Garden

 I'm always excited by the prospect of a new Dinosaur Jr album; for my money, they're easily the most artistically successful band reunion ever. And "I Ran Away," the first track released off their new album, Sweep It Into Space sounds like vintage post-Green Mind Dino Jr, which is to say, spectacular. 

But "Garden," the track just released today, is really something else. The new LP apparently has two or three songs written by Lou Barlow, as usual. And they're generally good, although I find to my surprise and disappointment that I almost always like Barlow's solo work better than his Dinosaur Jr stuff; I like his band offerings, generally, but I often love his solo outings. He was ridiculed in their early days for being so emotional, and it sometimes seems to me that his band songs downplay that slightly, but he leans into it on his solo records, with superior results. 

But here he seems to have somehow found the magical combination. It's got that emo Barlow feel, and his more conventional vocals are especially strong here. But it also has a distinctly Sufjan Stevens Carrie & Lowell vibe to it, but with a J Mascis guitar solo. And since perhaps the only thing better than a distinctly Sufjan Stevens Carrie & Lowell vibe is a J Mascis guitar solo, well, this is simply superb. 

Also, the video's pretty groovy. 

J. Mascis/Bob Stinson

I came to Dinosaur Jr. way too late.

Actually, that's not entirely true. I came to them just in time for their glorious 2007 reunion record, Beyond. Just before that, really, which gave me time to devour the perfect Green Mind and other magnificent records like Bug and You're Living All Over Me. But in terms of the late 80s, early 90s? I missed it all. I knew who they were, just didn't pay attention.

That was dumb.

What's funny is the first time I ever heard Dinosaur Jr. or J. Mascis incendiary guitar (I wish I could remember what song it was) was in the early 1990s. And my first thought, upon hearing it, was, "Since when does Bob Stinson play in another band?"

I was (still am, of course) an avowed Replacements nut and this wasn't too long after they'd shuffled off that mortal coil in 1991. Bob was long deposed, naturally, as their lead guitar player and, well, I just plain missed the band like crazy. And couldn't believe their eight record output would be all I would ever have of them.

So imagine my surprise when I thought (erroneously) that Bob Stinson had joined a new band. It was like, "Dammit! No one tells me anything anymore!" (Which isn't true. Scott tries to tell me stuff. I just don't listen. To him. Except when I do. Like here.)

Anyways, this is the Replacements song that popped to mind when I first heard what J. Mascis could do to a guitar. This was exactly what his guitar style and playing reminded me of. It's as early Mats as you get, and while it's a rager of a tune, it's not even the best known song on the single it spawned; the lovely and forlorn country shuffle "If Only You Were Lonely" was its B-side and seemed to always delight fans even more.

But just five seconds in, listen to Bob's guitar. That heavy, hyperbaric sound, menacing as hell and yet clear as a damn bell. That was Bob Stinson's sound, when he did it right. And that is J. Mascis sound. Who always does it right.

Bob Stinson's been dead 20 years this year, which is crazy enough to think about. The Replacements legendarily continue to not get the mainstream props they deserve, even as the non-essential masses continue to love them and laud them. (Another year snubbed by the Rock-n-Roll Hall of Fame! Yippee!)

But man did Bob Stinson create a very distinct and very essential sound for them. And man did J. Mascis pick up the ball and run with it with Dinosaur Jr.

(Here's an example of a great J. solo that reminds me of Bob Stinson. J. starts right in with that sound from the very beginning, and then we hear it again with a solo at the 2:01 mark. Obviously this isn't that one I first heard; this came out at least 15 years later. But I think it's a good example of what two peas in a pod these two really mighta been.)

Circle

I know I know I know. I'm not supposed to like Edie Brickell. She's an easy touchstone of all that's clichéd about her decade. She's a ripoff of Rickie Lee Jones (who was herself originally accused of borrowing a bit too heavily from Joni Mitchell). Her lyrics—"philosophy is the talk on a cereal box/religion is the smile on a dog"—could arguably verge on what's the word I'm looking for oh yes absolutely mortifying. Her mouth could swallow Toledo.

I'll grant you all of it. Still, she wrote catchy melodies and may have been not entirely displeasing to the eye and what can I say? I'm shallow.

But also honest enough to admit that if she looked like this guy I wouldn't have given her the time of day, and that'd have been a shame. 'cuz even though I suspect there's at least a little bit of irony in his choice of cover here, it doesn't matter, because it works anyway.

A Newbie's Live Dinosaur Jr Primer

So my old college roomie, Dave, is going to go see Dinosaur Jr in a few weeks. Once I was able to get past the blinding jealousy, I was filled with excitement for him, getting to see one of the great American bands of the 80s and 90s and, what the hell, this century so far, not to mention the absolute best band reunion ever—I don't think it's even close.

Dave knows some Dino Jr and obviously likes what he's heard 'cuz duh how could anyone not? But as he's not a huge, long-time fan, I looked at recent setlists and decided to put together a very brief primer for someone going to their first DJ show: just a handful of tunes he's likely to hear live, maybe a third of their total set.

Let's start with their current single, the delightfully crunchy yet as always ever so melodic "Watch the Corners," with the brief, sudden and (hitherto) unexpected acoustic interlude, from their new album, I Believe in Sky. 



They've also been playing the slower, grindier "See It On Your Side" a lot this tour, again from the new album.



Going back to their second album, they almost always play "The Lung." (My writing that, of course, means they're probably about to drop it from the set.)



But they go even further back, playing "Forget the Swan," off their 1985 debut, almost every time out, including an oddly large percentage of TV appearances.



Maybe their best-known song—other than their utter killer cover of The Cure's "Just Like Heaven"—is their sadly autobiographical yet utterly transcendent "Freak Scene."

'cuz when I need a friend it's still you. Now you're fired. See you in fifteen years. 

And that's about it. I could add the insanely catchy "Little Fury Things"—the very first Dinosaur Jr I ever heard and three seconds in I swear I knew I was going to be a fan for life—or "Out There" which, if not my very favorite DJ song ever is certainly Top 3. I could say to prepare to be amazed by the ferocity and dexterity of J Mascis's soloing or how he wears his heart on his sleeve in his lyrics yet can barely seem to be arsed to actually sing them, much less talk to the audience, or the bizarrely chordal bass playing of the much more outgoing Lou Barlow who never seems to have been told that the bass is traditionally plucked and not strummed. And Murph's drumming? How he seems to want to destroy his drum kit as quickly and violently as possible? His glorious tonsorial style? His overall diaphoretic appearance? In fact, I could go on for hours about Dino Jr, something Dave well knows.

But I won't. Instead, I'll just leave with one last, incomparable and utterly perfect pop song.



Good golly. I may need to borrow her cigarette.

Oh...and bring earplugs. Seriously, trust me on this. You're welcome in advance.

The Wagon

There’s a great rock-n-roll debate built around the question, “What was the greatest year ever for rock-n-roll?” As in which year produced the best music?

And hell, we can start as far back as, say, 1956, when two gentlemen named Elvis Presley and Frank Sinatra very much ruled the roost, and others like Fats Domino and Little Richard and Chuck Berry were just getting started.

That was definitely the best year for rock until…the next one. When 1957 gave us “Jailhouse Rock” and “That’ll Be the Day” and “Rock-n-Roll Music” and “Great Balls of Fire.” With the Everly Brothers and Sam Cooke starting things off for themselves as well. Wow.

1966 was an epic year, and I say that without a trace of hyperbole. With full-run albums now the primary vehicle to get the music out, as opposed to singles, this year gave us Pet Sounds, Revolver and Blonde on Blonde—epic indeed. 1968? Not too shabby with The Beatles and Beggar's Banquet and Electric Ladyland and Sweetheart of the Rodeo and Astral Weeks and Lady Soul.

Three years later 1971 gave us What’s Going On, Blue, Sticky Fingers and Who’s Next, while 1972 gave us Exile on Main Street, Talking Book, Led Zeppelin IV and Harvest.

Three more years later, 1975 gave us Born To Run, Horses, Physical Graffiti, Wish You Were Here and Blood on the Tracks. The list goes on—as the man said, as long as you've got a dime, the music will never stop.

But here’s a year closer to the present…well, a little bit, anyway. 1991.

Achtung Baby
Nevermind
Ten
Girlfriend
Metallica

Five albums that represented the very, very best of each of those artists, at least four of which are first-ballot Rock-n-Roll Hall of Famers, and the fifth (Matthew Sweet) one of rock's most respected and enduring figures.

On the "second tier" were albums like Out of Time, The Soul Cages, Gish, Luck of the Draw, Woodface, Apocalpyse 91, Badmtorfinger and Dangerous, which should take a backseat to very few.

What's more, Stevie Wonder did his best work in a decade with the Jungle Fever soundtrack. Toad the Wet Sprocket and Cypress Hill and 2Pac debuted. Prince and the Pixies and Elvis Costello and N.W.A. had estimable releases. Guns 'n Roses had two albums that apparently a lot of people liked. Even without anything from our boy Bruce Springsteen, that makes for one hell of a watershed year.

And tucked among all that came one of the finest releases from one of the finest bands of the era. Green Mind by Dinosaur Jr.

J. Mascis and company (OK, mostly J. at this point) never sounded better than  on an album that was loud, fast, tight and just bled nihilistic pathos. As much as any album ever released, Green Mind was a perfect hybrid of the post-punk movement that came before it (The Replacements, Husker Du, The Pixies) and the so-called “grunge” era that made its big splash in 1991 and controlled the early 1990s.

Leading off Green Mind is, in my estimation, the band’s greatest song, “The Wagon.” Just shy of 5 minutes of revved up, rocket-fueled energy, it is all at once chaotic and melodic, reaching full speed literally half a second in and with J.’s vocals surprisingly coherent and a tunefulness to the song that truly surprises you. Not only does the breakneck tempo never let up, but it even speeds up as it careens towards the halfway point. Just before J. unleashes (starting at 2:19 in the below clip) one of the truly great and astonishing guitar solos in rock-n-roll history.

1991 gave us tons to be thankful for, musically. Green Mind and “The Wagon” are right there at the front of the line.