not hard to hear why it once did.

Previous Entries:
#13- Tool - Lateralus
#14- Radiohead - In Rainbows
#15 - Interpol - Antics
#16 - Andrew Bird - Armchair Apocrypha
#17 - Jens Lekman - Oh You're So Silent, Jens
#18 - Fleet Foxes - Fleet Foxes
#19 - Band of Horses - Everything All the Time
#20 - The Lawrence Arms - Oh! Calcutta!
#21 - Amy Winehouse - Back to Black
#22 - Mission of Burma - The Obliterati

Top 50 Albums of the 00s - #13: Tool - Lateralus

Yep, we're counting down the top 50. Click here for overview and criteria.

So I finally resume this series six and a half years after the last posting. Yeesh. A lot has happened since that time, including moving to a new country with a new job, and then several other new jobs, having two kids, and whatever else. But it was perhaps in small part because of where I was in the countdown. I struggle to write about Tool's "best album of the 00s" because their best record is quite obviously 1997's AEnima. To further compound matters, 10,000 Days is probably Lateralus's equal. This and all my other various blogs have been in limbo since that time, so it's unfair to blame a record for the delay.

Furthermore, much of my list now comes under scrutiny (from me) because some of the records that were in heavy rotation for me back when I began this project have faded a bit. But that doesn't apply to Tool's output.

The album opens calmly enough at the outset of The Grudge which became a frequently broadcast hit solely due to the devotion of Tool's fans. Its crescendo and coda had no business being on popular radio. Yet there it was, constantly, affirming the staying-power of the King Crimsoniest take on alternametal one could ask for. At a time when all music began its decade-long lurch into "we'll have just pop from now on, thanks," Lateralus was a flag planted. More challenging than AEnima, with rhythms continuously at odds with one another plus a small step forward in maturity of themes, the album was practically a dare. See if you can handle this.

I digested it as fully as possible at the time. Indeed there have probably been several breaks in my listening frequency over the years. That's surely in part because they have only been able to release one record since then. Yet the breaks never lasted all that long.

This is not music I share with anyone. I don't even have hardly anyone to talk about Tool with (there were a few in Argentina, but here in Switzerland, nah). But for working, driving, ironing, or just walking around thinking about stuff, its intensity still brings focus to my own. And along the way, I always get a jolt out of taking on the dare.

I can't even recall what my main purpose was in ranking these albums now. I started this nearly 10 years ago. My life has changed dramatically since then, but I've had finishing this list as a to-do in my head for so long, and I'm going to try to make it worth your while. Or at least worth my while since I doubt anyone reads blogs anymore.  


This still kicks ass and you know it regardless of the video's creepiness:

Previous Entries:
#14- Radiohead - In Rainbows
#15 - Interpol - Antics
#16 - Andrew Bird - Armchair Apocrypha
#17 - Jens Lekman - Oh You're So Silent, Jens
#18 - Fleet Foxes - Fleet Foxes
#19 - Band of Horses - Everything All the Time
#20 - The Lawrence Arms - Oh! Calcutta!
#21 - Amy Winehouse - Back to Black
#22 - Mission of Burma - The Obliterati
#23 - Don Caballero - World Class Listening Problem

Yea I say

Dammit do I miss blogging. One of these days I'll get back on the horse. Likely when the kids have gone off to college in 16 years. In the meantime, this nearly brought tears to my eyes. Just watch and enjoy it. It's from back when the internet was for sharing wonderful things. The salad days.

RIP Chris Cornell

I’m not going to try to convince you of Chris Cornell’s greatness. By now you either like Soundgarden or you don’t. You appreciate his unique vocal talent or it’s not your thing. I’m only writing this because if I don’t get it out of my head, I’m going to continue miserably ruminating about his death for a long damn time. Instead I should be blasting his music at full volume. Maybe after posting this I can finish brooding.
 

In high school someone lent me their Badmotorfinger CD not long after its release. That evening, before I got the chance to listen to it myself, my younger brother put it on the stereo without me present. I was tightly wound in those days, and my natural tendency was probably to pick a fight with him over what I would have surely considered an act of insolence. As I neared the room, he was already well into Track #3, “Slaves and Bulldozers.” I was stunned, dropping all concern about who was supposed to play whose music when. I had never heard anything like it. Over the powerful scuffing of Kim Thayil’s distorted guitar came a wholly unique squall: “NOW I KNOW WHY YOU BEEN TAKIN’!” My brother and I didn’t speak, merely exchanging brief glances. My glance asked, “This is real?” To which his replied, “I’m three songs in and believe me, it is.”

You may already know what happened next. “Jesus Christ Pose” blew my damn mind. The most blistering grunge song ever made tears at itself with all four band members going over the top in intensity. The music sets an unfathomable tone of speed, depth, and power in which each note carries aggression to the listener. One minute and 27 seconds in, Cornell’s voice takes the whole affair up two more levels. The band carries on, but feels as though it has receded thanks to his wail punching through at a higher weight class. Of course Thayil’s guitar is merely lying in wait before its own escalations, hitting both high and low. The song has no equal. I don’t even think there’s another band that could try it.

It was obvious that Soundgarden represented unparalleled power. But all that heavy fuzz would not have stood apart without Cornell's ability to range from peaceful comfort to guttural menace to banshee wail, often melding all within the same track. On pure vocal talent, he transformed a solid outfit into a band operating on a unique plane, transcending genre and era.

Cornell’s persona never seemed to be an accessible one. On albums, videos, interviews, and in concert, he seemed to put himself at a distance from the audience. Whereas other rock heroes strove to project a shared life experience, I never felt like I remotely “knew” Cornell. You were never gonna sing like him. You were never gonna look like him. You could be in awe of him, but since he never came across as the arrogant rock star he easily could have chosen to be, the awe was a hospitable one. Despite that emotional distance, there are many reasons I find myself taking his death personally.

Badmotorfinger is one of those formative-years albums that I know better than I know myself. I sometimes surprise myself in realizing that every note, beat, and word live in an unconscious part of my brain. I played the album on the way home from my first date. That date did not lead to a second one. But it must have been even more important to me than I realized because for years I couldn’t hear the album without reliving the high you can only feel on the way home from your first date. The depth of my personal stake in many of the band’s songs only grew in the years that followed.

In college, I discovered that if I played “Entering” before an exam, it heightened my focus and usually increased my grade. This became an every-exam routine for which I received much ridicule, but also a GPA that led to a good job upon graduation. / With my friend Will who I only ever saw at parties, we often belted out “Mood for Trouble” at the top of our lungs regardless of what was going on around us. People hated it. We didn’t care. / Down on the Upside will forever be the not-quite-dirge that accompanied the crack-up of my most important early friendship. Its songs remain crystalized there in that long, tenuous summer that wasn’t all bad, but still carries laments. / I damn near got a Soundgarden tattoo. Maybe I will yet. / I had, for too many years, planned to name a son or daughter Cornell. / My favorite concert t-shirt, now riddled with holes, is this absurdity. I will never part with it. / At a point where I needed to convince myself to get out of a difficult situation, “New Damage” was my best support to confidently make the change happen.

2016 was, among various other unfortunate things, the year of the personally-touching celebrity death. David Bowie’s sudden demise was a shock, followed later by Prince, Phife Dawg, Muhammad Ali, Sharon Jones, Gene Wilder, George Michael, Carrie Fisher, and many of our other favorite people we never met. But my father passed three days after Bowie. It’s something I’m still coming to terms with, and surely will be struggling with for a long time to come. For the rest of the year, none of the names on that extensive obituary list mattered all that much to me. But Cornell’s definitely does. I have vacillated between feeling angry and wistful since the moment I heard the news.

I now realize he was my favorite rock singer. In fact, I don’t even know who would be second, but I know that there is a wide gap between him and the rest. He could do a piercing Rob Halford, but also had that foreboding growl. Over time he cultivated a soothing croon. All of these very different voices were extremely alive. I’ve recently gone back and listened to everything he ever made. There’s not one song on which he sounds distant or in any way like a ghost from the beyond grave.

What his death has done for me is made me realize that I am not connected to music like I was. This snuck up on me. Until I moved away from the US, there was no more important hobby in my life. I probably averaged at least one show per week while living in Chicago. Not only have I lived in concert-deprived areas for the last nine years, I now have two small children and extremely limited babysitter availability. The lack of time, community, and maybe just the usual “getting old” are all factoring in. Music has become something to accompany work when possible, and not much else. I never expected that to happen. Losing a favorite voice reminded me how much that voice used to matter to me. So I’ve been listening with more attention lately.

I have rediscovered his non-Soundgarden material, and it’s better than I had recalled. One song is now standing out in particular. From his last album, “Only These Words” is obviously an ode to his children. It is perhaps a bit trite, but catchy as hell. Most importantly, it shares a sentiment any parent can immediately relate to; it reminds me of not just my daughter but how she makes me feel as her dad. Listening to it defeats any anger I feel about Cornell’s suicide and replaces it with overwhelming sadness. I’m still broken up about my dad, and I can’t seem to detach that from this story. But he lived to 91 and was at a true point of contentment in his life. Cornell left three kids behind. What a tragedy.

(And if that song alone doesn’t make you well up, try out this duet with his daughter. Damn it all.)

My friend Dan recently published an interview he did with Cornell back when King Animal was released. He comes across as a man at peace with where his career has gone. “Our music is going to go on,” he says. Indeed his legacy feels complete across two major bands plus various side projects and solo work. The music lives, and so in a sense his voice does too. And before too long I suppose I will listen to his records and feel the highs I used to. I hope so. Because right now, while I appreciate how good those records are, they all make me feel sad.

The Top Ten Songs that Own the Movie

This feature is double-posted over at the always excellent Scene Stealers where there is likely to be more conversation, so pop over there if you have a comment!

Welcome back to a look at the highs and lows of movie music. Three weeks ago we covered the Top 10 Movies that Stole the Song. Today we continue with Top 10 Songs that Own the Movie. We'll have the 10 Worst Movies Named After Songs, finally The Top 10 Movie Singalongs in this space soon. So let’s continue with the rock and/or roll!

Whether for cross-marketing purposes, artistic goals, or simply because they can, most big-budget films are released with a new radio-friendly single. This is often by a well-established artist who can simultaneously sell some records and put more fannies in movie theater seats. When this symbiosis works, the industry gets a blockbuster movie with a very popular music video to boot. How much additional success came Ghostbusters’ way thanks to Ray Parker Jr.’s catchy theme song? But sometimes the hit is so monumental (or the movie so flimsy) that it overshadows the film completely. These movies may now be forgotten or simply viewed as sidekicks to the massive hits they spawned. For every flick on this list, there’s a good chance anyone watching is just hanging in there to hear the tune. There were a lot of options that didn’t make the cut, so leave your favorite omissions in the comments.

Some quick notes on the rules: Existing songs picked up for the movie do not qualify, so, very sorry to you, Mrs. Robinson . The movie must truly be overshadowed by the song, therefore “Fight the Power” and “Don’t You Forget About Me” don’t make the cut as their movies have stood the test of time. Musicals belong in some other category and with some other writer.

10. “Stayin’ Alive” by the Bee Gees – Saturday Night Fever

Think about the word disco. What’s the first thing to pop into your head? The first image may or may not be a primped John Travolta heading out for a night of strutting on a glowing dancefloor.  It’s certainly in the list, proving that the film does have some staying power and relevance even today. But with all due respect to Donna Summer, the first sound to bounce into your brain is likely the baseline to “Stayin’ Alive.” Just seeing it here in print may be enough to get your head moving. The movie soundtrack is the seventh-best selling record of all time. It has been referenced, sampled, and spoofed countless times, and will continue to be so as long as humans have ears. Almost all of the songs featured on the soundtrack have more staying power than the film itself, but “Stayin’ Alive” remains the king beat of disco. For a disco song, its influence beyond the genre is unmatched. Go ahead, have yourself a boogie before we get to #9.

9. “Flashdance...What a feeling” by Irene Cara – Flashdance

When I was living in Buenos Aires, it was always interesting to see which aspects of American culture were able to entrench themselves, particularly which 80s songs were still being played on the retro stations. Irene Cara’s theme song to Flashdance came up often. And it still does in many other places as well. The movie was a big hit at the time as it brought the “stripper with a heart of gold” story to the big screen. But now it’s permanently fallen into a nostalgic reference. Cara’s song (and Michael Sembello’s “Maniac”) persist today all over the world.

8. “I Just Called To Say I Love You” by Stevie Wonder – The Woman in Red

Stevie Wonder’s legacy was already firmly in place long before his tune for to Gene Wilder’s light comedy took the world by storm. The movie is largely forgotten, and although the song is hardly considered a timeless classic, in 1984 it was an enormous hit all over the planet. Obviously the song is far from Wonder’s greatest achievement artistically or lyrically. And many probably remember it as some overplayed 80s song. However, if you’ve had the pleasure of seeing him perform it live, it still feels relevant and worthwhile. But even if that were not the case, the global dominance of the tune completely overwhelmed any relevance the cute romantic comedy ever had.

7. “Que Sera Sera (Whatever Will Be, Will Be)” by Doris Day– The Man Who Knew Too Much

The film was Hitchcock’s second attempt to tell the story of a man who is forcibly pulled into murderous espionage when his child is kidnapped. When compared with the original, Hitch commented, “Let's say the first version is the work of a talented amateur and the second was made by a professional.” It is without question a good film made in the middle of Hitch’s peak years working with Hollywood studios. The song, written for the film and specifically for lead actress Doris Day, became a surprise hit. This may have been due to its use as a key plot device in the movie. Day originally didn’t want to record it as a single, claiming it was a “forgettable children’s song." Yet it quickly became her signature tune and a tremendous worldwide hit. It has since been covered by everyone from the likes of Alvin and the Chipmunks, The Shirelles, and Sly and the Family Stone and featured prominently in other movie soundtracks. It hasn’t rendered the movie irrelevant. But from that peak period, The Man Who Knew Too Much has certainly faded behind such artistic masterpieces as Vertigo, Rear Window, and North by Northwest. Yet the quaint children’s song continues to enjoy a lasting popularity.

6. “Against All Odds (Take a Look At Me Now)” by Phil Collins – Against All Odds

It may be kind to call Phil Collins’ solo career uneven, particularly when acknowledging such duds as “Sussudio” and “Another Day in Paradise.” But even though it was commissioned as part of the movie, the Genesis drummer turned frontman wrote this one from a personal perspective. It’s likely his biggest solo hit, and as his first real ballad represented a shift in style. The song was further immortalized in a This American Life episode where he spoke frankly about the heartache that inspired him to write it. Hardly anyone remembers that there is a movie called Against All Odds, let alone what it’s about despite being directed by Taylor Hackford and starring Jeff Bridges and James Woods. (Just so we’re all up to speed, it is a remake of the Robert Mitchum noir classic, Out of the Past.) Actually, that sounds pretty good. Perhaps we should take a look at it now? The song will always be with us regardless.

5. “Nobody Does It Better” by Carly Simon – The Spy Who Loved Me

With every new James Bond movie, it’s tradition that a major music talent unveils a fanfare to run over the opening credits. This can result in a bombastic success such as Shirley Bassey’s pipes introducing you to Goldfinger. Or it can be a sonic disaster such as Madonna’s “Die Another Day.” Carly Simon’s effort begins almost as a melancholic dirge, but quickly becomes an uplifting ode to “the best.” As far as Bond movies go, this is one of the better ones, reaching #7 on Will’s Top Ten list. It’s especially revered because it introduces Richard Kiel as Jaws, the gigantic henchman with shiny metal teeth. But perhaps because of its theme as universal song of adoration with a title different from the movie, the song became one of the two biggest successes of Simon’s career. Yes, it’s overtly sappy. But nobody’s done a Bond song better.

4. “Theme from Shaft” by Isaac Hayes – Shaft

Even if you haven’t seen the film you know this tune is one baaaad mutha. Wait a second. Have any of you even seen Shaft? No, I won’t shut my mouth. The movie is irrelevant when compared to the song. The first two and a half minutes are merely setup before Hayes tells us the legend of John Shaft. You can only imagine that any movie with this groove supporting the action is going to feel exhilarating. Hayes won the Academy Award for best song, making him the first African American to win an Oscar for something other than acting. More importantly, it was one of his greatest achievements and laid the foundation for Marvin Gaye’s “Trouble Man,” Curtis Mayfield’s “Super Fly,” and many other classics. So can we agree that this song totally owns the movie? You’re daaaamn right.

3. “Moon River” by Audrey Hepburn – Breakfast at Tiffany's

There are only so many perfect songs. Henry Mancini and Johnny Mercer wrote “Moon River” specifically for Audrey Hepburn’s voice, probably with the goal of having everyone fall more deeply in love with her. Has anyone ever constructed a simpler, sweeter tune? I could listen to it fifty times in a row right now. The scene where Hepburn sings shows that after all the fancy parties, the vivacious young socialite has a delicate side. Her recording won Grammys for both Song and Record of the Year. Breakfast at Tiffany’s remains a worthwhile movie and influential in the romcom genre for years to come. (Not to mention its central role in one of the most Costanzafied episodes of Seinfeld). The song has been covered over 100 times by everyone from Aretha Franklin to The Killers. Even the film’s final confrontation from the back of a taxi couldn’t leave the indelible mark that “Moon River” did.

2. “Lose Yourself” by Eminem – 8 Mile

At the time, everyone commented that Marshal Mathers’ acting was surprisingly capable. Of course he was basically playing himself, but many before him have failed spectacularly in the same position. On the strength of the story and direction, the movie has enjoyed moderate staying power and is still aired often on cable. However, the song has turned out to be Eminem’s most durable hit, still played frequently at clubs, sporting events, and on the radio. It’s the catchiest track he’s ever made, and perhaps the most anthemic rap song of all time.

1. “I Will Always Love You” by Whitney Houston – The Bodyguard

This is Whitney Houston’s biggest hit, spending a record-breaking 14 weeks at the top of the Billboard charts. We can probably just stop there, right? Oh, and there’s also the fact that the movie soundtrack is the third-best selling album in history behind only Thriller and The Dark Side of the Moon. 44 million copies sold, and we can safely assume none of those people bought it for the Kenny G track. The movie proved to be one of Kevin Costner’s last opportunities to play a traditional leading man before Waterworld and various other failures permanently reduced him to supporting roles. All of the above makes Whitney’s version of “I Will Always Love You” the obvious #1 on our list. The only irony may be that Costner was the one who suggested she record it.