Somewhere in the middle of the day long Lollapalooza ’93 extravaganza, buzzworthy indie rockers Dinosaur Jr. will play the main stage. Though heavily hyped in advance by some of my trendier acquaintances, there’s almost always a gaping void in reviews of how they fared on stage here. Mostly I’m just hearing that they were “good” at best, that they seemed either drunk or stoned or something at the other extreme, while many don’t mention them at all. While again I will forever lament not taking advantage of this opportunity to find out for myself, Dinosaur Jr. probably ranks among the least of my regrets when it comes to missing that show. This is because just a month and a half later, I get to see them anyway, as they’re opening for Neil Young.
Dinosaur, as they were known then, originally formed in 1984 around the University of Massachusetts Amherst scene and began playing all the key local bars — at least until noise complaints led to their not being asked back again at most of them. A trio consisting of guitarist/vocalist/ringleader J. Mascis, bassist/vocalist Lou Barlow, and drummer Murph, they were a few years and a couple releases into their career before this lame 60s supergroup named The Dinosaurs, consisting of various former Dead, Airplane, Hot Tuna, and Country Joe castoffs, filed a legal complaint about the band’s name, which is where the whole “Jr.” part entered the picture.
Early pressings of their first two albums therefore have the original moniker and are much harder to find, than later ones which say Dinosaur Jr. As far as the original trio is concerned, Barlow is fired for mostly unspecified reasons in 1989 — unspecified apart from Mascis being a known control freak who has long played most of the instruments, and if not, is usually telling people exactly what to play. Barlow goes on to form the highly regarded indie folk band Sebadoh, and will even enjoy a last laugh of sorts by landing a Top 40 hit in ’95 with the awesome Natural One from his side project Folk Implosion.
Years after his firing, Barlow will run into Mascis on a city street and go off on the guy, wagging a finger in J.’s face and telling him he blew it, because they could have been bigger than Nirvana. Apart from this being astronomically unlikely no matter how amazing your group is, I also think Lou is way off the mark here, because Dinosaur Jr. is simply not that good.
It blew my mind in fact one day in the early 2000s when I asked a couple of knowledgeable indie-rock-lovin’ friends who they thought was better between Pavement and Dinosaur Jr., and both said the latter. I not only don’t agree with this assessment, but while Pavement were routinely appearing near the top of virtually every “greatest band ever” list I was reading at the time, Dinosaur almost never even gains a mention anywhere in that discussion. I think what’s happening here though is that bands that are louder and play heavier will always be considered “better” by default in certain circles, even though it doesn’t take any particular talent to crank up your volume knob. Mascis’s mumbled, mewling vocals (which somehow manage to sound bored yet whiny at the same time) grow stale in short order, and, especially past the first few releases where Barlow’s occasional contribution might liven up the proceedings, the songs all begin to sound the same after awhile.
I don’t know any of this at the time I catch them opening for Neil, however, in August of ’93. They haven’t had a song explode on radio nor MTV, and even so, the fan base is visibly expanding, the major rags are taking note. In fact Dinosaur Jr. just joined the tour, because Soundgarden had their slot up through the last show, three nights ago, meaning that it feels somewhat like divine intervention that I’m finally catching these ballyhooed indie rockers. Which I was hoping would be the case. In addition to the raves I’ve heard from my buddy Chris Nicholson and others, every magazine I pick up is championing their cause, and I am ready to dive into their unique worldview.
And it’s common knowledge that Mascis is the mastermind and dictator behind this project, is quite the shredmeister on guitar, heavily influenced himself by Neil Young, et cetera. What I didn’t quite anticipate, however, is that their musical approach would reveal itself as hilarious just as much as it rocks.
For the record, they do not disappoint on the second half of that equation, technically speaking. It’s just that there’s a comical, unexpected subversion to how they go about this. The old cliche about an opening act is that they’re crowded into one small swatch of the stage, huddled together in front of their meager equipment, but that doesn’t hold here. Contrarily, the stage seems enormous now, far bigger than it will when Neil and company climb aboard it just before nightfall. Meanwhile, from a purely musical standpoint, Mascis mumbles a few lines of lyric, shreds an extended guitar solo, mumbles some more, solos again — every song. It’s not a bad sound nor a bad trick, however, and above all else it is heavy, somehow, without inspiring much headbanging. And if nothing else I’m at least curious enough now to want to check out more.
One downside is that these other two figures in the band are mostly anonymous, though. I have no recollection whatsoever of anything about them, other than the spaces they held and the instruments played — and this isn’t foggy recall, it’s already true just a couple weeks after the show. Galaxies apart in this massive space, with virtually no interaction between them. I don’t exactly expect David Lee Roth doing jump kicks and splits, in leotards and fuzzy boots, but this is almost surely the most lethargic group I’ve ever seen, whether live or (more commonly) on TV.
So the lack of any stage presence whatsoever works against them, or if charitable we might say this weirdness is a compelling car crash scene of hilarity. The same holds true of these songs. Maybe I’m a little late to the party, but what stands out about this show — and always brings a smile to my face when I’m recounting it to people afterwards — is the sameness presented by every single one of these cuts. Alone out there stage center, miles away from a bass player I’m at least dimly aware was standing in the distant netherworld to his right, Mascis leads this outfit through a set that is nearly unwavering in its approach. He’s a mighty fine guitar player, sure, and is even often compared to Neil Young in this regard. Guitar tones rarely change, ditto song structures and J’s trademark whiny mewl. How Mascis will wheedle a few lines into the microphone, followed by some kickass guitar shredding that lasts six times as long. Then a few more lines, guitar freakout, few more lines, guitar freakout, riding this vibe all the way off the stage. In other words, in makes total sense that they are opening for Neil, because they’re totally riding one slender lane of his 1970s shtick, the primitive axe wielding Crazy Horse epic.
Not too long beyond this point, my brother will actually become a huge Dinosaur Jr. fan and begin acquiring all their releases. I consider them okay enough that I usually dub these onto cassette for my own collection, at least up until the point that I stopped caring. They will even enjoy a semi-hit in ’94 with Feel The Pain, which you may recall as the video where these two dudes (the only two left in the band) golf their way across Manhattan.
But I have long considered Out There my personal favorite. The leadoff track from 1993’s Where You Been album, it’s not even the most popular one from there (that honor probably goes to Start Choppin) but I have always dug the guitar work on here, think the melody’s catchy and that Mascis actually almost begins to display a microscopic trace of emotion for once. To my knowledge I’ve also never seen the music video for this one before today, and it’s not bad, a nice added bonus. For the uninitiated, I also believe this song makes a good starting point — if you dig it, you might want to investigate the band further, but if not, I would say the rest of their catalog is not for you, either.
