Years Of Operation 1994-97
Fits Between Helium and Wilco
"Dragon Lady" by The Geraldine Fibbers
Personal Correspondence I'd hesitate to call The Geraldine Fibbers "alt-country," even though twang and lope was a major part of the band's shtick during their brief existence in the mid-'90s, and even though bandleader Carla Bozulich was known to trot out C&W covers practically on-demand. But The Geraldine Fibbers were so much rawer and so much more explosive than the rest of the No Depression crowd; they were far more a punk band than a roots-rock outfit. They could be hard to take at times too, although on the whole, the albums Lost Somewhere Between The Earth And My Home and Butch are both riveting listening, geared to those willing to hold on tight and follow Bozulich into some pretty nerve-wracking places.
Enduring presence? Because they broke up so early and because Bozulich's solo career has been so erratic, I think The Geraldine Fibbers have kind fallen out of the '90s alt-rock canon. Which is a shame. (If nothing else, fans of late-period Wilco should pick up Butch in order to enjoy Nels Cline's unearthly guitar playing.) Personally, I revisit the band a few times a year—usually exclusively over headphones, since Bozulich makes noises that frighten the other members of my household—and whenever an Atlanta Braves hitter smacks a long fly ball, I frequently holler, "Get thee gone!" in honor of a Fibbers EP. Now that's a legacy!
The GlandsYears Of Operation 1997-present (?)
Fits Between Tom Petty and Grifters
"Straight Down" by The Glands
Personal Correspondence I failed to cite The Glands when I wrote about the best of the new Southern rockers a few weeks ago—an oversight I can chalk up to the band's extended absence from the critical spotlight. (Are they even around anymore? I could find nothing conclusive online.) In a way, The Glands have always suffered from bad timing. The band's 1998 debut album Double Thriller was a typically sloppy indie-rock record with a handful of solid songs buried in the murk, and their second—the near-masterpiece The Glands—bounced them from an indie-label to a semi-major and didn't receive any real promotional push until late in 2000, well after most writers' deadlines for their best of the year lists. The Glands started developing a following throughout '01, as The Glands was passed from true believer to true believer, and as the band toured the country with the likes of Modest Mouse and Beachwood Sparks. Critics everywhere were poised to make them darlings whenever they released another album. But then… nothing. I dug around to see if I could find anything I'd written about them, and the best I could do was a pick I wrote for a then-upcoming Nashville show: "The immediate reference points for the quartet's sound are Pavement and Guided By Voices; the former because of the laid-back, elastic approach to rhythm and guitar-based hooks, and the latter because bandleader Ross Shapiro is in his late thirties and he scrapes up a basement-moistened pop sensibility that's as coated in 70s AM radio as 80s college rock. At times, The Glands comes on like a lost classic from 1978, to be filed between Tom Petty's first album and The Rolling Stones' Some Girls. Brightened up with piano, strings or harmonica when necessary, Shapiro's songs mostly have the relaxed feel of a late afternoon in a Georgia summer, when the humidity drives everyone indoors for the first of many cold beers. It's the sound of a band rehearsal after everyone's warmed up but about an hour or so before they get messy."
Enduring presence? When I first heard The Glands, I had one of those moments of clarity that reminds me why I love rock 'n' roll. It's an album that sounds both familiar and new, full of rough edges, soaring choruses, and livewire guitar solos. It's informed by the classics, but totally timely—in that whenever I hear it, it's exactly the album I want to be listening to at that time.
Glen CampbellYears Of Operation 1962-present
Fits Between Charlie Rich and Kenny Rogers
"Wichita Lineman" by Glen Campbell
Personal Correspondence We watched a lot of variety shows in our house in the '70s, particularly those hosted by country-leaning musicians. I don't have any specific memory of watching The Glen Campbell Goodtime Hour, because I would've been not-quite 2 when it went off the air, but when I see old footage of Campbell from that show and elsewhere, the memories of a thousand nights spent watching blow-dried, brightly attired, smooth-voiced entertainers on barely dressed soundstages come rushing back. Campbell's really an interesting figure in the '60s and '70s pop scene, because while his public persona was built on polished TV performances and "Rhinestone Cowboy," he'd been an accomplished L.A. session musician by age 22, and had performed on record and on stage with artists as diverse and essential as Frank Sinatra, The Beach Boys, The Righteous Brothers, and The Champs. (That's Campbell's guitar on "Tequila.") He found his groove as a solo artist in the late '60s as an interpreter of some of the best songwriters of his era—in particular Jimmy Webb, who provided Campbell with his first massive hit, "Wichita Lineman," a song that nearly always makes my wife cry. Though Campbell's largely associated with country music, "Wichita Lineman" transcends genre. It's pure pop poetry, evoking the feeling of need and profound loneliness that fills anyone who's more than a day's drive from where they'd really like to be.
Enduring presence? Campbell's Webb-penned hits (which also include "Galveston," "By The Time I Get To Phoenix" and "Where's The Playground, Susie?") are his best, but he's also responsible for one of the best versions of John Hartford's timeless "Gentle On My Mind," as well as superb pop-country like "Southern Nights" and, yes, "Rhinestone Cowboy." He fascinates me as one of the consummate examples of a recording industry professional who seems bland on the surface, yet is so gifted and so drawn to prickly material that he draws people to wonder what's going on underneath.
GlossaryYears Of Operation 1997-present
Fits Between Silos and Eleventh Dream Day
"Days Go By" by Glossary
Personal Correspondence I first heard Glossary as part of my regular beat covering local bands for the alt-weekly Nashville Scene in the '90s, and I remember thinking that from the start—on the smartly titled Southern By The Grace Of Location—that bandleader Joey Kneiser had an uncanny ability to grasp the complexities of contemporary Southern life, and to express them in rollicking roots-rock songs that didn't sound pre-digested. Glossary has only gotten better since, recording three consecutive albums that—if there were any justice to the music business—would be staples of rock radio and critics' lists. About 2003's How We Handle Our Midnights, I wrote, "For six years, singer-songwriter-guitarist Joey Kneiser and the rest of his small-town Tennessee sextet have employed a bash-it-out, kitchen sink approach reminiscent of mid-'90s indie-rockers like Butterglory and Small Factory, but with a flair for expansiveness and guitar heroism that rivals proto-grunge acts Eleventh Dream Day and Cell. The band tends to take their shambling tunefulness and stretch out, playing closely together and following their own natural momentum. On How We Handle Our Midnights, Kneiser and company nod to their country and classic rock influences, generating a warm, rootsy sound while still raising a racket and heading off in unexpected directions. The album stays strong by returning to the idea of youthful dreams tempered by gradual acceptance of the go-nowhere pace of Middle America. There's echoes of strip-mall practice spaces and undeveloped grassy lots in Glossary's wall-rattling stomps, and an understanding of the restlessness that comes from being stuck." Then about 2006's For What I Don't Become: "There are local bands that build a buzz and a following until they get a crack at going national, and then there are local bands like Murfreesboro, TN's Glossary, that keep at it year after year because there's something that needs to be expressed, even if no more than a few thousand people ever hear it. Those bands are the rock equivalent of regional filmmakers, turning out low-budget, heartfelt stories that zero in on lifestyles and locations that the mainstream media overlooks. For What I Don't Become is yet another Glossary album about people who work hard and don't seem to get anywhere. The centerpiece song is 'Days Go By,' a sprawling, scorching twang-rocker that makes the title phrase more haunting by adding the words, 'even when we don't want 'em to.' For What I Don't Become weighs its rootsy kick against a strong note of loneliness, but the dominant tone of the album is set by the opening song 'Shaking Like A Flame,' which rumbles like a locomotive even as Kneiser sings about how it feels to rust. This may be one of the most exultant albums ever made about failure." Glossary's fifth LP The Better Angels Of Our Nature was self-released late last year, and is currently available as a free download on the band's website. If you like it, buy a hard copy. Either way, I'm sure the band will happy enough to know that someone out there is listening.
Enduring presence? Whenever I doubt the purpose of rock criticism, I think about bands like Glossary, that need strong advocates, and don't always get them. Glossary has been around for 10 years, and have remained largely ignored by the critical establishment, not because they're been dismissed, but because almost no one has heard them. There are people out there right now who are Glossary fans and don't even know it yet. Could you be one of them?
The Go-Go'sYears Of Operation 1978-85 (essentially)
Fits Between The B-52's and The Bangles
"Turn To You" by The Go-Go's
Personal Correspondence Even before I saw the infamous "groupie video," The Go-Go's were shaping my ideal of female sexuality. The band's Talk Show came out during that golden year of 1984, when I was 13 years old and expanding my ideas about music, literature, movies, politics, and women. As I mentioned when I wrote about The Cars a few weeks back, in '84 and '85 I didn't yet have to get a summer job, so I spent hours on end reading, listening to the radio, watching late night television, and thinking, and it was because I had time to do the latter that everything I saw and read and heard seemed more intense and important. And then here came The Go-Go's, wearing eye-catching outfits and bopping around to songs that alternated between "I can have a good time without you" and "No, wait, I love you, come back." There was something alluring about the idea of strong-willed, pretty, fashionable women who didn't mind being alone but hated being lonely.
Enduring presence? Because of Belinda Carlisle's post-Go-Go's career as a fairly bland pop chanteuse, the band could be dismissed as pre-fab sell-outs, exploiting elements of the West Coast punk scene while staying fully in the pocket of the industry. And let's face it: Beauty And The Beat aside, none of the band's three hit albums are unassailable. But take the best of all three (as their hits album Greatest mostly does, and Return To The Valley Of The Go-Go's does even better) and you've got some of the catchiest, most happy-making music of the early '80s.
GomezYears Of Operation 1996-present
Fits Between Pearl Jam and Free
"Whippin' Picadilly (Live)" by Gomez
Personal Correspondence The early success of British roots-rockers Gomez stemmed largely from curiosity, because while most late-'90s Brit-poppers were trying to revive The Kinks, Gomez were shooting for Joe Cocker. Gomez's debut album Bring It On came out in 1998 in the waning days of Britpop, and at the time, the record stirred interest by offering an earthy alternative to the glammed-up, arena-ready post-mod of Oasis, Blur, and their ilk. From the beginning, Gomez has drawn on the same blues/folk tradition that's informed rockers from The Band and The Allman Brothers to Phish and Blues Traveler, but the youthful British quintet is about as "rootsy" as Beck—which is to say that, like Beck, Gomez maintains a certain intellectual remove from their slide-guitar-washed, groove-heavy music. The band's art-rock leanings ran them aground on 1999's Liquid Skin, and 2000's stopgap B-sides and rarities compilation Abandoned Shopping Trolley Hotline did little to contravene their reputation as talented dullards. But then the album In Our Gun largely fulfilled the band's early promise, integrating touches of Radiohead-style avant-garde atmospherics into a set of songs that were on the whole shorter, looser and punchier than anything in the prior Gomez catalog. Since then they've gone back to being hit-and-miss, but I've stuck with them anyway, because I like their multiple-vocalist approach and general well-meaning vibe.
Enduring presence? Gomez is a prime example of the good-not-great band that maintains enough momentum to record a slew of albums without ever building an enormous fan base. I like them, but I could easily live without them. I include them in this section largely because they're one of many bands that I've kept on my "watch" list long after I've gathered plenty of evidence that they're not going to reward my attention.
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