Surveying the state of alternative rock
What’s that Noise?
Michael Tatum
Tim Riley points out in Tell Me Why, his excellent examination
of the music of the Beatles, that a new generation of rockers
emerges every seven years: the glam rockers of 1970-71, the punks
of 1977-78, the indie label post-punks of 1984-85. Statistically,
the time would seem ripe for a whole new gang of rabble rousers
armed with electric guitars to take over.
That explanation sounds fine by me. But Riley fails to
acknowledge that every movement needs a catalyst  something
needs to break the dam before there can be a deluge. In 1964, that
catalyst was the Beatles, in 1977 it was the Sex Pistols. In 1991,
it was two albums by two seemingly disparate artists: Nirvana’s
Nevermind and R.E.M.’s Out Of Time.
No doubt, this assertion will elicit a few guffaws from cynical
avant-bigots out there in Readerland. While universally admired by
alternative rock’s constituents, Nirvana has, perhaps unfairly,
been given the blame for inspiring not a movement but a bandwagon:
dozens of toothless corporate wolves dressed up in alternative rock
clothing (Stone Temple Pilots, Blind Melon  you’re well
familiar with the worst offenders). R.E.M., meanwhile, has been
branded by many as impotent sellouts who lost the small ability
they had to rock after they left indie label I.R.S. for Warner
Bros., the evil conglomerate.
This strikes me as typically stupid, indie-rock chauvinism, pure
and simple. R.E.M. could have placated their audience well past the
millineum had Michael Stipe kept mumbling, and guitarist Peter Buck
has noted that he could have pumped out endless variations on
"Driver 8" had he so chosen. Instead, the band opted to mess with
the mainstream, whether by putting a mandolin into the Billboard
Top Five for the first time since Rod Stewart’s "Maggie May," or by
recording an anti-radio song with KRS-1 of the hip hop outfit
Boogie Down Productions (thus assuring the song would be the only
Out Of Time single that racist middle-of-the-road stations like
STAR wouldn’t play  STAR of course being the station that
plays the "greatest hits of the ’80s and ’90s and no negros," oh,
excuse me, I mean "no rap").
Granted, Out Of Time is more immediately accessible than, say,
the magical, mystical Latin Playboys (a side project by two members
of Los Lobos) or Beck’s certifiably bizarre Mellow Gold, two of the
finest albums released this year. But there’s little doubt that
R.E.M.’s left field success has created an environment where major
label executives feel comfortable giving their charges more
artistic freedom, as well as giving the go-ahead to relatively
esoteric projects. Would Warner Bros. have given Latin Playboys the
green light, say, five years ago, during the height of Whitney
Houston and Faith? It’s doubtful.
While R.E.M.’s success has loosened up record label executives,
the success of Nirvana’s Nevermind has affected artists and the way
they approach music. Compare Nevermind to Nirvana’s first record,
Bleach, and you’ll see what I mean. For all practical purposes,
their approach on both records is more or less the same, your
standard power trio.
But what’s fascinating about Nevermind is that it achieves its
accessibility without forsaking the band’s original sound. By
merely tightening up the songwriting and putting more money into
the production, Cobain and company "sold out" in the best way
possible: by recording a direct, immediate rock ‘n’ roll record
that, despite its slight bending to the mainstream, still kicked
the proverbial ass of everything on the then-comatose Billboard Top
40.
Since then, both L7 and Sonic Youth have worked with the
producer of Nevermind, Butch Vig, aiming for the same strategy: to
fine tune their sound without homogenizing it.
This development in the evolution of alternative music can’t be
underestimated. How else to explain Sebadoh’s excellent new record
Bakesale, which finds the band finally eschewing the bargain
basement production and self-indulgence of their previous records?
Or how about Soundgarden’s even better Superunknown, in which the
band trades in the arena rock sludge of its past for the sharpest
Led Zeppelin rips, since, well Led Zeppelin IV?
In both cases, the band stayed true to its sound, but took more
time with the songwriting and the production. And in both cases,
the extra effort takes each band a quantum leap closer to
greatness.
To give indie-rock bigots credit, I have to admit sometimes this
strategy doesn’t always work  there really is such a thing as
watering down your music for the masses. I’m thinking of two of
this year’s highest profile records, Liz Phair’s Whip-Smart and
Freedy Johnston’s This Perfect World.
Johnston’s record is the follow-up to his critically lauded Can
You Fly, released on the small Hoboken label Bar None. Since then,
he was signed to Elektra records, and to celebrate his new
contract, he brought on board Butch Vig to produce his new
record.
But while Nirvana needed fine-tuning, Johnston’s highly
effective folk rock didn’t. As a result, This Perfect World finds
Vig sanding down the edges of Johnston’s music  more
conventional arrangements, tidier production, that sort of thing.
Predictably, Johnston follows suit, taking less risks vocally and
simplifying the complexity of his lyrics (as on the pro forma
Lolita homage "Dolores" or the pseudo-tragic "Across The Avenue," a
teen tragedy song only slightly more sophisticated than
"Patches").
Liz Phair’s record is an entirely different matter. Phair told
Billboard that one of her objectives for 1994 was to hang a gold
record on the wall of the studio in the Bahamas where she recorded
. A great objective, but on Whip- Smart she resorts to the kind of
two-dimensional studio gimmickry that she steered clear of on her
brilliant Exile In Guyville (like the cheesy synth on the
insufferably bathetic "Support System"). Elsewhere, her lyrics are
depressingly two-dimensional, as on the empty devotional song
"Nashville" or the deliberately obscure "The Dogs Of L.A." and
"Alice Springs," both not as meaningful as her clique would like to
believe.
Don’t get me wrong  despite their shortcomings, these are
both good records. If you’ve heard and admired "Bad Reputation" and
"Supernova" on the radio (Johnston’s and Phair’s new singles,
respectively), you’ll do fine by the records from which they’re
culled. But you’ll do even better by their predecessors.
So who knows, maybe other bands will ride the wave that Nirvana
and R.E.M. have created  I certainly hope so. Who knows,
maybe today’s alternative rockers will begin the inevitable
downward spiral towards bloatedness and uselessness, like the
generations of before them. After all, a whole new generation of
rockers is due to take over around 1998. Myself, I can’t wait.
Tatum’s ideal Christmas present would be for Sting to
permanently retire from the music business. His column will return
in January.