Threading the needle. That was Seattle music in 1994. A desperate, futile gambit to save what few musicians remained from Lady Heroin’s clutches. Cobain was dead. A hideous monster was uncovered, in that bands came to realize that their labels would capitalize upon their deaths just as they would their lives. It’s one of the sickest, most repugnant eras in recording history.
Pearl Jam, Seattle, 1991.
Mike McCready, guitarist for none other than Pearl Jam, entered rehab for drugs and alcohol during the production of Vitalogy, in Minneapolis. Just imagine the options for debauchery that McCready was presented with; you can’t. I can’t. Pearl Jam has sold around 60 million albums worldwide. When that happens, secret people offer you more of something you like than you’ve ever seen, or knew existed. Anyone would give anything (or say anything) to be with you. Continue reading →
When was the last time the name “Pearl Jam” sounded weird to you? Can you even remember when it didn’t sound like a band?
Vitalogy, Pearl Jam’s experimental third album, was finally released in November of 1994. By that time, the record store I had assistant-managed was consumed by Blockbuster. Originally, I worked at “Tracks”, which was where I experienced Pearl Jam’s debut disc Ten, around ten times a day for several months. This resulted in a loathing of that album that burns to the present day. Continue reading →
The closest you can get to “a good Hole song” is the following. If there exists a female voice that science could prove is subconscious torture to heterosexual men, it would be Courtney Love’s. Continue reading →