Sound Obsession

Part 3 of my "100 Favorite Albums of the 1990s" list covers my freshman year of high school and the summer that followed.  This was a major transition period for me musically.  Fall of '93 was peak grunge before a steep drop-off the following year. I'd owned a cheap electric guitar for a while by then (a metallic blue Yamaha Pacifica with a black pick guard and Floyd Rose tremolo), but played it poorly.  The full extent of my prowess on the axe was banging out some Nirvana riffs and stumbling my way through the intro to Jimi Hendrix's "Purple Haze."  Truthfully, by early '94 I was losing interest in rock music and the dreary elitism it seemed to demand, not to mention the skill and patience it took to learn how to play the guitar.   Kurt Cobain's suicide and the inevitable disbanding of Nirvana in the spring of '94 felt like the end of an era.  The rise of Beck and the Beastie Boys shortly thereafter felt like the start of another.  A summer

Part 2 of my "100 Favorite Albums of the 1990s" list covers a period of time when I was finishing up middle school and about to head into high school.   Despite having very limited knowledge or context for anything at the time, I was internalizing all the corporate-curated alternative rock "authenticity" propaganda of the era and, without much sense of irony, had become somewhat of a purist.   For the most part, only bands with at least one clearly defined guitarist, bassist, drummer, and vocalist would do.  Extra points for lyrics conveying some sense of tortured realism.  Nirvana and Red Hot Chili Peppers were my favorites.  Doc Martens, Chuck Taylors, flannels, and band t-shirts from Sam Goody were my uniform.  I'd also picked up my first Discman (a Sony D-111) for my birthday in '92, so now I was mobile.  Music as identity - that is, "you are what you listen to" - now seemed like a very big deal.   - Will G The Black Crowes:   The Southern Harm

The first few months of any given year often feel a little slow for new music to me, especially during a pandemic when album release cycles are out of whack, live venues are shuttered, and most normal social activity remains in stasis.  I haven't been to a live show in over a year.  Maybe that's why I've been feeling a little introspective and nostalgic lately, like Clark Griswold in National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation locked in the attic passing time by digging through old heirlooms and home movies.  For me it's thousands of albums accumulated over three decades and reacquainting myself with old favorites.  I heard somewhere that most people don't explore new music too long past their teens.  Apparently their tastes calcify and the stuff they liked in high school or college is pretty much it, forever.  That hasn't been the case with me but it's probably true that the bulk of albums