1995 - A Stinky Year for Music

By: Zak Chauncery

As every year comes to a close, musical publications, radio stations and simple music fans alike all compose their Top 10 albums of the year. I was sitting around one day in December, assembling my own Top 10 list when I realized something: 1995 was the first year that I really had to struggle to find 10 great albums. The eponymous debut from Garbage was one of the first albums to find it's way on my Top 10 list, probably because the concept of Garbage seems like such a nightmare on paper. You know the story: three producers join forces with a girl from a failing band and try to write songs. It would have been all to easy for Butch Vig and company to make an album so smothered in the nast of masturbatory production that you couldn't even find out whether the songs were good or not. Well, those people who gave the ambient rock band a chance found out that they delivered completely infectious songs. Songs that are forever kept interesting by some of the most maximal production and tracking to date.

With the force feeding of "Wonderwall" everybody has finally accepted the fact that Oasis rocks harder than all those lame, overrated bands from overseas (Suede, Stone Roses etc.) What's the Story? (Morning Glory) indicates that Oasis' self- proclaimed greatness might not be that far off base. Other notables were A Means to an End, the first (and probably last) tribute album to have versions that rival the originals and PJ Harvey's sonically evolved To Bring You My Love.

It is here that I have difficulty thinking of other great albums of '95. Why is that? After all, so many records were broken. Alanis Morissette was the first person to ever be on the cover of Spin and Rolling Stone in the same month. Spewie and the Blowfish sold over 15 million records with Cracked Rear View, the #5 top selling album of all time. And on the radio, Collective Soul's "December" is now the #1 most frequently played song of all time. It is enough to make one vomit.

All in all, there has been no justice in the music industry in any year, let alone 1995. Good bands don't always sell records, bad bands often do. If you ever checked out the personal CD collections of NOFX, No Use for a Name or Offspring you'd find records by the Descendents and their later metamorphosis, All. That is due to the fact that the Descendents and All have been incredibly influential on them and all the other kiddie rock bands you've heard over the last year. As Offspring were cashing their checks to go buy some more Germs t-shirts for their next video, All left minuscule Cruz Records for the gargantuan Interscope. And All's first major label release, Pummel, sold no more than any of their Cruz releases. While bands like All pray to God that they don't have to return to day jobs, bands like Silverchair only have to pray that the they don't break out before their next sold-out show. It's enough to make one want to blow out one's brain.

You can't really blame the labels for serving up bands like so many fecal cakes. Dumb people are the reason for the success of bad bands. Labels have a real knack for discovering these new markets with lots of dumb people.

Take, for instance, that large fraternity market. Most fratboys own guitars, and most can strum some chords and write banal tunes with the best of them. They love the J. Crew catalog and they love to get their white baseball caps really, really dirty. Hootie walks in to Atlantic Records A&R Department, pulls out a demo tape from the pocket of his flannel shirt and hands it to The Man. The Man listens to the incredibly second-rate songs, looks at Hootie's body-by-Bud, face-by-bad-genes and thinks to Himself, "There is no God. This is the most homely and average band I have ever witnessed. Why there must be a million of fratboys in bands this homely and average in fraternities across the land." As The Man gets ready to call the guards to drag Hootie's ugly ass out of His office, something hits Him. "Millions of fratboys" He says to himself, deeply perplexed. "Millions... millions," He says over and over. Suddenly a smile comes to His face "Millions!!!" He screams, "MILLION$!!!"

Next thing you know, fratboys across the land are watching Hootie's new video. They say to themselves, "These guys like shooting hoops. These guys have no style. These songs are truly of the trough. I must buy their CD right now!" The fratboys walk to the nearest record store and make their pledges buy them Cracked Rear View.

In the same land, average college girls are watching Alanis Morissette's new video. They say to themselves, "She can't really sing. She loves yet hates penis...." So what will '96 hold for music. That may depend on what market The Man decides to tap into. Sony struck it rich with Silverchair in the pedophile-dirtasses- who-still-like-grunge market. Realistically, '96 will probably be another slump of a year, as labels dump out band after band in hopes of stumbling upon the next big music genera. I can't wait. MR