A Dinosaur no more - The lasting power of a seminal '90s band

I've always thought that blogs, in general, are cries for help and that writing a blog, like taking the one-hour-gallon-of-milk challenge or drunk dialing an old girlfriend, should be avoided at all costs. But now and then I find one that's tolerable enough to read. And last week I saw something interesting on a friend's blog. It was the last sentence of a posting, and all it said was, "Is it still cool to like Dinosaur Jr.?"

The purpose of this essay is to explain, in self-indulgent, Pitchfork Media-style, why the answer to that question is a resounding "yes."

Before there was Modest Mouse, before there was Nirvana, before there was Pavement, and before there were the Pixies, there was a band who I remember from childhood only because of a 1993 record called Where You Been that my older brother bought from the BMG catalog when he was a high school senior and ignorant of most things rock and roll. They were a noisy, complicated band with a surly, egomaniac frontman. That band was Dinosaur Jr., and that front man was J Mascis.

Where You Been was Dinosaur Jr.'s fifth full-length album, and probably their best-selling because the band got a lot of good press from their buddy Kurt Cobain and because it came out around the same time as Nevermind, but this is far from an accurate representation of why this band is so important to rock and roll.

When guitarist/songwriter J Mascis met up with bassist Lou Barlow in Amherst, Mass. in the early 80s, the flavor of the generation was hardcore 84 that breakneck-paced scream-fest inspired by SoCal punk and Iggy Pop. Their eponymous debut was a set of 11 simple and often bittersweet pop songs ("Repulsion" and "Severed Lips") disguised by the kind of noisy guitar leads that have guided the aesthetic of every rock band to follow, from the Silver Jews to Blonde Redhead.

In their next two albums, Mascis assumed more and more control of the band, and the band dipped its toes in a batch of noise-rock that matured around their third album, Bug. While they were playing chaotic live shows in New York along with their more artsy counterparts, Sonic Youth, Dinosaur Jr. developed only a minute cult following.

This month, North Carolina-based Merge Records is re-releasing Bug as well as as well as You're Living All Over Me, the band's sophomore effort. You're Living is more of a post-punk influenced record, and even includes a fantastic cover of The Cure's "Just Like Heaven," while Bug is a bit wilder, especially on tunes like "Let it Ride" and "Freak Scene."

Dinosaur Jr. is very much a band that needs to be listened to in context. Their charm is not in the pure aesthetic appeal of the music 84 their sound is coarse, noisy and anything but pretty. Bug is about as soothing as one's first encounter with Iggy Pop's Raw Power. It was so revolutionary when it was made that now it doesn't even sound alternative.

Dinosaur Jr.'s claim to the upper levels of the rock canon was that they brought a certain style of guitar playing back into the "cool" stream of indie rock. If new-wave, no-wave and early indie rock like Sonic Youth were at least in part a reaction to the commercialized, demonic arena rock of Grand Funk Railroad and KISS, then including a prominent guitar solo would be, for an 80s indie rocker, like a Jesuit pissing on a crucifix. But J Mascis did just that, and the flocks followed.

And so, a few years after I found that first Dino Jr. record while rooting through my brother's CDs, I found myself in the basement of my best friend Henry's house one day after school, my cousin's cheap Epiphone LP-100 electric in my hands. By that time, I was a die-hard grunger, and even though Kurt had already shot himself, I was still wearing flannel, talking with a cynical Gen-X affect (even though I was 13 and born well after Generation X had long flown by me) and trying reconcile my loyalties to various Seattle bands.

Henry was a drummer, and he had brought a friend over 84 a kid who was a few years older and who wore spiked rubber wrist bands and played a red Stratocaster 84 and we were all settling in for a jam. I remember he yelled through a Hole song. Then a couple of Nirvana songs. And finally one I had never heard. That song was "Little Fury Things," the first track on You're Living All Over Me, and I had never heard someone my age rock as hard as that kid did on that song.

Henry hit his drums hard, and this guy (whose name I can't remember) was wailing into the mic. Me 84 what did I do? I stared at my guitar, not knowing what to do, and re-discovered Dinosaur Jr. about four years later.