1992- AUTOMATIC FOR THE PEOPLE

I can't listen to Automatic For The People with other people around. I don't like to hear it on the radio. And it's the most popular, and therefore most overplayed, record of one of my favorite bands.

Yet I love this record.

It came to me at a very dark time. I was halfway through college, directionless, and searching for some answers. I may not have found the answers I was looking for, but Stipe was at least asking some of the same questions.

Lacking the choppiness of either of its major label predecessors, 1988's Green or 1991's Out Of Time, Automatic For The People fulfilled the promise first heard on early I.R.S. albums like Reckoning and Fables Of The Reconstruction. Intense, personal, organic, mellow. This was the 'little band from Athens that could' operating on the world stage, but not sounding like they knew that's where they were.

I caught my first glimpse of the album cover on the back of Billboard magazine in my college library. The unassuming album cover seemed a sharp contrast from the brash Our Of Time cover. In small print at the bottom of the ad were three words: Still no tour.

At the height of their popularity R.E.M. did what few bands had done since the Beatles. They said goodbye to the road. And it's a good thing they did. Coming just a year and a half after Out Of Time, Automatic might never have happened if R.E.M. had undergone a world tour. The last single off of Out Of Time had barely left the charts at the time of Automatic's release.

I was eagerly anticipating this record, but knew very little about it other than the single, "Drive". I had a friend who was working at the campus radio station. He knew what a big fan I was and brought over the only copy of the CD in the city to my apartment three days before it came out. I listened to it and was blown away by the time I got to the second song. R.E.M. had produced a classic. A masterpiece. A record that could stand along side the works of the masters.

I haven't listened to Automatic For The People in a couple years. Maybe even three or four. It remains an intensely personal album for me, and I know a time will come when I'll need something from it, and I'll find it. Some albums are like that. It may not be the most played R.E.M. album for me, or even my favorite, but it occupies a space that very few albums fill. A timeless place. A place I don't want obscured by over familiarity or too much repetition.



*Automatic For The People is best served in the dark. Alone. With a bottle of wine. On a cold autumn night.

Bob Dylan's Modern Times

Bob Dylan has a new album and it's quite good. Much more in the vein of "Love and Theft" than Time Out Of Mind, this seems, as Dylan explained to Jonathan Lethem in his recent Rolling Stone interview, more like the 2nd part of a trilogy that started with "Love and Theft" than the final installment. The only thing the Modern Times really seems to share with Time Out Of Mind is the quality of the material.

Modern Times arrives at a time when Dylan's public and critical esteem is at a high not seen since the mid-seventies, and if the album suffers at all, it is because of this. We've come to expect a masterpiece instead of being pleasantly surprised when he delivers a listenable album. The 80's were not so kind to Dylan. For every Infidels and Oh Mercy, there was a Knocked Out Loaded or Down In The Groove. Inconsistency became the rule. A career renaissance began in the early 90's with his back to back folk albums, but he wasn't fully thrust back into the public limelight when his near-fatal heart problem became public. His recovery came in every sense of the word later that year with Time Out Of Mind.

With five or six years between albums, Dylan's not the most prolific artist these days. Although it's not because he hasn't been busy. Between "Love and Theft" and Modern Times he wrote a book, starred in Masked And Anonymous and contributed interviews to No Direction Home, and hosted a weekly radio show. His never-ending tour is still going.

Modern Times has a gently easy going vibe to it. Some of these songs wouldn't sound out of place on early 70's albums like New Morning or Planet Waves, or maybe even Street Legal. Modern Times has some of the longest songs Dylan has ever put out. With just 10 songs, the album clocks in at over 62 minutes. Brevity is not one of his common traits, and while the songs may initially seem to drag on for a bit, repeated listens warrant the extra verses. Lyrics jump out. Guitar parts leap from the speaker. Carefully produced by the bard himself, Modern Times sounds sublime.

His voice is rough in spots and drops off in others. "Thunder On The Mountain" contains several lyrics where Dylan's voice sounds like an engine being reved up at the end of the lines. "Spirit On The Water" almost requires a volume adjustment to catch what he's saying at certain points. Beyond this, his voice is quite good. Smoother than it's been in ages, and stripped of the production that dominated Time Out Of Mind, Dylan sounds like he's in the room with us, the audience. The band is playing quietly. The drummer uses brushes. Dylan's voice is front and center.

Like most classic Bob Dylan records, the more you listen to them the more the lyrics come out. Dylan seems to have a lot on his mind even if he is sometimes characteristic's vague. "Some lazy slut has charmed away my brains", he sings on "Rollin' And Tumblin' and he wants some woman to do just what he says in "Thunder On The Mountain", yet "When The Deal Goes Down", "Spirit On The Water" and "Beyond The Horizon" rank up there with Dylan's most sincere love songs.

Dark times are on his mind as well. Dylan takes on social issues in "Workingman Blues #2", and there's more than a hint of Katrina in "The Levee's Gonna Break", but his most profound statements come with the album's closing song, "Ain't Talkin".

In the human heart an evil spirit can dwell/ I am tryin' to love my neighbor and do good unto others/ But oh, mother, things ain't going well

His "heart is burning. He's "still yearning" as he walks "through the cities of the plague." The song echoes "Desolation Row" from Highway 61 Revisited. Just comparing a song from the 65 year old's new album to one of his classics would be plenty of praise. But this album stands on its own. Like "Love and Theft" and Time Out Of Mind, Modern Times ranks up there with his some of his finest recordings. And even though the album often sounds like it's from 1945 or 1952, Dylan brings it all home to the 21st century, a new album for modern times.

1991- NEVERMIND

1991. The Year Punk Broke. Or, more appropriately, The Year Assholes Started Listening To Better Music and Neil Young Became Fashionable. From all of the media coverage then and now, you'd think that 1991 was akin to 1968 or 1977. You'd think that there was this massive youth movement that everyone felt part of. Boy meets girl in their flannel shirts and move towards a grunge utopia where we'd elect a new President a year later put an end to conservative politics and Bush administrations for good. Yeah right.

I bought Nevermind in the fall of 1991. A friend of mine had played Bleach a few times and was talking about how great this upcoming album was going to be. I respected his opinion, and picked it up soon after it came out.

I bought Pearl Jam's Ten right around the same time. That one didn't last long at all. In fact I think I might have sold it back to buy Nevermind. I didn't really start to like the band until I saw them on Lollapalooza in 1992, but even then, my fandom was short lived. There weren't enough pearls in the jam.

But Nevermind. I remember liking some songs, but I couldn't understand why it had such a glossy polish on it. Kurt Cobain later said it was mastered wrong and ended up sounding like a Motley Crue record. I knew exactly what he meant and it was my main stumbling block with the record. It was probably the main reason why I shelved the record so soon after I purchased it.

This is how "grunge” arrived for me: One day I come home from class and the guy down the hall stops playing Def Leppard in mid-song. Cuts it right off. I don’t think too much about it, because I'm pretty sure that some metal meal ala "Cherry Pie" or a Van Halen "Poundcake" is about to be served. But there’s a moment of silence. Probably just long enough to take the cellophane off the CD. Then a familiar riff, big drums, and then everything gets quiet for a mumbled verse. Nirvana. "Smells Like Teen Spirit". Not the album, but just that song. Exclusively. Over and over again. The new Def Leppard had arrived.

So I shut my door and put on some Dinosaur Jr.

Truth be told, I spent a lot more time listening to and dissecting Achtung Baby than Nevermind that year. Lots more time. I’d always had a love/hate relationship with U2. They put out an album and I'd listen to it religiously, but by the time they went on tour their non-stop opinionating on everything imaginable, including religion, would drive me nuts. Too much Bono in the media. It's the reason I never saw them live.

Achtung Baby was a fascinating record though, and it more than made up for Rattle and Hum. It redefined U2 in a way nobody probably thought would be imaginable. It made them dark, somewhat dangerous, and definitely more of a rock band. Gone were the photo shoots of Irish castles, Joshua Trees and a stately looking rock band. This U2 had balls, and as overplayed as that record would become, I could still put it on and enjoy it today.

But Nevermind? It was everywhere, and it all seemed kind of silly. This wasn't a revolution as much as a progression. Kurt Cobain would dye his hair fuchsia and smash his guitar on Saturday Night Live, but anybody with a sense of rock history had seen those moves before.

Nevermind didn't do much for me at the time. Incesticide sparked new interest in them for me because it had a rawness and seemed like punk rock instead of this media phenomenon. But I wouldn't really get into Nevermind until In Utero came out. That was the Nirvana album that really won me over. Angry. Passionate. Haunting. Raw. It was everything that Nevermind was supposed to be.

Every rock-obsessed teenage kid has a band that kicks things wide open for them. For millions of kids it was Nirvana, but they were only the latest in a long line of inspiring bands. Big record labels had signed underground bands long before Nirvana. Husker Du, The Replacement, Sonic Youth and Soul Asylum all had major label contracts going back as far as 1985. College radio had existed for years. Labels like "alternative rock”, "independent rock” and "alternative" had been around for eons as well. Nirvana helped define a new market and give birth to a slew of imitators. They gave us "Grunge". Whatever that means.

And most of their listeners had no idea what Kurt was talking about. Nevermind was popular on the same level that made "Every Breath You Take” and "The One I Love” love songs for 80's proms and "Born In The USA" a re-election campaign song for Ronald Reagan.

Revolution doesn't come easy.

1990- ALL SHOOK DOWN

It's 1990. I'm 18 years old. I finished up high school and headed into college that fall. Much of the year was spent listening to Jane's Addiction and eagerly anticipating their Ritual De Lo Habitual album. I obsessed over that thing. When the single came out I had one of the most perfect listening experiences of my life. The American flag is coming down in a violent rainstorm. Through the rear view mirror of my car I can see a Perkin's employee trying to hoist the flag up as the tension mounted in the song and Perry Farrell screamed "erotic Jesus!". Yeah, that kind of shit is pretty bad ass when you're 18.

It's kind of hard to look back at Jane's Addiction now through the same lens. Perry's pretty much turned into a clown, and don't even get me started on that reunion record. But in 1990. Wow. Unstoppable. Rock and roll hadn't seen such a provocative frontman since Mick Jagger.

The full length record came out in the middle of my psychedelic summer. I was trying my best to "turn the 90's on their head" and recreate the 60's. Those words are Wavy Gravy's, but I got them off the Ben and Jerry's ice cream flavor.

Candles. Incense. Confused kids and drugs. That's what I remember about Ritual De Lo Habitual. Madison, WI. State Street. We all bought the album at midnight and then listened to it all night long. We thought we could find the inner workings of the universe through that record. "Been Caught Stealing" sort of interrupted that process.

I can't remember the last time I listened to that record. I doubt it's aged too well. Although I can envision a time in the near future when I'll light the candles and incense and get to know Viola, Casey and the erotic Jesus all over again.

A far more enduring album for me from 1990 is The Replacement's All Shook Down. The perfect college band kick started my college life with that record. I'd checked out Please To Meet Me from the library when I was in high school, and I'd seen the video for "I'll Be You" on MTV and loved it, and I borrowed a cassette copy of "Don't Tell A Soul", but as a freshman in college in 1990, I'd yet to actually purchase a Replacements album.

It was the single that got me. "Merry Go Round" is just such a perfect song, and a great way to kick of the album. "A hush is the first word you were taught..." Paul Westerberg sucks you in and immediately lets you know that this isn't going to be a party record. This isn't going to be another batch of songs about drinking red wine and Tommy getting his tonsils out and Gary popping a boner, as if any Replacement's record was really that simple. No, this is the flipside to all of that. It's the next day. You're an alcoholic. Your personal relationships are shattered and your band is breaking up. "Now is nothing like when it began".

Images are so profound on that album. Even on the sleeve itself. "Have you seen lucky?" it says on the back of the record. Some flyer stapled to a telephone pole. Inside there are pictures of empty bars, full ashtrays and abandoned beer glasses. And of course, Paul. He's disheveled and lost in thought. On the front of the album we see two wet dogs, looking sad and hungry and facing opposite directions. Nothing is working anymore.

Lyrically the album is a feast. "Popcorn for dinner last night it was cheesecake, a little sleepy-time tea spiked with another heartache." "Still in love with nobody, and I won't tell nobody." "Well you got your father's hair and you got your father's nose but you got my soul."

The previous album, Don't Tell A Soul, was a glossy attempt at commercial radio. It had some good songs, but a lot of it was a mess. All Shook Down was sort of a back to basics record, even if the band was hardly involved. Considered by some to be Westerberg's first solo album ,the record's liner notes even suggest this. "The musicians who played on this recorded thing include:" Among the 15 names are John Cale, Johnette Napolitano and Benmont Tench, right alongside the names of Tommy Stinson, Chris Mars and Slim Dunlap.

You get the sense that Paul just wanted to get it right this time. It's a sad record with it's share of flaws. "My Little Problem" would be the only song I'd yank, but it provides such a sharp transition to "The Last" that its inclusion is necessary.

"You been swearing to God, now maybe if you'd ask, that this one be your last". It was the last. No more Replacements albums came after this one. And for a long time, no more drinks for Westerberg. But it was the beginning of a long relationship with the band for me. Within weeks of buying All Shook Down I found like-minded fans in the dorms. One of the best uses of a Maxell XLII 100 minute tape was my Let It Be/Tim/Stink Replacements compilaton. I wore that thing out. Loved it. Still do, though I play the records individually now.

14 Songs was a shock for me when it came out in 1993. I could sum it up in one line, "I miss the hurt." All Shook Down was full of it. And some fans didn't care for it. But it was real. 10 years on the road had taken their toll, and Paul Westerberg had documented it. The party was over.

soundtrack of my life- 1990's

Pitchfork recently made a list of the 200 best songs of the sixties. A monumental task, I'm sure. I can't imagine undertaking it. I didn't grow up in the sixties, and I would certainly forget a bunch of important songs. Still, it is great to read a list like that. I just wish it came with a giant downloadable file of all the songs.

I was at the Bottle Rockets show last night at the 400 Bar. Midway through the set I started compiling my own list in my head. Not of sixties songs, but of nineties albums. Maybe it was the beer or the company I was with. Or maybe it was my 1993 pick I listened to on the way, but I was able to focus there for about a half hour and figure out what my list will look like. Now all I have to do is write it down.

The journey begins sixteen years ago. But I'm not getting started on it until this hangover recedes.

haircuts and rock and roll

Sometimes I write and know exactly what I'm going to say. Thoughts swirl around my head for a day or two, and then the opportunity finally comes to put them down on paper. Or plasma screen. Whatever.

Other times it's as if there's almost no thought. No reason to write. Self-loathing times. Doubt sets in.

Go see a movie, I say. And that helps. I saw Little Miss Sunshine the other day and loved it. Like perfect antidote to my foul mood, I felt rejuviated and alive. I could walk in the night air, breath it in and find some reason to put one foot in front of the other.

Music used to do it for me. There was usually a new cd or some classic record I could put on and I'd feel great. Or at least occupied. Lately the music doesn't sound so good. A lot of it sounds the same to me. Pale imitations of earlier giants. Too much focus on haircuts, and not enough on tunes.

Dylan still sounds good to me. I'm very much looking forward to his new album. The guy will have something to say. He's unusual in that he always does, even when not trying to say anything.

I picked up my guitar the other day. I'm thinking about writing some songs. But I haven't had a haircut in three months, and I'm not sure what to say.

Hotter Than Hell

So I'm getting ready to go out of town. And it's hot. I mean it's beyond hot. Wear black outside for five minutes and it really does feel like you could catch fire. Or that fireballs will come raining from the sky at any moment. Maybe that would be a good thing. It would be pretty hard to argue against global warming if fireballs poured out of the sky.

I go the dry cleaners to see if they'll do some emergency cleaning for me. I have some nice shirts that I'd like to wear on my trip to Chicago. Problem is, they've been lying in a dry cleaning bag since at least last summer. Too lazy and cheap to clean them I guess. Or I've had such casual jobs I've gotten by with just a tshirt over the last couple summers. Anyway, I was determined to look my best so I thought I'd get these shirts cleaned.

The place across the street from my place says they have to ship everything out, and there's no way they can deliver them the same day. I figured as much. Very few dry cleaning places are going to deliver on the same day. Buy hey, worth a shot. And it turns out it's not a completely wasted venture. She tells me to try the place down the street. They do all of their dry cleaning on site and may be able to turn it around the same day.

I procrastinate. I sit in my air conditioning. I surf the internet. I make some lunch. A few hours later I get in my car and go to the other dry cleaning place. Upon walking in the door I feel like I'm going to die. It must be 120 degrees in there. A fan is on the floor and it's blowing behind me. It's hotter than hell. It's as if Gene Simmons is lapping at my legs with that long tongue of his and breathing his fire breath on me. Unbearable. I step out of the way of the fan. It's making things worse. I want to bolt.

An Indian woman comes out with the full headdress and gown on. She's dripping with sweat. I ask her if there's any way she can turn around an order for a couple shirts on the same day and she says no. Or more accurately she says "it's hot." When I ask her when she could get them done she repeats "It's hot." Then she says that she sent the guy that does the irons home. "Tomorrow...hot too.'

I feel like a jerk. This lady could die trying to get my shirts done for me. And if she did them for me I'd probably want them ironed too. Oh, I'm a bastard. So I leave and tell her to try to stay cool, and I head for Target. Maybe Dryell will do the trick. So what if it really doesn't do jack for stains. At least nobody dies.

Excuse me, but you owe me 3/10 of a cent!

I'm not one to bitch about gas prices, even when they get pretty high. When I'm on a road trip people often ask about gas prices in different cities I've passed through. Until recently I seldom paid attention. I have to use gas, and it's pretty much regulated, so what's the point in using mental energy to keep track of a couple cents difference.

$40 is a big chunk of change to fill up my sedan. Nobody's humping my hummer. My car is fairly eco-friendly. At least by US standards. But when I cross that $40 mark I start to pay a little attention. On a recent trip to Chicago it the lowest I saw was $3.09 in Minneapolis and Wisconsin and the highest I saw was $3.39 in downtown Chicago. But I'm neglecting something when I mention these prices and that is the .9 that's attached to each of them.

How is it that we allow the oil industry to attach an extra .9 to every gallon of gas we buy? Maybe this extra little perk explains some of those record profits. They've had us conditioned to look the other way every time we go to the pump. Was it the original Superman where some huge corporation was stealing a penny from everybody's paycheck? I wish I could add $.00.9 to every hour of my goods and services.

People are talking about how we should get rid of the penny because it costs more to produce it than what it's worth. I say we abolish the tenth of a penny. Or at least start going into gas stations and ask for the remaining 10ths of a cent that's owed to you. Hey, gas is expensive. You have to keep your eye on these things.