Son Volt (1995)

Scott and I were in agreement that Jay Farrar was our favorite of the co-leaders of Uncle Tupelo, and their respective post-UT albums did nothing but reinforce these opinions. Wilco's A.M. was very good, but Son Volt's Trace was a masterpiece. We first heard it when the Varnaline boys dropped by, passing through Albany while on tour. Anders had a cassette with him, and I remember the album's opener, "Windfall", gave me goosebumps upon my first listen. Still in my amateur homebrewing days back then, I named one of my recipes Windfall Novemberfest. A maltier and hoppier version of the Octoberfest style, the beer's slogan was inspired by the lyric "May the wind take your troubles away".

That fall, I went on a solo vacation to Burlington, VT, where my sister and her family were living, followed by a couple nights of camping in Acadia National Park and a brief visit to Scott's family on Cape Cod, but made sure to return to Albany in time to see Son Volt at Bogie's. This was probably the first of many shows for me where my fandom of obscure bands was rewarded by allowing them to be seen at such small venues. The biggest reward, of course, was sharing a few words with drummer Mike Heidorn, while using the urinal next to him during one of the songs he didn't play on. Years later, the double edged sword of witnessing the rise in popularity of some of our favorite artists would be a common topic of conversation between me and Len.

Another song on Trace would also come to have special meaning to me. Hearing "Drown" always pulled me out of a bad mood, and also became my anthem for saying "fuck you" to past regrets. One of the many nights that Scott and I spent drinking and playing pool on Lark Street was marked by one of those moments. Still lamenting "the one that got away", Scott tried to coach me to learn and move on, but it was Jay Farrar who convinced me of this as he sang the simple but poignant, "When in doubt move on, no need to sort it out". It was that night that I made my decision to leave Albany.

In hindsight, Trace's follow up, Straightaways, is one of Son Volt's weakers efforts, but I was still so enamored that I had another goosebump moment upon first hearing it. It was at Rock Bottom Records in Portsmouth, NH, and I was excited because both Son Volt's and The Jayhawks' new ones were coming out on the same day. Long before franchised music stores developed more sophisticated methods, Rock Bottom had a rack of new CDs and a couple of portable CD players with cheap headphones on which customers could preview albums before buying them. Of course, I bought both of those CDs that day, and although I was initially disappointed in the direction The Jayhawks were going with Sound of Lies, I came to realize it was a much better record than Straightaways.

After 1998's Wide Swing Tremolo, Son Volt essentially disbanded. Seven years later, they reformed for Okemah and the Melody of Riot, and have since followed that up with this year's effort, The Search. I consider these past two records to be better than their two post-Trace 90's albums. Despite this, it's a completely different band, other than Jay Farrar, of course, and nothing could ever feel as special as the 90's edition of Son Volt, the first alt-country band with whom I was on board from day one.

Uncle Tupelo (1995)

The (almost) perfect setting for my introduction to Uncle Tupelo was a rural highway just outside of South Bend, Indiana. I was traveling for work there and driving a rental car while listening to a cassette that Anders had sent me and Scott. On one side was Guided By Voices' indie rock breakthrough, Bee Thousand, which didn't do it for me at the time. However, the flip side was possibly the most unique and awe-inspiring album I have ever heard, the album that inspired the modern alt-country movement, Uncle Tupelo's No Depression.

While I would give Guided By Voices the nickname Blighted By Noises, only years later to come to appreciate them, I had never heard anything like No Depression's blend of country and punk that, recorded in 1990, wasn't the first example of such a combination, but certainly preceeded the trend of hipster punk rockers embracing Johnny Cash and the like. If pressed to name the most important (to me) artist on this list, Neil Young would get the nod, but if I had to pick one album, Uncle Tupelo's debut would be it.

Uncle Tupelo would quickly become the house band at 43 Dove Street. In a March 16-20, 1995 tribute to UT, inspired by the title of their third album, we would feature one of their four studio albums each day. The math didn't quite work out on that one, so I'm not sure what we did on the fifth day...probably nurse our hangovers.

Speaking of hangovers, Scott and I were probably a little too quick to embrace the working class drunkard themes in Uncle Tupelo's songs, particularly those penned by Jay Farrar. I would take this fascination a bit too far when I drowned my sorrows after the breakup of a short-lived relationship by drinking a bottle of Southern Comfort while making the quintessential Uncle Tupelo drinking mix, aptly titled "I Fell Down." The only reason I didn't fall down was the fact that I was sitting and drinking on the floor while compiling the mix.

At the time, I was working the late shift, dispatching for Ryder at Grand Union in Waterford, while still pursuing the professional umpiring dream, so the drinking and recording took place from 3 to 6am. Scott returned home from spending the night at his girlfriend's to the ominous sign of the empty bottle lying on its side on the living room floor. For some strange reason, though I have no problem drinking vodka to this day, Southern Comfort is another story. This is at least in part due to a previous SC incident more than a few years prior in which I hit on Scott's mom, kicked his foot that had just been operated on, and broke the door handle off of Rob's car as he and Beau tried to stuff me into it.

Uncle Tupelo had already split up by the time Scott and I became fans, but this wouldn't be the last we would hear from Jay Farrar and Jeff Tweedy.

Space Needle (1995)

At first glance, the inclusion of both Varnaline and Space Needle on this list might seem to be a gratuitous nod to my friends...but it's not. They both remind me of the beginning of a period that I was turned on to a wealth of new music that, of course, was much better than the Spin Doctors. Space Needle, though, more than any other band, including the Velvet Underground, represents the experience of my mind being opened to music that I would have otherwise overlooked.

I have to admit that, if I had no connection to the band members, I probably wouldn't have given Space Needle a second listen. But, as I sit here listening to "Before I Lose My Style", easily my favorite song of theirs, I realize this would've been a huge mistake. Back in the mid-90's, even if I was beginning to branch out a little, my taste remained fairly mainstream, and Space Needle's brand of lo-fi post-prog was definitely a stretch.

It all started with a home recorded cassette of Voyager that Jud sent Scott during the time we lived together in Albany's somewhat hip Lark Street neighborhood. Tacked on to the end of this mix as bonus tracks were two memorable covers, of Neil Young's "Birds" and U2's "Stay (Faraway, So Close!)", songs I wouldn't hear again until a Space Needle rarities mix that Jud made for me a few years ago. In hindsight, their version of "Birds" is a little too lo-fi for my taste, but their take on "Stay" is on par with, if not better than, the original. Seriously, I'm sure most people, including Jud himself, will disagree with this somewhat outlandish claim, but there's no disputing the fact that Space Needle's version is a unique interpretation that still captures the spirit of one of Bono's best songs.

I only saw Space Needle live once, and I have a feeling Jeff Gatland is mostly to blame for this. In fact, I've made futile attempts to book a show at the Middle East in Cambridge that would also include Afshin's math/physics rock band Shore Leave on the bill, thus combining their modest local popularity with SN's cult following. Who knows, maybe the reason such a show could never happen is the fact that I plastered the men's bathroom at the Middle East Downstairs with Space Needle stickers the one time they played there.

Space Needle only released two studio albums, the aforementioned Voyager and 1997's The Moray Eels Eat the Space Needle, on which Anders Parker joined up as the second guitar player and Roger Dean provided strikingly similar artwork to what he did for Yes' Keys to Ascension, Vol. 2. While Voyager is my personal favorite, Moray Eels seems to be the touchstone of SN's cult following, including being named recently as one of Magnet Magazine's 75 most underappreciated albums of the last 14 years.

Maybe last year's compilation, Recordings 1994-1997, released by California based indie label Eenie Meenie Records, jogged some people's memories, but this is a band that should not be forgotten.

Varnaline (1995)

The first time I saw Anders play, circa 1988, he was on the drum kit as part of one of the many lineups who backed up Beau's band on the Arlington High School party circuit. Or, maybe it was at Senior Follies in a band that included him and Sean Thompson, with neither of them as lead vocalist. That band also included Anders' younger brother, and eventual Varnaline member, John on bass, but the singing duties were left to none other than Mark Lublin.

It wasn't until years later, and the previously mentioned mixed tape that Anders sent Scott, which included "Return of the Grevious Angel", that I was introduced to Anders' songwriting talents. On that tape, one side consisted of songs by other artists, but the other side was devoted to a mix of Anders' originals, with various other collaborators making appearances on a few tracks.

Scott and I were both in agreement, and probably still are to this day, that "Slow Breathing" was one of the best songs we had ever heard. I'm not sure exactly why, but we likened it to Neil Young's "Look Out For My Love", which became one of Scott's favorite Neil songs after I mistakenly put it on a mix I made for him. [I meant to include "Comes a Time", but decided to go with it even after recognizing the error.] There were several other quality Anders tunes on that tape, but "Slow Breathing" was the only one that would turn up on a later recording, Varnaline predecessor The Ballad of...Lowboy, though Scott and I were not as enamored with this version.

Varnaline's debut, Man of Sin, was first released by the now defunct Zero Hour Records (who still owe Scott money for his brief gig as Varnaline roadie) in 1995. AllMusic calls 1996 the release date, but what do they know? They also refer to Varnaline as the alter superego of Anders Parker...whatever the hell that means. Jud, who would become Varnaline's drummer after the debut, was instrumental in helping Anders get signed to the label that his band, Space Needle, was presently recording for. Unfortunately, Jud's efforts to get The Doids a deal fell short.

"Thorns & Such" was clearly this album's "Slow Breathing", although I would express my affinity for "Want You" by including it on an ill-fated mix that I would make for a woman who will remain nameless. Later, I would consider sending her a mix of just two songs...Uncle Tupelo's "Cold Shoulder" and England Dan & John Ford Coley's "I'd Really Love to See You Tonight", although the Flying Burrito Brothers' "Christine's Tune (Devil in Disguise)" would've been more fitting. File that one under mixes never sent.

Of course, Len, Scott and I would see Varnaline live numerous times, but I have to say that, when the trio was in full force (Anders, John, Jud), these were among the most enjoyable shows I've seen. Obviously, the music was a big part of this, including a stirring rendition of "Cortez the Killer" at the Met Cafe in Providence in 1997, but the hanging out before and after shows was as well. It was during this time that Jud and I would discover our common fanaticism for baseball in general, and the Yankees in particular, and forge a friendship that has witnessed two near-perfect games together. Come to think of it, it must be Jud's fault that neither of these came to fruition...my first flirtation with a no-hitter was a successful one, Dave Righetti's July 4, 1983 gem, attended with Rob and his dad. I also recorded the final putout of Mike Ferrari's no-hitter for Edison Motor Inn in 1982, so it can't be me who's the jinx.

The Varnaline era is now over. Anders has continued as a solo artist, John is hiding out somewhere in the lower Catskills, and, unbeknownst to Magnet Magazine, Jud is a high school math teacher in Brooklyn. I'm sure there will be reunions though, and hopefully not just at dive bars outside of Poughkeepsie where Scott Tyner and Tony Fusari can be seen doing their Jim Morrison impersonations. I'll be patient though.

The Velvet Underground (1994)

I was probably in 8th or 9th grade when I first heard "Sweet Jane" while at that famous Martin Drive hangout, the Ciccone's house. Mike was two years older than I, but his taste was way ahead of the curve for someone his age. He and Chip Elsasser were the two older kids in the neighborhood who always had the best record collections. In fact, along with Johnny Kranik, Chip was another indirect influence on my penchant for creating lists and ranking music. Near the end of one summer, Chip declared Abacab his "album of the summer," and that last summer the Eagles Live had reigned supreme.

I had never heard of The Velvet Underground the first time I heard Mike mention the name of the band. I wouldn't really check them out until many years later. Once again, it was during the Albany days, and Scott owned a copy of their self-titled third album, and later purchased The Velvet Underground & Nico. Scott also introduced me to the legend that the latter, the Velvets' debut, only sold about 600 copies, but everyone who purchased it went on to form a band. He also made some questionable comparison between VU and The Doors, which had nothing to do with the fact (rumor?) Nico had once had a fling with Jim Morrison.

It was also while living with Scott in Albany that I mastered the fine art of falling asleep to music to drown out noise from my surroundings. In our mid to late-20's, and certainly not as young as we used to be, Scott was considerably better than I was at staying out until 3am but still getting up at 7 to get ready for work. The Velvets' first and third albums seemed likely candidates...fairly mellow and without major fluctuations in the volume of the songs...that is, until "The Black Angel's Death Song" and "The Murder Mystery," the second to last songs on these albums, respectively. It took me quite a few times before I realized these noisy and somewhat disturbing (to wake up to) songs had a more adverse effect on my ability to sleep than Scott's boots stomping around on our hardwood floors.

More importantly, it was The Velvet Underground's sonic experimentation that opened my ears to discovering there are bands out there who are a bit of an acquired taste, but worth the patience it takes to really appreciate what's going on. That said, my favorite album of theirs', Loaded, is probably their most conventional and certainly their most commercially successful. Still, even their most avant-garde material retained a solid song structure that I've always considered a major criterion in everything I listen to, no matter what the genre.

Although the post-Lou Reed and John Cale version of The Velvet Underground he belonged to is not generally considered to be an official VU lineup, Walter Powers, is a former co-worker of my friend Macee's. Apparently, in recent years, Walter has become a big fan of my year-end compilations and has even stolen one of them from her. Well, actually he borrowed and failed to return it, but I prefer to believe that a (sort-of) former Velvet Underground bassist is actually (kind of) a fan of mine.