Two things off the bat, mouthbreathers.
1) Oh now we’re back to being LETHAL WRESTLING AGAIN?!? Well okay…wrestling fans listen to shitty music so this belongs here. Most of the readers here are in their 30’s and were a part of the least fun decade ever. (We in the 90’s didn’t have fun things like Woodstock, MTV when it ran music, or 9/11.) So it belongs here and fuck you.
2) I was going to put a “Part 1” in the title there…but a cursory Google search of Lethal’s archive will tell you that when this happens, there’s never a “Part 2.”
I have a feeling there will be many parts to this series, however. For one, I just recovered roughly 400 compact discs that were hidden in a closet…which is apt, as most of these CDs are from the 90s. Unlike gay people, however, these CDs probably should have just stayed in the fucking closet.
Here’s the part where I date myself (and who else is going to date me…I write here, after all). So during the 90’s, I was ages 14 to 24, which means:
–Old enough to work and pay for CDs and CD players on my own volition.
–Of the age when puberty strikes, and as most of us remember, male or female, the concomitant hormone rush makes bad music sound good.
–Either Internet was not around, or was too slow to facilitate music piracy.
–I hadn’t yet become a degenerate substance abuser, nor had I left home, therefore nearly all my disposable income went into music-related purchases, be it CDs, band gear, or concert tickets.
Oh sweet Christ…concerts…I’ve seen many. I could watch ten straight seasons of “American Idol” and not see as many douchebags on a stage as I did during the 90’s alone. That will probably be the next “ANNOYING FUCKING ’90’s” feature right there, and it may have to be a two-parter. Holy shit have I seen some…shit. I saw all the things a normal 90’s kid would see…a smacked-out and emaciated Layne Staley nonetheless singing perfectly, Marilyn Manson’s penis, the first wave of emo shitbags, women punched in the face at Pantera concerts, Kurt Cobain being an asshole, Billy Corgan being an even bigger asshole…all the shit. Ate it up like…a fat person eating stuff.
And that’s the thing about the 90’s. Look at the manner in which other decades are remembered in the nostalgic manner in comparison by the average person:
–The 60’s. Sure, you can look at footage of Woodstock (I’d much rather watch Gimme Shelter and see footage of Altamont, quite frankly…far more honest, entertaining and gratifying, especially when you get to the part where the Hells Angels start swingin’ the pool cues) and be like, “God, those people must have smelled like dead babies bloating in the sun and oozing Indian food.” But at the same time, in the back of your head, you’re going, “Well, at least the drugs were good, and I definitely would have gotten laid.” Provided you weren’t drafted, of course.
–The 70’s. Say what you will about Disco (the music, not Disco Dave…fat fuck should post more), but at least the Disco was better then…actual work was put into writing and recording it, rather than some dickhead stealing samples, programming a drum machine, walking off to go get a sandwich, and coming back to the control room to find the RIAA slipped a Platinum record under the door. On top of that, we had some amazing fucking hard rock acts emerge…acts that had to try harder and kick more ass as a matter of principal. These bands started off the decade fighting off the Dreaded Hippie Scourge, then ended the decade fighting off the Dreaded Disco Scourge. On a musical level, the 60’s often overshadow the 70’s in public opinion, thanks to the Beatles (and Dead Hippie triptych of Jimi/Jim/Janis), but the 70s were far more interesting. Also, you’d get laid…and as Jimmy Page and Ted Nugent showed us, you could fuck hot underage pussy and get away with it.
–The 80’s. Yes, this is the decade where it all began to fall apart, but it started with promise. Hell, even MTV (again, kids, MTV used to play music…trust me on this one) was kicking ass in the early part of the decade. You had Michael Jackson, Van Halen, Prince, Cyndi Lauper, Hall and Oates, Duran Duran, et cetera…all of them fighting for your attention and dollars, and kicking out the best work of their careers, all right there in front of you on TV. Regardless of how you feel about said acts, they took this new medium and ran with it best they could, despite the end result (said result: shit. Pure ass-shit tumbling out of a stinky synthesized ass). Also, you could get laid, provided you had blow.
–The 90’s. You’re not getting laid. That makes you a male pig and probably a rapist, too. Nirvana and Fugazi told me so.
See what I’m getting at here? (You’re dusting off your binoculars right now, I know it. I’m being too subtle.)
Sure, the so-called “alternative” thing may have killed off some really shitty 80’s bands and gave us some admittedly amazing music to boot…but like Cartman flipping the “Party On/Party Off” switch, fun time was over, and if you didn’t accept this, you were a goddamn ogre and an asshole. Political correctness was absolutely required and demanded of a musical act, as was the act of foisting it upon their audience. (I’m looking in your direction, Beastie Boys.)
What a horrible fucking time to hit puberty. Puberty is no fun as it is, but to be told repeatedly by your musical idols that you are wrong for wanting to fuck your goddamn brains out like a normal human being? Kids get enough mixed signals as it is. The 90’s were downright horrible in that aspect, making a confusing time that much more of a pain in the ass.
(Yes I’m projecting. Fuck you, I’m writing an article here, shutcha holes.)
Another cloying aspect of 90’s music in general: it gave one the perceived right to wallow in (and loudly project) your misery, giving every sad sack out there the delusion that they were artistes. Self-obsession and depression, it seemed, justified your presence at the Poetry Slam.
Summary: The 90’s stunk worse than Janeane Garafalo’s cunt. No mirth. No romance. No fun.
The above paragraphs were meant to be a brief introduction to my new recurring music column. I went off on a 1000-word tangent, and fuck you, I’m not editing it out. I’m holding back as it is.
As would be expected (at least to the Lethal readers with human feelings…all three of you), rifling through a CD collection that hadn’t been touched in at least seven years was a bit of an emotional experience, reawakening and giving shape to all my negative feelings about the 90’s.
It truly was the story of my young life, this CD collection, like cutting down a tree and counting the rings, rifling through old family photo albums, or digging around on old Civil War battlefields. I found some CD cases containing hairs from long-dead pets. Some had been sneezed on. Some bore the scratch marks from bad CD players which dare not be jostled in any way, shape, or form. Hell, I found one that had a whole bowl’s worth of pot resin slathered on its cover.
On a sappy note…nothing has ever brought me closer to regretting not having kids. Going through these albums reminded me of myself as a four year old, going through my mother’s LP’s. Being four years old, of course, what got put on the turntable first was solely dictated by the album cover itself.
Is that Tiny Tim up there in the second row back? Fuck that. I’m not listening to this until I’m 12 and hoping to find “Tall Cool One” on side 2.
HAHAHAH THESE GUISE R PEEIN I’M LISTENIN 2 THIS
I imagined my offspring digging through my albums…
My dad takes it in the ass, big time. Music sucks.
So of course, for posterity’s sake, I decided to preserve the music in high-quality mp3 format, and as such, ripped every CD to my external hard drive. And here’s where we get to the actual subject of this installment…
You may remember that many artists were downright disdainful of the CD format, having grown up listening to vinyl and tape. Ultimately, whether this is justified or not is up for debate still. Sure, LPs and 45s were pretty much unlistenable if you breathed on them wrong, and a finicky cassette could unravel and render your tape player inoperable, but that was better than taking an album and reducing it to a stream of zeroes and ones. That’s just wrong, maaaaan. Forget that, if you treated a CD properly, it would play flawlessly forever, unlike records and tapes. FUCK THE MAN, MAAAAN.
One of the loudest voices bitching about compact discs was Steve Albini, the leader of Big Black. I own three Big Black CDs, and each one bore insults to the format, as well as the fan purchasing it. A best-of compilation was titled The Rich Man’s 8-Track Tape. The liner notes to Songs About Fucking contained a line, something to the effect of “Don’t you feel like a dumb fuck right now?” Considering that A) Big Black’s drummer was A DIGITAL FUCKING DRUM MACHINE and B) Albini would go on to make a living producing bands that sold MILLIONS OF CDs, it’s up to one’s individual opinion whether this stance was schtick, Luddite kvetching, or legitimate griping.
(Hey, Steve, how ya likin’ mp3s? Bet you feel like a dumb fuck having bitched about CDs all that time, now that the industry–what’s left of it–is now dominated by a legitimately horrible-sounding music format. I’m sending you an iTunes card for Christmas.)
My aunt wanted to take me to Tower Records and buy me a Beatles album. I got to the “B” section and found this instead. She did not buy it for me. My childhood was a painful one, filled with tears and adversity. We ended up buying a VHS tape with Genesis videos on it.
As such, many artists felt the need to fuck with their fans if they chose to purchase their latest album in the CD format. Sometimes they were just being cheekymonkeys. Sometimes, they were being legit assholes. Nonetheless, for 90’s bands, the joke never got old, and if you purchased a CD during that decade, chances are, you had to deal with a bunch of cuteness involving extraneous CD tracks.
I have compiled a list (YES THE ARTICLE IS STARTING FOR REAL NOW–IMAGINE AN OLD-SKOOL LINE BREAK HERE) of 90’s albums that did this. Like I said, I ripped my entire CD collection. I often came across such recordings, which caused me to have to click hundreds of extra check-boxes in my ripping program, thus reawakening my ire.
Here we go. I know I forgot some. Remind me of other albums I forgot over at Leper Colony, our message board (link’s up top, stupid) and I’ll touch upon them in future installments, should it (likely not) be deemed necessary.
Dad is so full of shit, he totally did drugs…and fondled peckers with oven mitts.
OFFENSE TO LISTENER CONVENIENCE AND SANITY: A few minutes after the epic slowfuck-jam “Debra,” a shitload of electronic belching noises used to torture Scientologists who haven’t paid the tab for clearing OT IV.
One of the main things people in the 90’s liked to do was put a bunch of jarring noises at the end of their albums. It was a cute little joke that never got old, apparently. Seeing as how this album was released mere days before Y2K, maybe for continuity’s sake, I should have put this at the end of the list. No. It goes first, just to show you how old this bit got, and how it thankfully tapered in the coming decade (along with people actually purchasing music). HAHAHAH BUT IT’S BECK AND BECK IS QUIRKY HURRRRR. Go suck Laura Prepon’s dick, you dirty alien-worshipping munchkin faggot. This was your next-to-last decent album, shitdick.
I was sitting in my trailer stoned once, listening to this album, with the TV playing The Day After on mute. Beck is pretty good for getting stoned and turning the TV’s sound off, I’ll have you know. Beck is good drug listenin’…even the faggot acoustic shit.
Well, just as the bombs in the movie started dropping, those stupid BLOOOPGLAAARGHBLUHBLUHSWOOOOOOBLEEEEP noises kicked in…with people running around on fire and shit. I about had me a fat man heart attack. So fuck you, Beck.
This CD is still wrapped. It should stay that way. Forever.
OFFENSE TO LISTENER CONVENIENCE AND SANITY: Satanic bullshit entitled “Invocation” you have to skip to track #66 to get to. You know…like “666.” Get it?
Ah, yes…Danzig’s last album. No really. It’s their last album. Don’t look it up to confirm it. It’s their last album. Take my word for it. Last album. Yep.
I’ve owned this album for 18 years and still have not heard this track. I never even noticed it until I looked up it’s Wikipedia page while ripping it. I tell you what…I’ll listen to it now. Just for you.
(*Turns WinAmp on.*)
(Boy, WinAmp Media Library is shit.)
Okay…church organs and chanting.
This shit is gay. Fuck Glenn Danzig and his stupid pile of bricks and his kitty litter. This is a waste of zeros and ones…kind of like this article.
Now remember, kids, most of us had, like 5-disc changers and stuff, and we’d just set it on repeat and let it play whatever was in there. This is why these stupid periods of silence followed by absolute fuckery were highly maddening and annoying. You fall asleep and then you hear church organs, chanting…noises…screaming…bullshit. Fuck the 90’s, is what I’m saying. Basically.
wat is this i don even
OFFENSE TO LISTENER CONVENIENCE AND SANITY: Making the listening skip 11 tracks to #20…then making the listener sit through 2:30 of silence before that song even starts. Then you have to wade through another 12 empty tracks to another song that starts with she same goddamn riff as track #20.
Okay, who here remembers the Galactic Cowboys?
I thought so.
Anyone remember King’s X? (Ducks the hurled rotting vegetables.) Well, anyway, these guys were managed and produced by the same guy, so they got a record deal.
Before you moan, “That shit’s gay as fuck,” just hold your wad. King’s X had (has, sorry) a sweet-ass Texas blues guitar player, and Galactic Cowboys were a different animal. They combined murderous Slayer riffs with four-part Beatles harmonies…and a goofy sense of humor best blocked out and ignored.
Why should you ignore their sense of humor? Because…they were Christian. And Christians are almost never funny…intentionally, anyway.
These guys were so Christian, in fact, that both the lead-off singles from their two albums (this one and the self-titled debut), “We’re Not Amused” and “If I Were A Killer,” were anti-abortion tunes. Granted, they were really fucking good anti-abortion tunes, with some pretty hot chainsaw riffing, and lyrics that didn’t just come out and say “Hey, we don’t really dig women having control over their own lives.”
The greatest irony here is, both these albums were recorded for DGC Records, a company owned by noted Sodomite David Geffen.
Honestly, if there’s a moral to be learned here, is that you shouldn’t really get hung up on an artist’s religious affiliation. Save for Scientologists. Fuck you, Beck. OH YEAH, Beck recorded for Geffen too…and we know how much Scientology loves homos. I guess you don’t make money having principles, eh David?
Also, I put everyone of these bands in the Tags for this article. Enjoy your AIDS, Lethal Forums. Don’t register any newbs for the next two years, plz. Just warning you.
Wow, Dad. You are seriously fucked up. I’m bringing this to the next custody hearing.
OFFENSE TO LISTENER CONVENIENCE AND SANITY: Being Marilyn Manson…oh, and an 83-track gap between the last song and “Empty Sounds of Hate,” 1:30 of rattling rants and gasping noises. Because the album needed more creepy fucking noises on it.
I figured after writing about a Christian band, I’d clear the palette…
Again…I’m trying to sleep and this shit comes up. Then again, I was the kind of warped prick who’d sleep to this shit. Actually, I didn’t do much sleeping around the time this album came out. I would chop my yellow biker crank on this CD case.
My father is a fucking deranged sociopath. How is he not in jail? I’m never falling asleep in this house again. Who would fuck a guy who owns this shit?
OFFENSE TO LISTENER CONVENIENCE AND SANITY: A bunch of fuckin’ empty tracks followed by what sounds like a chick singing on a gramophone.
No one gave much of a fuck about Ministry by this time…except for me, of course. I guess this gets a pass, considering this hidden track is less creepy than the rest on this list. And really, that should give you a clue as to Ministry’s downfall towards the end of the 90’s. I’m just going to move on…
Wow, Dad listened to a normal band.
OFFENSE TO LISTENER CONVENIENCE AND SANITY: A long gap of silence, followed by “Disgustipated.” LET THE RABBITS WEAR GLASSES.
No one gave a fuck about Tool until they got on Lollapalooza and MTV. Plus, this was before hidden CD track antics got old.
Does anyone still listen to Tool? Most of you faggots graduated on to listen to A Perfect Circle. My God. Polish grandmothers listen to less waltzy bullshit. What are you, a bunch of strippers? Bunch of fucking dinnermashing shirtlifters. I hung out with a high school buddy and his three children for a couple hours and didn’t hear as much whining as an APC album. Get a life.
TYPE O NEGATIVE – PRETTY MUCH EVERY ALBUM
OFFENSES TO LISTENER CONVENIENCE AND SANITY: Many and too numerous to list.
Okay, I was going to put a couple Supersuckers albums here, The Songs All Sound the Same (its last song, a cover of Nazareth’s “Razamanaz” ending with an “A” chord played continuously for over a half hour) and La Mano Cornuda (the last track being the entire album all over again, jammed onto one CD track). But I can’t be arsed to dig for the album covers on Fuckbucket. They just aren’t there. The Internet is gay. And so is A Perfect Circle. And fuck Beck. The Supersuckers ruled. You wouldn’t know that. You’re fags who listen to A Perfect Circle. Who suck.
Dad, what’s a “Kyuss?” Is it the thing attached to Marilyn Manson’s cock?
OFFENSES TO LISTENER CONVENIENCE AND SANITY: Grouping three songs each into single CD tracks…which is a bitch, because some of the songs are fuckin’ 12 minutes long and boring as shit.
Readers…yes all three of you…bring your kids over to the computer…or hand them your phone, since you’re probably one of those fags. I want to tell them what music used to be like. Just DO IT. This is the only way I can communicate with them, I’m not allowed within 200 feet of a minor.
Alright, kids. Take all the sexy and the hipster out of Queens of the Stone Age, and make the songs twice as long, and you get Kyuss. Kyuss was what we used to listen to before we were forced to listen to Josh Homme’s whiny shit and ever-changing group of greasy fags-for-hire (I’m excluding you, Alain Johannes, and your poor dead wife…and I guess you too, Grohl). Back when men were men and…wait, this was the 90’s. Men weren’t men. Forget it. Just listen to Queens of the Stone Age, it’s less of a hassle, seriously.
I don’t even know what’s going on here, Dad. What are these, hippies?
OFFENSE TO LISTENER CONVENIENCE AND SANITY: An eight-minute gap between the last song, “Blood Milk and Sky,” and its reprise, “Where The Sidewalk Ends, The Bug Parade Begins.” No really. That’s the title.
GET YOUR KIDS BACK IN FRONT OF THE COMPUTER, I HAVE MORE WISDOM TO SHARE.
Kids, Rob Zombie wasn’t always a useless faggot who draws comics and directs shitty horror movies. He was in a band once. A band that rocked many an arena. A band that would tour two, maybe three years behind the same goddamn album, their collective sanity be damned. And they came to YOUR town. You didn’t have to drive halfway across the state to see them…shit, they’d come to your shit-ass hockey arena or convention center and burn the fucking place down with their pyro, which made KISS look like a box of sparklers. Sure, you had to wade through murderous, gum-bleeding tweekers and a bunch of local Jesusfreaks gathered around the flagpole praying for your soul.
But it was fun. The only fun to be had in the 90’s, save for punching women in the face at Pantera shows and getting away with it.
We will never have another White Zombie. Fun bands like White Zombie are as obsolete as OK Soda and Mini-Discs.
Tito, pass me a tissue.
And now, the Big One. The one in all our collections.
Seriously, Dad, I’m moving in with Mom. Go fuck yourself.
OFFENSE TO LISTENER CONVENIENCE AND SANITY: “Endless Nameless.”
This one really was disturbing, the shining example of 90’s hidden CD track fuckery. Buried many minutes after the last track? Check. Screaming? Check.
And that’s fine, really. Problem is, Nirvana actually considered this an actual song, and we had to sit through it live as if we were supposed to be arsed to actually care…the only payoff being an imminent trashing of all onstage musical gear and props. Not that they wrecked their shit when I saw them. Of course they didn’t. Fuck my life. I actually heard people bitching about wanting a refund after the lights went up. Not kidding.
So yeah, on that note, the next ANNOYING FUCKING 90’S installment (should I put my dick down long enough to write it) will be my 90’s concert experiences. You bess’ read it.
THIS! IS! NECESSARY! (bang bang)