Taking a cue from the old Blondie marketing slogan, the sophomore effort from Dave Grohl’s post-Nirvana band was their “The Foo Fighters is a band” project -- well, at least it was intended that way, but Grohl pushed aside drummer William Goldsmith during the recording and played on the entire record. And who could blame him? When you’re the greatest drummer in rock, it’s hard to sit aside for someone else, no matter how good your intentions, and Grohl’s drumming does give the Foos muscle underneath their glossy exterior. That slickness arrives via producer Gil Norton, hired based on his work with the Pixies, but he manages to give The Colour and the Shape almost too sleek a sheen, something that comes as a shock after the raggedness of the group’s debut. Even the glossy final mix of Nevermind has nothing on the unapologetic arena rock of The Colour and the Shape -- it’s all polished thunder, rock & roll that’s about precision not abandon. Some may miss that raw aggression of Grohl’s earlier work, but he’s such a strong craftsman and musician that such exactness also suits him, highlighting his sense of melody and melodrama, elements abundantly in display on the album’s two biggest hits, the brooding midtempo rockers “My Hero” and “Everlong.” Elsewhere, the Foos grind out three-chord rockers with an aplomb that almost disguises just how slick Norton’s production is, but everything here, from the powerful rush of the band to the big hooks and sleek surface, wound up defining the sound of post-grunge modern rock, and it remains as perhaps the best example of its kind. [Legacy’s tenth anniversary edition of The Colour and the Shape was expanded by six bonus tracks, adding a clutch of non-LP B-sides, the highlight of which is a version of Gerry Rafferty’s “Baker Street.”]
I still can’t believe there was a time in radio where you could actually be sick of hearing Cracker. The then-inescapable tunes were “Get Off This” and “Low,” both from their 1993 sophomore release Kerosene Hat. Cracker enjoyed minor success with “Teen Angst (What the World Needs Now),” the snarling, infectious single off their self-titled debut album, but Kerosene Hat was able to capitalize on the “anything that sounds remotely alternative is good” radio days of the early 90s.
Truth be told, David Lowery deserved some of the monetary rewards from the alternative rock explosion of the 90s. Camper Van Beethoven, the band Lowery was in before Cracker, was one of the more influential acts of the late 80s. While Cracker may not have been as revolutionary as Camper Van Beethoven, they were quirky enough to defy categorization.
Kerosene Hat is the sound of a band throwing anything it can to the studio walls and hoping something sticks. The thing is, most of what Cracker threw in Kerosene Hat stuck. “Low,” the leadoff track, has a riff that you can’t get out of your head and a chorus that’s just as catchy: “Bein’ with you girl / It’s like being low / hey hey hey it’s like being low.” Right after that song, it’s anything goes. Optimistic half-slacker, half-motivational speeches “Get Off This” do-si-do with country-influenced tracks (way before the alt-country craze took off). And to close the album (at least, according to the liner notes), an amazing cover of the Grateful Dead’s “Loser.”
However, “Loser” isn’t the final track on the album. Kerosene Hat was one of the first major albums to take full advantage of the ‘hidden track’ function in CDs -– ballooning the CD’s length to 99 songs (most of them after track 15 utter silence) and putting three songs on as “hidden tracks.” Arguably the most beloved hidden track is the six-minute-plus ode to bohemian listlessness “Eurotrash Girl.” The song details one of the worst weekends you could ever have in a foreign country: having your car broken into, getting ripped off by a junkie, getting a case of the crabs, calling your folks for money only to have them hang up on you; but somehow, the chorus of “Yeah, I’ll search the world over for my angel in black” still leaves you hopeful.
Storm Hymnal culls selected tracks from Grant Lee Buffalo's four studio albums on one disc, with rarities, alternate takes, and B-sides assembled on a second disc. The first disc functions as a sort of greatest-hits, and the band's two best known songs are included,"Fuzzy" (their debut single), and "Mockingbirds," arguably their finest moment. The rarities on Disc Two are sequenced well, and they play like an autumnal statement from the group, who split in 1999. Highlights from the rarities disc include lead singer Grant Lee Phillips' John Lennon-esque vocal on"Goodnight John Dee," and the R.E.M.-sounding "Halloween," a song for the late River Phoenix. Fervent fans of the group will find Disc Two essential
When Shoulder Voices was released in 1993, many people were interested in hearing Rollerskate Skinny's music, because band member Jimi Shields is the brother of My Bloody Valentine's Kevin Shields. Others were drawn to the vocals of Ken Griffin, whose voice sounds more than a bit like Echo & the Bunnymen's Ian McCulloch. What nobody probably predicted is the ragged, pop glories of Shoulder Voices, which sees Rollerskate Skinny penning and producing some of the most original music of the early '90s. While the band's sophomore release Horsedrawn Wishes and Ken Griffin's album as Kid Silver, Dead City Sunbeams, would better focus the sound first heard on Shoulder Voices, it's an amazing debut album. What might pass as another band's best-of collection is simply Rollerskate Skinny making its genius start. "Violence to Violence" is a melodic, hook-heavy song that sounds like Killing Joke doing an Echo & the Bunnymen cover; brutal guitars and dark lyrics seem radically out of tune with the sweet pop elements of the song. It's a contrast that the band turns to frequently. "Lunasa" sounds like Heaven Up Here-era Echo & the Bunnymen as performed at a carnival sideshow. "Bring on Stigmata" is joyous ride, where pop vocals float effortlessly over all sorts of pace changes, chanting, and stunning harmonies. Shoulder Voices is undoubtedly a lost classic from the 1990s, to be filed to the left of one's My Bloody Valentine and Killing Joke albums or maybe just lost somewhere amid one's Echo & the Bunnymen collection. No matter where it's filed, it's a rewarding, challenging listen.
The Irish trio the Fat Lady Sings switched labels to Atlantic for their sophomore release Johnson. Produced by Steve Osbourne, the band, led by singer Nick Kelly, manages to straddle the line between immediately catchy, organic pop and their deeper artistic yearnings with good results. Kelly is a gifted lyricist and proves capable of tackling a range of emotions. Johnson kicks off with "Boil" and his angry vocals compliment the seething lyrics. The band, completed by bassist Dermot Lynch and guitarist/keyboardist Tim Bradshaw, help provide engaging sonic backdrops for Kelly's words. The highlights include "Drunkard Logic," a U.K. hit about regret with acoustic guitars and piano, and "Horse Water Wind," featuring gorgeous harmonies and a bed of guitars. Things are bleak at times, but the band does offer some optimism as on the jaunty, unbridled "Stealing a Plane." Johnson proves to be a melodic, articulate treat.
With trumpets blaring and guitars jangling, the Brilliant Corners sound like they're ready to party on Somebody Up There Likes Me. Pop music doesn't need studio gloss to craft toe-tapping hooks, and the Brilliant Corners glide through 12 songs on Somebody Up There Likes Me with infectious enthusiasm and hummable melodies. The title track and "Your Feet Never Touch the Ground" are exhilarating, driven by propulsive guitars and jubilant horns. Bristling with youthful exuberance, "Teenage" and "Friday Saturday Sunday Monday" each clock in a little over two minutes, and their brevity makes them even more addictive. Like Aztec Camera and the Smiths, the Brilliant Corners are able to decorate sad tales with deceptively upbeat new wave rhythms. The Brilliant Corners a lament a girl's passing in "She's Dead," but the music sounds more like a celebration than a wake. On the LP's most powerful song, "Never a Young Girl," vocalist David Woodward sings of a woman whom he was once in love with when he was a child, but now old age has taken its toll on her looks. "The cracks on the ceiling match the cracks on her face," Woodward laments as the band adopts the Smiths' slower, moodier moments, an uncharacteristic yet welcome respite from the Brilliant Corners' usual bursts of energy. Like almost everything else on the album, it's brilliant.
In 1993, Scottish indie pop legends the BMX Bandits landed on Creation Records, staying long enough to release three albums and many singles before leaving in 1996. As evidenced by their fine 1991 Vinyl Japan release, Star Wars, they had moved away from the indie pop sound of their early singles on 53rd & Third and 1990's excellent C86 album on the tiny Click label. Perhaps due to the presence (and ongoing influence after their departure in 1994) of Teenage Fanclub mainstay Norman Blake and future Superstar maestro Joe McAlinden, the group now had a full-bodied sound full-up with jangling guitars, soaring vocal harmonies, and wonderful chamber pop embellishments. Add to that the inimitable vocal stylings of Duglas Stewart and the fine songwriting by Stewart and longtime Bandit Francis MacDonald, and you have one of the great, if underrated, guitar pop bands of the '90s. Indeed, their first single for Creation, "Serious Drugs," is one of the great pop singles of the era if not all time. This 2005 collection on Sanctuary, also titled Serious Drugs, rounds up songs from their three albums, 1993's Life Goes On, 1995's Gettin' Dirty, and 1996's Theme Park, along with various singles, an unreleased version of a tune ("Scar"), and "It Doesn't Matter Anymore" from a 1998 tribute to Burt Bacharach. The songs are very well chosen, picking up some of their chiming ballads like the aforementioned classic "Serious Drugs," the ravishing "It Hasn't Ended" (with Joe McAlinden on vocals), "Little Hands," and "Girl Next Door," as well as lighthearted romps like the silly "Kylie's Got a Crush on Us," a super-relaxed cover of Jonathan Richman's "That Summer Feeling" (with legendary soul songwriter Dan Penn taking a verse), and the rocking "(We're Gonna) Shake You Down." Add to that uniquely BMX moments, like the cover of Beat Happening's "Cast a Shadow," "Space Girl," and "One Big Heart," where Stewart's big-hearted, goofy, and 100 percent endearing persona runs mild. Taken together, it is a wonderful portrait of a band that never really got its due -- who knows, maybe this collection will bring the BMX Bandits some long-overdue recognition. Probably not, though. Music this intimate, relaxed, and private almost never does. Oh well -- it can stay a wonderful secret, a sacred text for those lucky in-the-know souls.
The Liverpool quintet A Flock of Seagulls first gained attention in the dance clubs with "Telecommunication," included on this debut release. The band benefited from heavy play on MTV and quickly became known for their outrageous fashion and lead singer Mike Score's waterfall-like haircut. However, their self-titled debut is an enjoyable romp that was set apart from other synth-heavy acts of the time by Paul Reynolds' unique guitar style. The kinetic "I Ran (So Far Away)" became a video staple and a Top Ten radio hit. "A Space Age Love Song," with its synthesizer washes and echo-laden guitar, also managed to score at radio. The rest of the album consists of hyperactive melodies, synthesizer noodlings, and electronic drumming. The lyrics are forgettable. In fact, they rarely expand on the song titles, but its all great fun and a wonderful collection of new wave ear candy.
Perhaps it’s time to officially christen the term “nü-disco.” It doesn’t mean glittering disco-balls will be making a comeback, and no it doesn’t mean you’ll have to bust those platforms out of storage—at least not for another couple of years. Goldfrapp’s new album, Black Cherry, seems to be the missing link between ‘70s disco and the electronica of the ‘90s and today. In the ‘80s, disco splintered off into dance-pop and house but the newest incarnations of electronic music seem to have forgotten one vital element: the hook. A pair of new Goldfrapp tunes, “Twist” and “Strict Machine,” a holy ode to the power of the DJ, are more than worthy of Donna Summer and Blondie, respectively. In fact, add just a few more moans to the lustful lyrics of “Twist” and the track might even rival Summer’s “Love to Love You Baby.” Goldfrapp’s lyrics are often minimal and seemingly meaningless (most are collections of rhyming words and sounds: “Wolflady sucks my brain/Apricot sunrise came”), but, more often than not, the duo’s sentiments (usually bliss or lust) are translated via bursts of melodic color. With an assemblage of computer bleeps, belching synth chords and dramatic strings, the irresistibly sexy “Tiptoe” renders its simple lyrics profound while the ominous “Deep Honey” offers more obvious food for thought: “Your wild lies always start with wide, white lines.” Whether it be soothing techno-ballads (the melancholy title track and the technicolor “Hairy Trees”) or custom-made clubs tracks (the grinding, bass-driven “Train”), Goldfrapp know how to draw you in and, more importantly, hook you.
