1995- ALIEN LANES

April 8, 1995, Saturday morning. I wake up and put on a CMJ music compilation cd with two tracks from a band I'm starting to hear a lot about. The first song I instantly like. It's a 2 minute pop gem called "Motoraway" off their new album, Alien Lanes. The second song is far less likeable, but intriguing just the same. And it set a standard of expectations I’d come to expect from Guided By Voices. For every album of new material there's always a side project or additional ep released within months. In this case it was a boxset of their first four albums and a fifth disc of rarities. True to a lot of their output, the song from the main release was killer. The other, not so bad.

I end up meeting my friend Laura for breakfast. I had the veggie tex mex omelet and it's delicious. The perfect amount of eggs, salsa, sour cream and cheese. The coffee was glorious too. So good in fact, that I decide to get a cup to go so I can sip it as we peruse the aisles of a used book store. I look around for a Martin Amis book a friend recommended, but I can't find it. Besides I'm distracted. "Motoraway" is stuck in my head, and while flipping through City Pages at breakfast I learn that Guided By Voices are playing at the Uptown that night. I want to get to a record store.

I manage to convince Laura to head to Cheapo with me, even though she knows this is likely to be a painfully long experience of watching me endlessly debate which records to get. I tell her it'll be different this time. That I know just what I want. Besides, I think Morrissey has a new album she might be interested in. This does it. She's game.

And there it is. I recognize the art work form the CMJ magazine. It looks great at full size though. I'm especially intrigued by the band photo on the back. They look unified, like they could be living together. Sacrificing a life of women and children for the pursuit of rock and roll.

I loved the title. And 30 some songs. Then a boxset to devour when I was done, as well as a little record called Bee Thousand. Wow. I always loved it when I got into a band that had a whole back catalog to discover. The problem is, as you get more and more into music, the slew of rock and roll bands with a deep catalog you haven’t already pined gets smaller and smaller. Guided By Voices were fertile ground.

Laura and I sit on her front steps and drink the remains of our coffee. "This band is playing tonight," I say as I check out the album artwork, "if I really like this album, I'm going to go see them."

Back at my apartment I'm pleased that my roommate is gone. This is not unusual though. He went out all the time, and I often had the huge plush couch, vintage lamps, funky tables and 50's kitsch all to myself. The only time he was really around was when Star Trek–The Next Generation was on. He watched that intently and then usually went out. It was great having a gay roommate.

Disarm the settlers
The new drunk drivers
Have hoisted the flag
We are with you in your anger
Proud brothers
Do not fret, the bus will get you there yet
To carry us to the lake
The club is open
Yeah, The club is open
Hey, the club is open
A-come on, come on, the club is open
C'mon, c'mon, the club is open
C'mon, c'mon, c'mon, the club is open...

Oh, dear God. Let me in the club. Let me in. Let me in. Let me in. What is this? Some long lost Kinks or Who album from the 60’s? How many vocalists are there? Why does it sound so lo-fi? What’s in the water in Dayton, Ohio?

One song after another I’m bombarded by fragments that blend into a whole and perfect little pop tunes that lack any trace of studio wankery and endless noodling. The average song length is about a minute and a half. And it’s fucking perfect.

Nothing was going to stop me from seeing that show. I made a few calls and tried to recruit some friends to go, with no luck. No problem, I had just heard one of the best rock albums I’d heard in ages. I’d jump over the bouncer if I had to. Or sneak in through the kitchen door. Whatever it took.

But Guided By Voices just weren’t that big then. I got there halfway through the opening band and had no problem getting in. Positioning myself in front of the stage, about 5 rows back, I awaited for my future rock gods to emerge.

The singer introduced his props right away. Budweiser in one hand, cigarette in the other. A cooler of refreshments never far from reach. Animated and full of facial tics, and microphone jabs and twirls, this was like seeing Roger Daltrey and the Who back when they were just The Who. Lean and mean, but without all the opera. One of Guided By Voices bootlegs was called The Who Went Home and Cried. I was beginning to understand why.

“You’re all good kids….you kids wanna hear another one?” It’s not everyday a singer talks of teaching fourth graders and affectionately calls you kids. Not just kids, but “good kids”.

It was all part of the mystique, but it wasn’t crafted by the marketing department of their record label. A bunch of 30-somethings from a small town had been playing rock and roll in their basements and issuing home recordings for years. Now they’d quit their full time jobs to embrace rock and roll. No pretty boy haircuts and designer clothes. This was real rock with real stories behind it. Shoe gazer rock died upon impact.

I knew it that night. I’d see this band every single time they came to any city I happened to be living in. Over the next several years I saw them countless times, often on the same tour. They’d bombard you with the new material (“you’ll be screaming for this shit later this year”) and then get to the classics. Guided By Voices shows became an event. Rock and roll had rarely been this consistently good, and this much fun.

Unlike some other Guided By Voices records, the songs from Alien Lanes don’t sound as good when they’re taken out of context from the record. It’s those little 45 second fragments and weird interludes that make the record. I’m not sure I want to hear “A Salty Salute” without “Evil Speakers” following it. Or “Motorway” separated from “Auditorium”.

It’s hard to imagine rock and roll without Guided By Voices. They lived out the fantasy that many of us hold on to long after our early 20’s pass us by. Through endless writing and recording, they eventually stepped out of the basement and gave us all something to believe in. It’s usually “I Am A Scientist” from Bee Thousand that gets the most applause when done live:

I am a lost soul
I shoot myself with rock & roll
The hole I dig is bottomless
But nothing else can set me free

Robert Pollard speaks the truth. And he’s probably sitting at his kitchen table, or maybe his rock and roll toilet somewhere scrawling the next rock and roll epic for his “good kids”. More likely, he finished one before breakfast and is at work on the followup. We wouldn’t want it any other way from Uncle Bob.

1994- CROOKED RAIN, CROOKED RAIN

Pavement could have been huge. They made mistakes. They were either too eclectic (Wowee Zowee) or they went too soft and got a little boring (Brighten The Corners). But on 1994's Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, they made about as perfect of a rock and roll album as you could find.

I always meant to pick up Slanted and Enchanted. The Spins and Rolling Stones were calling it one of the best indie albums, but I never got around to picking it up. I don't even know if I heard a note. But the buzz had been created. My ears were wide open when their second record started to get some airplay.

Not that I can remember hearing it on the radio, although Rev 105 was around then, so it was a distinct possibility. I do remember seeing "Cut Your Hair" on MTV and thinking it was about the coolest song I'd ever heard.

What I wasn't prepared for was what a cohesive whole the album was. From "Silence Kit" to "Filmore Jive', this was a complete album. Full of weird interludes and detours, the album featured some of the best pop songs you'd ever want to hear. But unlike Slanted and Enchanted, this wasn't four track first take kind of stuff. This album sounded good. Like they meant it. "Gold Sounds" and "Range Life", with the Smashing Pumpkins and Stone Temple Pilots jabs were perfect slices of pop nirvana.

And of course we couldn't forget Nirvana. It was sort of an all consuming thing in 1994. Kurt Cobain was dead. A lot of us identified with him. He seemed to have everything any of us would ever want (except Courtney Love), and now he was dead. Yeah, those were some heavy times.

But Pavement had none of that heaviness, and I think that's what made them so attractive. Malkmus was the ultimate slacker. He didn't give a shit about talking about childhood abandonment issues or eating fish because they don't have any feelings. No, he sang silly little songs about range rovin' with the cinema stars and hoping that his girl wouldn't go and get her hair chopped off.

But those silly songs were so fucking great. It becomes even more apparent how great the album is when you listen to early takes of the songs. As essential as Slanted and Enchanted- Luxe and Reduxe was to any serious Pavement fan for its inclusion of tracks previously found only on hard to find eps and singles, the 2004 reissue of Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain isn't quite as rewarding. Once you hear the early versions of the songs that ended up on Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain you realize that these guys aren't just a bunch of slackers who got lucky in the studio. This album took a great deal of craft. And they captured it on these 12 tracks. The reissue is interesting, but we don't need 37 additional tracks to remind us how great Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain is.

Wowee Zowee took care of that.

Ok, I can't end there. Wowee Zowee isn't a bad album. It's just not a Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain, Then again, few albums are.

1993- TRANSMISSIONS FROM THE SATELLITE HEART

In 1993 Bill Clinton took office. He was the first president I voted for, and since I was too young to really remember Jimmy Carter, he was the first Democratic president for me. My memories consisted of Reagan and Bush. Clinton was a voice of change. It felt like things could happen now–like the youth had spoken to an extent and I was part of it.

I was living at home. I decided to take a semester off from school, and I pretty much vowed that I wouldn't go back to Whitewater. I'd had my fill. It was time for a change, but I wasn't ready to take any radical steps.

I listened to a lot of Tom Waits. Bone Machine was in my cd player for most of the year. My room was below the living room and my mom would ask me who the guy with gravely voice was, and I'd tell her. "I kind of like him," she'd say, "that I don't wanna grow up song should be your theme song."

I'll never forget my Dad's reaction when I brought home The Black Rider. It was one of the rare times when I asked my parents if they minded if I put something on. The Black Rider begins with this circus noise and Tom coming in with a megaphone screaming "ladies and gentleman under the big top tonight, we have...". My Dad puts down his paper and looks at me and says "I don't know how you can listen to this. You call this music?" Sure, I'd long given up the Metallicas and Iron Maidens, and I choose this album to play in front of him? Of all albums, of all of Tom's albums, The Black Rider? It was too perfect.

I worked at this factory that made playground equipment for kids. Plastic slides and swings that came with plans to build a structure to attach them to. You had to look busy all the time. You could sweep the floor ten times and the employees would still get nervous and the supervisor would tell us to look busy. Everyday the temp service would send in new people and the boss guy would go around and fire people who looked lazy. If you weren't moving when he came around, you were a goner. Apparently the temp service owned the factory.

You couldn't smoke there either. If they caught you smoking, even in your car on the way out of the parking lot, you were fired. Punching in was a problem too. If you punched in a minute or two late, they weren't too happy. But if you punched in too early you'd also hear about it. So there was a huge line of people waiting to punch in at exactly six am. And if you were slow, the guy behind you would give you crap. It was a cold dark winter. I wanted to take a Sharpie and write the words "help me" on one of the slides. I'd imagine this perfect scene of a suburbanite dad putting together a swing set for his kids and seeing my unexpected plea.

After helping to fund the city of Whitewater with the finest in police vehicles, SWAT teams and ammo, I finally turned 21. No more hiding in dryers and refrigerator boxes. No more sucking on a penny and praying that it would work this time. No more visits to a lawyer's office in an attempt to be the one guy who would finally stand up to the injustice of not being able to drink a beer at the age of 20. No more of any of that. But at 21 I hardly cared. I was burned out and sick of it. All it really meant for me was that I could finally serve alcohol without supervision at the bar I was working at.

Hotheaded owner aside, the bar job was pretty cool, and it didn't take long before I was bar manager and was pretty much running the place. It brought a sense of freedom and built my confidence up, even though I couldn't use it on any of the customers. Nobody under 40 ever set foot in there, and if they did, it wasn't to sit at the bar.

Mary used to come in and order gin martinis every afternoon around three o'clock. I'd pour her one and she'd nurse it down. I'd hand her another one and reach for ice cube remains of her old glass and she'd slap my hand. "I'm not done with that." I'd watch her suck those ice cubes past her false teeth and suck each one of them dry and spit it back in her highball. Sometimes she did it twice before letting me take the glass.

Then there was this guy named Chuck. He sold real estate, and he was the sleaziest old guy I'd ever met. Every other word that came out of his mouth was "pussy". It wasn't the word itself, but how he said it. He made it sound like the vilest thing on earth. I didn't like the way he ate his ruebens either.

Maureen and Dave were a cute couple. At 70-something years old, they'd been coming to the bar since it opened. Everyday. Without fail. She had a several glasses of White Zin after an initial martini. He loved his manhattans. I never thought about cutting them off even though they had four or five of them. They were like grandparents. They probably drove like grandparents too, only loaded. I tried not to think about that.

The summer was winding down and I remembered something. I had been accepted at the University of Minnesota. I'd applied almost a year earlier, but I was good to go if it was something I wanted to do. I knew I was never going back to Whitewater, and I feared if I didn't make a change I'd be stuck in Janesville. I was really curious about Minneapolis too, ever since I got into Prince and The Replacements. I thought the city would be purple.

I moved to Minneapolis in the fall. For a couple weeks I don't think I talked to a soul. School hadn't started. I was alone if my one room apartment. Or at least I thought I was alone. Wake up in the middle of the night and turn on the light, and the roaches told a different story.

One day the cable guy knocked on my door. It was so nice to interact with a fellow human being, so I let him talk me into one of his special introductory packages. This was the Paragon cable days. Back before all of the cable mergers happened. I ended up getting all the basic cable channels plus a DMX music tuner with over 100 cable music channels. The remote would list each artist, song title, album and label the song could be found on. I set it to the alternative/college rock channel.

This song came on that I had never heard. I instantly loved it. It was so poppy. So positive. It made me forget about the creepy guy down the hall who I thought was chasing me up the stairs one night. It made me ignore the roaches and not think too much about the Murphy bed and everybody who slept on it and the bathroom I shared with the guy next to me and how I had to knock to see if he was in there. It made the 100-degree room seem tolerable and the showers I'd rig up in the bathtub and the hose that would usually explode when I had shampoo in my hair and soap all over my body not seem so bad. It gave me hope that maybe this was a just a temporary funk and that school would be starting soon and I'd meet new people and would look back on this time as a defining moment in my life.


Flaming Lips
"Turn It On"
Transmissions From The Satellite Heart
Warner Brothers Records