Top 50 of the Nineties Part 1 (50-41)

(This is the first installment of my top 50 albums of the 1990s, and will continue on a daily basis through the revelation of number one on Thursday.)

I was 13 in 1990, and 22 in 1999. This list represents, to a large degree, the span of the maturation of my popular musical development. I really, really loved all forms of hip-hop in the early 1990’s. I watched Yo! MTV Raps and BET’s Rap City (I remember Chris Thomas’ era most fondly), and had my friend Kyle Seaney dub tapes of Esham and Too Short for me.

I began working in earnest at a college radio station in 1995, and continued for the next three years. During this time, I started to amass a library of music, largely consisting of promotional copies from record labels.

I also started college in 1995, and met several good friends, most of whom I remain in contact with, and with whom I experienced a good portion of this list. I averaged a 4.0 in the four “History of Rock and Roll” classes I took through the music school, taught by the stalwart, brilliant professor Glenn Gass. I developed a litany of collection perennials (Beatles, Steely Dan, R.E.M., Belle and Sebastian, XTC, Kinks, etc.), and became an insufferable elitist for a few years, finally settling down into a reasonably well-paying job in 2000 that allowed me to waste every cent of spare change I earned on music and music-related products.

I started teaching at a private, decently exclusive liberal arts college in late 2002–the connection with a body of literate, creative younger people re-energized my affinity for the current and hyper-current (i.e. not officially released). I taught my own history of rock and punk rock classes (during a shortened, winter-term period) and tripled the size of my already out of control collection.

Despite the evolutionary nature of my musical “education,” I give equal weight to my opinions in 1990 as I do today—I still actively sought out the music I deemed best, but age and finances limited my scope rather severely.

Finally, some “standards” that won’t appear here, for a variety of reasons I’m happy to discuss: Dismemberment Plan, Public Enemy, Aphex Twin, Tori Amos, Massive Attack, Sonic Youth (Daydream Nation remains my favorite, and the others never did much for me), Brainiac, Dr. Octagon, Bjork, Modest Mouse, Liz Phair, Weezer, or Fugazi. I look forward to good-spirited arguments, which is the point, right?

50. Eleven-Eleven (Hollywood, 1993) (buy)
Who? Released during the commercial apex of the ill-titled “grunge” movement in pop music, Eleven’s eponymous debut represented for me (and my best friend) one of the best hard rock albums of the decade, featuring the oh-so-important element of “no one else has heard of them.” Single “Reach Out” received some alt-radio airplay, but the record was a commercial failure. Which is too bad, actually, because lead singer Alain Johannes possessed one of the best voices of the decade, superceding everyone but Chris Cornell in terms of rock screamers (rumor was, he was supposed to replace Cornell after his ill-fated solo excursion). Additionally, drummer Jack Irons was in-between stints with the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Pearl Jam, and, best of all, bassist/organist/singer/eastern-European hottie Natasha Shneider added the band a mysterious, gypsy-like flair, with her Marianne Faithfull/Kristin Hersh growl on “Towers” and “Hieronymous.” Eleven is a great, solid album, able to variously rock out courtesy of Irons’ funk/rock pedigree (you could bounce a quarter off his snare) on “Slinky” and achieve a spooky, dirge-like quality on “Ava Tar.” Stands up well as one of the few great unknown albums of that era.

49. Mercury Rev-Deserter’s Songs (V2, 1998) (buy)
The torrrential thunderstorm that was Mercury Rev’s first two records broke with See You on the Other Side, but it took until their next album, Deserter’s Songs for the sun to illuminate what had been obscured by sheets of noise on Boces and Yerself is Steam—the cinematic scope and simple elegance of American nostalgia. The sound of the record was lent an aural sepia tone by recording on 35mm magnetic film, and world-class ringers and former traffickers in tales of Americana Levon Helm (“Opus 40”)and Garth Hudson (“The Hudson Line”) were brought in to lend some authenticity to the proceedings. Most importantly, Deserter’s Songs saw the band embracing a restrained, universal and mature sense of psychedelia, most memorably through the use of a musical saw (“Endlessly”). The standout track is “The Funny Bird,” which, by channeling the unbalanced sound of the previous records through producer Dave Fridmann’s masterful grasp of studio-created high drama, created a slow motion masterpiece concocted of what sound like interminable “waves” of sound. Mercury Rev’s career has followed a trajectory similar to that of the Flaming Lips, traversing the spectrum of rock music from noisy avant-punk to transcendent beauty with wispy lead vocals and Fridmann manning the boards. If this was Mercury Rev’s Pet Sounds, then next year’s The Soft Bulletin would be the Flaming Lips’ Sgt. Pepper.

48. Jamiroquai-Emergency on Planet Earth (Columbia, 1993) (buy)
It’s hard to believe, but there was a time when Jamiroquai wasn’t that one-hit wonder with the ponytail and the conveyor belt video. The band’s first record, Emergency on Planet Earth, combined, as only a British artist in the early 1990’s could, 1970’s funk and R&B, house rhythms popularized by Primal Scream and Happy Mondays, Australian tribal music and a neo-hippie sense of environmental consciousness (his name, as mentioned in the liner notes, is a combination of his ethnic ancestry—Jamaican and Iroquois). This was Stevie Wonder fronting the Brand New Heavies, and for this album, it worked, especially on opener “When You Gonna Learn (Didgeridoo)” and “If I Like It, I Do It.” The canonical video for “Virtual Insanity,” and the band’s 15 minutes of fame, was still three years in the future, and this record is the sound of a one-of-a-kind and distinctly of its time band at its early peak.

47. R.E.M.-New Adventures in Hi-Fi (Warner Bros., 1996) (buy)
In 1996, I was 19 years old, and had firmly established R.E.M. as My Most Important Band of All-Time. This was based largely on the Murmur through Out of Time period, though—Automatic for the People and Monster had failed to sufficiently move me. In retrospect, if Automatic represented the end of R.E.M.’s “classic” period and Monster an ill-fated attempt at merging glam with grunge, New Adventures in Hi-Fi could have marked the beginning of a clean slate for the band. The rolling piano outro of camp-country opener “How the West Was Won and Where it Got Us,” plays the band off stage, and, the second the lights fully dim to black, they rocket back to a blinding white as Stipe’s vocal “I look good in a glasspack,” introduces Peter Buck’s distorted lead in “The Wake-Up Bomb,” the rocking Marc Bolan paean that stands as their best all-out rocker since Green’s “Get Up.” The overall experience of the record is one of exhausted reflection, influenced thematically by Stipe’s friendship with Radiohead’s Thom Yorke (the album’s choice of font should give that one away). The tone is erratic but coherent, veering from the enormous pre-recorded squall of “Leave” to the subtle, gorgeous album closer “Electrolite.” While some tracks (“So Fast, So Numb” especially) sound like Monster leftovers, Hi-Fi is, in retrospect, the last great R.E.M. record, and I sadly don’t expect them to make another that will surpass it.

46. Smashing Pumpkins-Siamese Dream (Virgin, 1993) (buy)
Siamese Dream was a polarizing album for my group of friends, who would debate its merit over endless cups of coffee at the Waffle House after work at the local dollar theatre. The key moment in the discussion came when resident dork and whipping-boy Jared, who loved All for One, strolled in one night singing the chorus to “Today.” We all owned and liked the record, but couldn’t stand the fact that the guy in the oversized Glenn Robinson jersey knew it, too. This was the epitome of sixteen-year old alt-rock backlash, and led to everyone reppin’ Gish as far superior, which we all, at least on an unconscious level, knew was wrong. Siamese Dream was a fantastic record, one that was unfortunately lumped in with Nirvana, Soundgarden and Alice in Chains by MTV and “alternative” radio when it more comfortably sits aside My Bloody Valentine, Lush, and 4AD’s Cocteau Twins and This Mortal Coil as dense, moody, layered and intelligent rock. Sure, “Today” was a great single, and it made them superstars, but it’s really the dynamic shifts of “Soma” and the pummeling “Cherub Rock” that made them great.

45. Supergrass-Supergrass (Parlophone, 1999) (buy)
Along with Blur, survivors of the “Brit-Pop” era that claimed the lives of so many bands unable to transcend the tag (Oasis, Pulp, Suede, Sleeper, Gene, and on and on). This, their third album, takes another step toward maturity past the great In It for the Money, and sounds light years past the adolescent, druggy glee that produced “Caught by the Fuzz.” Opener “Moving” is an update of Money’s “Late in the Day,” alternating seamlessly between dreamy synth and rollicking guitar/piano parts, and setting the dualistic tone for the album, which swings between the wide and spacey (“Shotover Hill” and the appropriately titled “Eon”) and fist-pumping larks like weed ode “Mary” and “Jesus Came from Outta Space.” Acoustic guitar, piano, and handclaps color my personal favorite, “What Went Wrong (In Your Head),” which seems initially flippant through repetition of the titular phrase, but adds a sweet sentiment with the refrain, “God save the unstable/They stand alone/Ain’t done no wrong/It’s such a beautiful life.” Lead single “Pumpin’ on Your Stereo” was T. Rex personified, unequaled until their next album’s first single “Seen the Light.” This album proved that Supergrass could effectively ripen their signature sound without losing their core cult of fans.


44. Stereolab-Emperor Tomato Ketchup (Elektra, 1996) (buy)
I was introduced to Stereolab in 1994 during a radio show, when I segued into Mars Audiac Quintet’s “Ping-Pong” from, ready for this one?…Soho’s “Hippy Chick.” That’s what Stereolab was for me until Emperor Tomato Ketchup—a novelty French band, a one-trick pony that would surely fade away—until a good friend of mine put “Metronomic Underground” as a lead track on a superb mixtape circa 1997—the seven-minute runtime of the song alone astounded me and led me to not only pick up the record, but also to seek out rhythmic progenitors Can, Neu!, and Kraftwerk. After that, well, one can only assume how long it took to morph into an insufferable elitist. This is, for me, Stereolab in their purest form, mixing string sections, the (too-focused upon) weightless and multi-tracked vocal style of Laetitia Sadier, analog synth and farfisa organ to create a syncopated “yper-sound” that has proved very influential (Pram, Electrelane, Broadcast, Japanese “shibuya-kei” music) but never equaled.

43. Neutral Milk Hotel-In the Aeroplane Over the Sea (Merge, 1998) (buy)
The relatively low placement of this record is sure to get many Pitchfork acolytes in a sanctimonious tizzy, but can be explained thusly: I somehow missed it the first time around, and was only introduced to it a few years ago. This list places a large emphasis on duration of affection—in the coming years, this one should steadily climb.

42. Jeff Buckley-Grace (Columbia, 1994) (buy)
As Buckley’s only fully realized artistic vision before his death, Grace would register as remarkable in a biographical context alone—a stunning collection of earnest, romantic rock that gains meaning as Buckley’s James Dean-ish legend grows. But, decontextualized from the tragedy, this collection of songs is astounding—the back-to-back sequencing of the dynamic, operatic “Grace” and “Last Goodbye” still give me chills as I vainly attempt to emulate Buckley’s singular vocal range. Well-selected covers “Hallelujah” and “Lilac Wine” add depth and resonance, and album highlight “Lover, You Should Have Come Over” proceeds from a funereal accordion dirge to all-out screaming catharsis. It’s impossible to imagine how Arcade Fire would sound if this album had never been released.

41. A Tribe Called Quest-The Low End Theory (Jive, 1991) (buy)
The first hip-hop (but far from the last) record to appear on this list—The Low End Theory introduced me to jazz, although I certainly didn’t know it at the time, via the videos on Yo! MTV Raps for “Check the Rhime” and “We Got the Jazz.” I was entranced by a vision of hip-hop that didn’t involve, well, everything that The Chronic did, i.e. maturity, a healthy dose of stand-up bass and, unfortunately for my ensuing clothing choices, east-coast Afrocentrism (I soon purchased an “X” baseball cap, even further isolating me from my peers). After buying the tape (ah, tapes), I gazed at the picture of the trio inside, trying to decide which was Ali Shaheed (overbite), Phife (short, dark, and plus his voice is raspy) and Q-Tip (the reason girls bought the record), and wondering where I could find any recording from Grant Green, from whose “Down Here on the Ground” I learned the group sculpted “Vibes and Stuff” from. Like everyone else, I still prefer Q-Tip to Phife, although I can’t deny the great contrast between their individual styles that contributed to their uniqueness—Tip’s literate smoothness: “Back in the day when I was a teenager/Before I had status and before I had a pager/You could find the Abstract listenin’ to hip-hop/My pops used to say it reminded him of bebop,” and the “Five-foot Assassin’s” abrasive name-dropping simplicity: “I never half-step because I’m not a half-stepper/Drink a lot of soda so they call me Dr. Pepper.” And I can’t end this without mentioning the killer, Native Tongue-populated video for “Scenario,” still one of my all-time favorites, and which I could probably draw from memory.

Filed under: 90s  A Tribe Called Quest  autobiography  canon creation  Eleven  Jamiroquai  Jeff Buckley  list  Mercury Rev  Neutral Milk Hotel  R.E.M.  Smashing Pumpkins  Stereolab  Supergrass