30 Years, 30 Days: Day 11, 1990

Whoooo!!! We made it to a new decade, and more importantly, the decade of my musical taste really being formed. While I don't like to ally myself with any particular decade/genre, I cannot deny that the 90s were the decade where I heard a lot of music at the time it was actually coming out, so there were no preconceived notions or history or nostalgia to get in the way. And I really hold to the idea that that is the best way to hear things for the first time.

Upon making my preliminary list of records that have had a hand in defining my musical world-view, I realized that 1990 had way more records than any other year yet, and paring them down was going to be difficult. So there are quite a few omissions, and I'll just put them up here so you can have an idea of what I had to cut: Robyn Hitchcock's Eye, They Might Be Giants' Flood, Concrete Blonde's Bloodletting, Fugazi's Repeater, Jane's Addiction's Ritual De Lo Habitual, The Pixies' Bossanova, Galaxie 500's This Is Our Music and countless others. So what did I leave in?

Why, Primus' classic debut album, Frizzle Fry, for starters! There is a certain subset of dudes from the 90s who responded very well to the music of Primus, and I am definitely one of them. Someone played this record at summer camp when I was in 8th grade, and it changed the way I looked at music, especially bass playing in music, forever. I hadn't even picked up a bass yet, and wouldn't for at least a few years, and even when I did I never cited Les Claypool as an influence on my playing, but rather as a huge influence on my listening in general.

Basically, the bass guitar up this point had always been a background instrument to me. None of the bands I was really into yet were bass-heavy bands. With the exception of John Entwhistle and John Paul Jones, I couldn't even name you another bass player until Les. All of a sudden, there was this very high-to-mid ranged instrument that was insanely percussive and insanely melodic, and I had never heard anything like it before.

On Frizzle Fry, not only was the bass new and different, but Les' lyrics and delivery (sort of a Texan hipster-shitkicker type vibe, even though Les hails from California) were new. He sang about the weirdest things: fishing, puppies, wind-up toys, pudding, cereal, groundhogs, etc. Up to this point, songs were either about how great girls were, or how not great not being with girls was. The irreverent wit and monster chops of Primus was right up my early-teen alley, despite having no chops of my own or even the knowledge about how to gain said chops. The guitar playing was also out-of-this-world to me: Larry Lalonde always sounded like they never gave him the right backing track to play over in terms of his solos, he was just out there and it all worked and blended together in this harmonious, cartoon-like mess. As a lot of people get older, the grow out of their Primus phase, but luckily for me, I never did.

And speaking of insane chops: Phish. And speaking of people who want to hate on Phish: shut up. Phish's Lawn Boy is probably my most listened-to Phish album, I have distinct memories of some holiday trip to Lake George where the tape just repeated itself over and over in my headphones the whole time. There is so much to hear on this record, I used to focus on a different instrument with every listen, and then just repeat the process again.

I owe a huge debt to this band because it took me out of the idea that good music had to be written down ahead of time. This is where you start to lose people; the idea of "jamming" is usually pretty foreign to most people who don't play in a band, and often the core concepts of jamming are lost on those who do. It's not simply one guy soloing really well over the rest of the band laying down changes, it can be a constantly changing and shifting musical piece where everybody feeds off what everyone else is doing. I don't mean to sound so "hippie" about it, but that's what jamming is to me.

Songs like "Bathtub Gin" and "Reba" play like finely composed acid jazz, and lay the groundwork for when the band takes of on them live. Songs like "Oh Kee Pa Ceremony" and "My Sweet One" are short little moments of energy, also finely composed (Page's piano solo on the studio cut of "My Sweet One" is killer). And then there's a song like "Bouncing Round The Room", which is a perfect example of all that musical knowledge and skill being harnessed into a really great four-minute single, where everything fits perfectly, and nothing is too "out-there". The whole record is the sound of a band who is really discovering what they can do, and realizing that the possibilities stretch out a lot farther than they might have anticipated. It delves more into the improvisation that would make them legends, and paves the way for more records of equal parts spontaneity and painstaking composition.

To round out 1990, I bring up my first "Best of" record (or two records, actually). Both Devo's Greatest Hits and Greatest Misses continue to rock my world. I heard their cover of the Stones' "Satisfaction" on the radio, and it just floored me. They took a classic rock anthem and just didn't give a damn that they stood it on it's head. I had to hear more, but the band had a large number of albums by the early 90s, and I had not a large amount of spending money in the early 90s. Hence, the two compilations were purchased together, and I've never owned another Devo record since.

Devo was my introduction to a more synth based rock. The sugar that helped the medicine go down was their anti-establishment image and their unique melodies (both Gerald Casale and Mark Mothersbaugh had a very quirky singing style which I loved). They were from the middle of nowhere Ohio, and rather than wait for a scene to come to them, they built their own around songs about cavemen, homicidal radio DJs and de-evolution (the idea that we are actually regressing rather than progressing). It was, at its core, the most anti-jock thing I'd ever heard. Having spent much of my middle school years getting the crap kicked out of me by members of the athletic establishment (I was a late bloomer with a big mouth and a sense of fearlessness until the hitting commenced), I felt I was wired to like this.

I definitely like Greatest Hits as an album more than Greatest Misses, although the latter contains some favorites ("Clockout", "Mongoloid", "Timing X/Space Junk"). Songs like "Satisfaction", "Big Mess", "Through Being Cool" and "Jocko Homo": these were anthems about being a nerd and that being okay (not dissimilar to They Might Be Giants' effect on me). And it definitely warmed me up toward synth music and electronic instruments, which I dismissed through a lot of my early-teen years for not being "real". It's what a diet of Zeppelin, Sabbath and The Who will do to you. I'm so grateful for that eye-opener, as it's led me toward some great music I might not have given a chance otherwise.

I do realize I'm still behind a bit after the weekend's travels, and we'll get up to speed real soon before the following weekend's travels (Hartford and Boston this time). Writing about 90s seemed really easy to me at first, but it is proving to be more difficult because so much happened to me and to music. And there are tons of great things being left out. For example, "Groove Is In The Heart" by Dee-Lite came out in 1990, and that one tops my list of favorite party songs. So my thanks for everyone bearing with me, and thanks for reading and sharing your comments with me.

-Dan