An Album For Every Year I've Been Alive: 1992

The Full Roster

George Harrison, Live In Japan
Bill Hicks, Relentless
Pavement, Slanted & Enchanted
Pavement, Trigger Cut [Single]
Pavement, Watery, Domestic [EP]
They Might Be Giants, Apollo 18
The Ventures, The Ventures Play Telstar / Ventures In Space
Tom Waits, Bone Machine

1992 might just mark something of a turning point.  Though we're down to just three proper albums to choose from here--I'm not counting live albums for these purposes, although Live In Japan is pretty enjoyable and would otherwise merit more serious consideration--choosing between the three of them proved to be mighty difficult.  As I made my deliberations, aided by the brain-enhancing powers of some Oregon-brewed robot beer, it occurred to me that the decision I was making might be, in my own tiny personal way, somewhat epoch-making.  It essentially came down to Pavement vs. They Might Be Giants for the top prize; what's more, it was Pavement's buzzy, lo-fi debut vs. TMBG's accomplished, polished, band-at-its-peak fourth full release.  It's a contrast in styles, in genres, in eras; the somewhat innocent, carefree alternative rock of the 1980's contrasting with the doggedly independent, rough-around-the-edges type of music that would come to the fore throughout the '90s.  And also Tom Waits was involved in there, although fittingly, it was mostly just to interject gruffly whenever I started wavering on my decision-making. 

So that choice was difficult, and will be revealed below, to little fanfare, as it really, in the grand scheme of things, isn't that important.  But before we go there, let's stay here for a moment.  As I mentioned, I'm disqualifying live albums from prize consideration, for no reason other than I am.  I will point out live albums I find particularly good, however, as I did above.  Likewise, comedy makes its debut in 1992, thanks to Bill Hicks' Relentless.  I'm less certain about comedy being ineligible, since technically all comedy albums are pretty much live recordings, but usually also contain all-new material.  I can think of only one album in particular that might seriously challenge for a Favorite Album prize, and that's a ways off, so maybe I'll just cross that bridge when I get to it.  Procrastination!

Favorite Album:  They Might Be Giants, Apollo 18

Can the They Might Be Giants juggernaut be stopped?  (Answer:  Yes, it can.  And will, shortly).  For the fourth album in a row TMBG takes the top prize.  Obviously, as a super-fan I am biased; but then again, it's my goddamn 111 Top 1 Lists, so I'll wear that bias with pride.  And the fact is, from track one to track 38 (I'll explain later), Apollo 18 is second only to Lincoln in terms of overall excellence.  It's hard to say there's a song on Apollo 18 that doesn't rank amongst my favorites in all of TMBG's catalog.

It says quite a bit about Apollo 18 that it manages to knock off Slanted & Enchanted for the top spot; as I mentioned before, it was a very close decision.  I first remember hearing Apollo 18 when my oldest sister was playing it in the car one day; I was hooked at that point, it being my first real exposure to the band, and the next thing I knew I had purchased the wrong album entirely (Miscellaneous T) and was still in love with the band anyway.  Scoring a minor mainstream hit with the retro-leaning "The Guitar (The Lion Sleeps Tonight)," which is a semi-cover of the parenthetical song, Apollo 18's greatest strengths lie elsewhere on the album.  Utilizing their by-now traditional genre-hopping, the album moves through straight-ahead guitar rock ("See the Constellation") to lounge jazz ("She's Actual Size"), from a love ballad ("Narrow Your Eyes") to educational music ("Mammal").  They even play with what was then new technology, designing the 21-track "Fingertips" suite for use with the shuffle function on CD players.  It's a typically oddball move from the band, one that on repeated listens tends to offer diminishing returns, but is the closest thing to a blemish that Apollo 18 has.  Even the closing instrumental, "Space Suit," is a fine piece of space-surfy goodness.

How much do I love this album?  I've bought it three times: first on cassette (worn out), then CD (scratched up from overuse), and again on CD, after which I ripped it to my computer and iPodded the sucker, keeping it hopefully safe.  "If I Wasn't Shy" could have been my anthem for much of my teenage years, and to this day, I find "I Palindrome I" to be possibly the cleverest goddamn thing they've ever done.  Congratulations, Apollo 18; your victory is well-earned.




Honorable Mention:  Pavement, Slanted & Enchanted

If 1992 does indeed mark a turning point, it will see many more albums in the vein of Slanted & Enchanted appear on this list from here on out, with the They Might Be Giants of the world falling by the wayside.  It's a bittersweet moment, marking some kind of maturity on my part, but also a shift in my musical tastes and perhaps even in a more general sense the music industry altogether.  And if that sounds like a bit of a grandiose statement for some dude's random blog, well, I've been drinking robot beer.

Slanted & Enchanted isn't the easiest of listens at first; it's famously under-produced, the album for which the term "slacker rock" was probably invented.  Even Pavement would never quite return to its lo-fi roots on their subsequent albums, but for all of that, Slanted & Enchanted is still a stellar piece of work.  From the opening riffs and drums of "Summer Babe (Winter Version)" to the minimalist closer "Our Singer," the album is to indie rock what Nirvana's Nevermind was to mainstream music: a clarion call for a different tomorrow.  On a more personal level, it marks a departure for what I normally appreciated in music up until I found Pavement (in my sister's CD collection, of course).  Before, it had been all about lyrics; whether clever or simply evocative, it was the words that counted most.  With Pavement, the lyrics were interesting, but by and large impenetrable; it was the music that went with them that really took hold.  Which isn't to say that Slanted & Enchanted doesn't have its lyrical gems; the nearly traditional "Here," for example, declares "I was dressed for success / But success, it never comes / And I'm the only one who laughs / At your jokes when they are so bad."  "Fame Throwa" and "Two States" show off Stephen Malkmus' love of the Fall, but it's "Trigger Cut" that, to continue the perhaps inaccurate Nirvana analogy, announces Pavement to the world in the same way "Smells Like Teen Spirit" did for grunge's shining light.  There might be no looking back from here, but that's no bad thing.




Narrow Miss:  Tom Waits, Bone Machine

If 1992 were another year, maybe Bone Machine makes it all the way to Favorite Album status.  As it stands, it has to sit here in the Narrow Miss category, not that it would care.  A notoriously dark album, it therefore suits my tastes perfectly well, obsessing as it does with death and other happy thoughts.  "Dirt In the Ground" is fairly self-explanatory, a fatalistic slow song perfect for weddings and birthday parties alike.  "Jesus Gonna Be Here Soon" welcomes death as much as it does the return of the titular holy man; in a similar vein, "Black Wings" kicks off with the words "Well take an eye for an eye / A tooth for a tooth / Just like they say in the Bible."

Interestingly, though, my favorite songs on the album might just be (somewhat) more light-hearted fare.  "Goin' Out West" has been covered numerous times, though never with the same sinister energy that Waits provides his tale of an ex-con heading for where he'll be truly appreciated: Hollywood.  And "I Don't Wanna Grow Up" is seriously in the running for my favorite song of all time, a flat-out rejection of adulthood that only gets more poignant with every passing year.  It's the kind of song that I would happily butcher at a karaoke bar somewhere, if I was into that sort of thing.




Most Ridiculous Song:  Bill Hicks, "Chicks Dig Jerks," from the album Relentless; and They Might Be Giants, "Fingertips," from the album Apollo 18

While I haven't really decided to add comedy to the list of eligibles, Bill Hicks' Relentless does feature a song by the acerbic comedian, tacked on to the end of his stand-up album.  It's a prime example of why comedians should really avoid doing music whenever possible; there's nothing in it that wouldn't have been funnier if Hicks had just told the jokes as jokes, and he's clearly no singer.  Also, the song is just kind of cheesy.  In case you hadn't surmised, Bill thinks that by and large, chicks dig jerks (and not, specifically, him).




Because it's really 21 separate tracks, it doesn't quite qualify as a "song" technically; but still, I'd be remiss if "Fingertips" didn't make its way on here somehow.  And look!  Here it is!




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