I have an admission to make: I really really can't stand 90's indie rock!
No one cares, but there.... I said it!
As steeped in it as I was at the time, 90's indie rock remains a dull, coal gray, and sexless little time period in the history of something that is usually a whole lot of fun.
Fun?????
Sure, it's safe to use that word now in 2011, but don't try blurting it out back in 1991 in the dank and stuffy basement where you and your Dicky worker-jacket wearing friends are angrily pasting together your little newsprint zine.
I'll never forget sitting in some awful burger joint in Lomita CA with my friend Tom and some fellow industrial band type guys, when a cartoon bubble suddenly goes up over Tom's head and he proudly proclaims "I think there should be a badge we make out, that says CERTIFIED! Like if you, like, have a band, or like, do a zine, you get to wear this patch." The other guys all nodded in smug agreement, and I was sitting there wondering how my dreams of rock n roll rebellion somehow landed me at a Hitler Youth rally.
It was the 90's and cred was king. Even if no one had a shred of a clue what the word cred even meant or how to apply it to their creative pursuits. Hair metal was dead. And just like the superficial assholes who played that type of music, a new breed of superficial asshole came along and stripped away all the superficial elements that made hair metal HAIR METAL. Namely, the HAIR, the spandex, the v-neck guitars, and the operatic vocals. Whew, so, we got rid of all that crap, so what's left? Ah, we've got some groove, some power chords, a nice back-beat, time honored rock n roll subject matter and melody! Well, shit, we could really usher in a new and great age of kick-assery, couldn't we???? Well, hmmmm, I guess, no, it would be best to strip away even the groove, the back-beat, the melody, all that crap! .....
..... so what do we have left?
...... A bunch of superficial assholes.
..... Really, that's all?
.... Oh, a bunch of superficial assholes and some musical equipment.
.... Ah, a good enough place to get started, right?
Well, get started, they (WE, to be fair) did. And the rest is, thankfully, history. In the beginning, there really was a sense of community and common goal. Los Angeles was a wasteland of pay-to-play brutality, but a couple of bright little lights managed to illuminate. Places like Al's Bar in Long Beach and Spaceland or Jabberjaw in LA proper, became virtual bug lights to disillusioned and stateless musicians/kids everywhere. I used to love going to Jabberjaw on any given night where just about any odd assortment of people would be onstage creating random havoc. This was great for a while, but soon enough the cred bullshit and snobbery crept in and you either had to be signed to a label like Matador Records, or Bomp, or be a band that toured with a group from such a label. Total bullshit considering that every happening band was running around bragging that they would never in a million years sign to a major label. Ha! You had countless broke assholes who couldn't support a goldfish, let alone pay their rent (that is if they weren't living with their parents at 30) being happy and proud to deny themselves a buck or two or to see all their efforts amount to any level of success. Oh, wait, but Matador isn't a major label? Yeah, yeah, it's a subsidiary of Atlantic, but, shhhhhhhh!
That very same conversation could very easily veer off into some endless tirade of insult heaping at a band like Sonic Youth who had committed the cardinal sin of signing to Geffen Records (or rather DGC: David Geffen's vanity "cool" imprint) and maybe affording to finally stock up on a supply of extra guitar strings. C'mon, those guys (and gals) had been at it for years and had mouths too feed. They probably still owe whatever advance money Mr. Geffen tossed their way, but it was a much earned step up the ladder at the time. In fact, countless bands got major label deals in the wake of such stories, including a few who swore they could never find it in their hearts to do such a thing. (anyone remember Jawbreaker) Often, their own fans revolted (one again, anyone remember Jawbreaker) sending such bands into a neither here nor there wasteland. No longer indie and cool, and freshly dropped by their major label saviors..... I'll never forget Buzz from the Melvins musing about being at a guitar center watching all the guys strapping on guitars and shredding, and realizing that he was easily the worst guitarist in the room, yet probably the only one with a major label deal.... An insane time indeed.....
Spaceland was still a beacon in the night for some time after, but then Beck brought a leaf-blower onstage (a clip of which turned up in his "Loser" video) and suddenly, the place was too cool for school. (Beck, quite wisely moved on)
I was in a band who recorded for the Kill Rock Stars label, and I must admit, I've never had a more miserable time playing music. The shows were packed and sweaty, but there was nary a smile to be found. I remember playing the Hong Kong Cafe in Chinatown with Bikini Kill, and how the dead seriousness of the whole affair just depressed me to no end. That night, a group of old-school punk rockers came out of the woodwork and lit off some smoke bombs and smashed some windows before being run out in a hail of "scene" defending insults and genuine tears. It was a pathetic attempt at disruption but at least some real rock n roll had attempted an invasion. I couldn't help but wonder how many of the lunch-pail gripping buzz heads in attendance had momentary flashes of fleeing off into the night with these punks. I'm telling you, those guys most likely slithered away to much more fun.
So, somehow this all brings to a one Mrs. Chan Marshall, herself a Matador Records stalwart. Chan of the gorgeous skin tone and mesquite smoked voice, initially fit right in with this whole shebang. She'd show up with her hair in a tussle, obscuring her model looks, and breaking down on stage. I remember watching her collapsed in a heap at the front of some stage while the little girls in the pit petted her back like an overgrown and lazy cat. It was talked up as indie diva posturing, which might have been so, but anyone who actually listened to her music would be hard pressed to lend that sort of talk much credence. Chan was a mess and her music was really probably the only thing she had to grab a hold of. Then having to go out and please people with must have been something of a challenge, and she wasn't having much of it. Most people in her situation seemed to have become messes BECAUSE of the music and what bringing it to the people with whatever variety of success had wrought upon them. Chan hadn't even gotten half as far before collapsing in the doorway. But still she kept at it, releasing a string of good albums, that if, yeah, pandered in places to the groove-less/sexless times, showed enough sparks of brilliance to keep her fans hanging in there. And this isn't even considering her voice!
..... and what a voice!
Has the generation in question produced even one other voice of such a stature? I mean, where are all the new Dusty Springfield's, or Evie Sands, or Roberta Flacks? Well, 90's indie rock certainly didn't provide any (nor has R&B of late). Chan was ALWAYS a fantastic singer, but it wasn't until 2006's The Greatest that she really seemed to accept her greatness as such. Her previous album (You Are Free) saw Chan bringing in guys like Dave Grohl for no good reason and doing donuts over the same old indie AstroTurf as before, only this time, with a back slapping rotation of superstar, cred-swollen, guest stars. It was all fine and good, as Chan still showed up and brought the goods, but it was damn well time to do something different.
.... So suddenly Mrs. Marshall is standing alone (guitar in hand) next to a tree somewhere for a static-shot DVD reading of some rambling songs, and shit, things are starting to get interesting!
Flash forward a couple years and Chan is encamped in the legendary Ardent Studios (Memphis Tennessee) leaving a trail of empty scotch bottles in her wake. She's ditched any trace of indie queen pretension (not that there ever really was much of that) and is working with a crack team of session luminaries and bringing the best material of her career to dazzling life. There are no cover songs this time and her voice is at it's most lived-in and human. She's singing about having lived in bars, some guy named Willie, horses galloping, looking for living proof, and if you can't glean any real idea of what these songs are about, you sure as fuck believe every word she sings. The Memphis session crew are in perfect harmony with the woman. They underplay perfectly (unique for such a large and experienced ensemble)and punctuate each foggy notion with grace and sincerity. The guy on trumpet will bring tears to your eyes. On a song like Willie, he plays only a few key notes. And plays these notes over and over as the simple melody drones along in comforting repetition. You have no goddamn idea what this is all about, but it tugs at your heart, with an eventual emotional arch being somehow wrought from the sheer physicality of the players. Chan seems to often lose herself in the sounds that envelope her and her songs. It's rare that such a great singer will leave so many spaces available for interpretation. It's a beautiful thing to behold and you know at once, the likes of which will never become commonplace.
I could go on and on, but you really must immerse yourself in this giant feather bed of sound on your own. Chan's become something of a professional cover artist in recent years, though her powers as a song interpreter are humbling to behold. Let's hope she gifts us again soon with another perfect offering of original material, to further prove my 90's indie rock nightmare scenario might indeed have a savior.
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