Mister Faded Glory | www.misterfadedglory.com

Selection Sunday looms only two weeks away, and I know you’ve frantically been refreshing your browsers, yearning for Mister Faded Glory’s annual pre-tournament guide to Who’s Gonna Win. Well, sorry, but I failed you. But, as always, it wasn’t totally my fault - I was trapped, violated, and unable to finish – a shell of my normally confident self. (By the way; big win for Syracuse. More later.)

As always, Mister Faded Glory is the victim. Last night, Ms. Faded Glory et moi set out after work for the YMCA; eager to embark on our customary exercise routine. For me, I also was eager to play Wheel of Fortune, but that’s beside the point.

Perhaps I ticked off the wrong runner last week, shouting answers in effort to boost my own ego – because when I returned to the locker room just to snatch my sweatshirt and hat, I discovered my car, home and office keys had been snatched from my locker.

Certain someone had broken in, I frantically searched the men’s locker room, attempting to avoid the smelly old guys who apparently congregate in the YMCA steam room. (Ugh – I hope I never get to the age in which I’m OK with parading my junk around a sweaty-smelling cross-section of the middle class.) No keys. Nowhere.

Back in the gym, Ms. Faded Glory seemed certain I simply, absent-mindedly left them somewhere silly. She seemed to be composing a diatribe in her mind (Reminder to you: rent The Weather Man), ready to unleash any and all fury on my addled, bereft memory. But the keys still were nowhere. Back at home, after a ride from a friend, we drove back to the Y! M! C! A!, and stunningly, my keys rested on the ground. Right by the car. I panicked. Yes, yes, I am an idiot, dear.

But wait! I had to enter the YMCA – so my keyring membership must have been on my person. Aha! I dove into my car, and sure enough – my wallet was missing, and my wife’s billfold also was missing. Success! I’d proven not to be an idiot! Er, wait, all my shit was gone.

Back in the YMCA, we filed a police report, and the officers dusted my car fully for prints, bitching about the success of CSI the entire time. Of course they found nothing, however, a neighborly citizen a few miles away found my wallet, chucked into a random driveway, and the police retrieved the lost item. Today, that neighbor’s neighbor found my wife’s wallet (and badge, no less) and returned it to her office. Ostensibly, both had been discarded after the cunning pranksters looted our cash, and jetted off.

So there’s no real moral, nor any real interest to the story. Forced to cancel all credit cards, the incident still robbed us of the better part of an evening, even after it was apparent the nefarious misdeed was perpetrated by punk kids. And probably not girls, since my wife’s Gucci purse remained unharmed. How they picked the lock remains a mystery (or not), but the violation is sure to haunt me forever. What a heist! What a plan! I hope those burglars enjoy their cash. All (snicker) four dollars. (That’s two beers, but only during a Monday special.)

But at least the circumstantial theft is proof that I’m not an idiot (Well, not an absent-minded idiot). This rambling story as flimsy excuse for no basketball post, however, might suggest otherwise.

Regardless, all you’re getting is the replication of a recent facebook meme. No, this isn’t 25 random things, sorry. But because this whole theft incident reminds me of the time my kid brother left the windows open in my Beretta, and someone yanked the CaseLogic packed with 48 cassettes, dubs, mixes, and originals (running the gamut from EPMD to Hysteria) from the back-window perch, I’ve decided to open the can of my (totally predictable) musical inspiration.

Fear not, this post still fits right into my wheelhouse of narcissism, self-importance, reverence to tired grunge music from 1994, pointless-genX nostalgic whining, and a combination of all of the above. Here goes: The most influential albums of my music-listening career, reprinted from facebook. Please and enjoy.

1. Huey Lewis & The News, Fore!
2. Guns N’ Roses, Appetite for Destruction.
3. Cinderella, Long Cold Winter.
4. Bell Biv DeVoe, Poison.
5. Pearl Jam, Ten. (European version including Wash and Dirty Frank, naturally)
6. Nirvana, In Utero.
7. Pearl Jam, Vs.
8. Alice In Chains, Jar of Flies
9. Nine Inch Nails, The Downward Spiral.
10. Soundgarden, Superunknown.
11. Temple of the Dog, Temple of the Dog.
12. Metallica, …And Justice For All.
13. Smashing Pumpkins, Pisces Iscariot.
14. Helmet, Betty.
15. Led Zeppelin, IV.
16. Danzig, I.
17. Mad Season, Above.
18. Bush, Sixteen Stone.
19. Singles (Soundtrack).
20. Tool, Aenima.
21. Mother Love Bone, Apple/Stardog Champion.
22. Goo Goo Dolls, A Boy Named Goo.
23. Pink Floyd, Wish You Were Here.
24. Weezer, Weezer (Blue). (featuring Susanne, if possible.)
25. Jane’s Addiction, Nothing’s Shocking.

No. 4:

Why doesn’t anyone believe in loneliness?

Stand up and everyone will feel your wholeness.

Soundgarden, Zero Chance.

So, yeah. This is turning into a depressing countdown, and I hate feeling like I need to quote High Fidelity: Am I depressed because I listen to [grunge] music, or do I listen to [grunge] music because I’m depressed?

But honestly, for crying out loud, we’ve all been mopey and alone, Mister Faded Glory, we fucking get it. Even though Zero Chance is maybe Soundgarden’s very best song, precise, patient, and aching, that’s exactly what we don’t need – yet another gut-punching melancholy song.

So here’s your bonus:

I’ve quit this a million times, can’t quite stay away
Just one more time…I’ll be ok
But I’m so damn tired …

When I come back down,
Though I’m crazy to
Anything you want from me I’ll do…

Toad the Wet Sprocket, Come Back Down

Toad’s low-rent masterpiece probably has deeper meanings in addiction, recovery, or reliance on someone you care about. But for me, instead, it’s the perfect bar song – not for a singalong, exactly, but for its expression of the vicious but blissful cycle of weekends out on the town, even for no real reason other than because.

If you’re social at all in your twenties, of course you can’t quit going to the bar a million times. You can’t quite stay away, sitting with friends, reminiscing, watching sports and playing darts, drinking pitchers even though you shouldn’t, and if you’re desperate – hitting on nearly anything that smiles, certain she’s the one. If you’re truly nostalgic and narcissistic, you’ll probably write a caustic book on the subject. Not that we would know either way. (About writing a book or wasting time on a barstool).

… before tonight’s must-win. Actually, what am I saying? They’re all must-wins. But, our universe doesn’t revolve around the Cubs.

It revolves around our hair. And if you’ve met us, or (shudder) went to college with us and our much-maligned shampoo rotation, then, you’re nodding your head.

12. “When I look in the mirror. I can’t believe what I see. Tell me, who’s that funky dude
Staring back at me?”

Weezer, The Good Life.

Weezer’s nostalgic homage to the halcyon days of shaking booty, chasing trim and drinking all afternoon (first case theirs, second case mine) would seem to suggest that the best days are always the days of yore, rather than what’s in front of you. Moreover, it’s a tongue-in-cheek whine from whenever it is that potential begins to shrink into current humdrum existence. If those days exist.

But if I could be a little vain, for me, The Good Life cuts both ways. For instance, I got a haircut tonight. I know, just in time for the birthday. Once upon a time, my haircuts were monumental occurrences – thinning out long-ass nappy preppie hair and shearing an askew head-line. Now, however, it’s basically a straight-up trim with no real style or technique. It’s just short. And each time, there’s less clippings on the floor (I swear) and each time, the faint scalp beneath the vertex is more visible (I double swear).

And when I was 23, all I did was worry about my hair – obsessively scanning the follicles under fluorescent light, and beginning the frantic tugging habit that’s now become a nervous tick. But here I am, almost 30, and my hair, actually, looks better than it did seven years ago. Or at least (surprisingly) less pretentious. Seriously. Sure, my stomach roils every time I notice the receding hairline and (now, sigh) flecks of gray, but it’s not really a problem.

My lesson? Well, it’s something about wasting your time worrying about stuff you can’t control. Or worrying about vain, empty, insecure flaws that no one else could see if you didn’t point them out. Or simply being so stuck on yourself that you find time to actually be insecure. Because here I am, thirty years old, and I still have hair. And so, sometimes I long to return to the moppish days of my sophomore year, clad in flannel shirt, wide-open to reveal a Beth Hart Band tee, hemp Metallica necklace clutching my neck, and ratty hair flopping over my eardrums.

But, in fact, things are actually, probably better now.

(Of course, my job sucks, the Cubs are disintegrating and the midwest is a wasteland, but hey, we can’t have it all, right?)

That oughta boost my readership.

Anyway, it’s now the dog days of summer (I think), and along with those come another fun-filled, hopelessly narcisisstic and whiny, and completely indulgent Mister Faded Glory Countdown! You remember last year, as we counted down the Top 25 Grunge songs of all time as a prelude to our voyage to Seattle.

This year, however, the countdown becomes a bit (more) melancholy. As many of my regular readers (Um…both of you) know, in October Mister Faded Glory celebrates his cataclysmic 30th birthday. I’m not quite as paranoid as some would believe – I alternate between wanting to jump straight out of a window and quiet contemplation of a promising future. Well, and the random drunkenness.

Anyway, to commemorate this reluctant occasion, throughout the next 60 or less days we’ll be counting down the Top 30 songs, er, rather – the Just 30 songs with particularly poignant lyrics on the precipice of becoming, maybe, an adult. I realize that’s not a pithy name, but you’re just going to have to deal. And, as always, no complaints about the predominance of grunge lyrics in the countdown. As you know, MFG was born during the waning days of Generation X, and is one of its very youngest members. In case you forgot, that means I’m totally prone to self-congratulatory depression, peppered with occasional wistful nostalgia.

On with the countdown – the Pre-Eminent Pre-Thirty. Off we go. Read more

I don’t know if fall is as pronounced a “new season” as its cousins spring, summer, and winter. Sure, it begins new school years everywhere, new television seasons, and football and electoral campaigns. However, it’s also the time of year when seasonal plants and animals begin dying, the days grow shorter, and spring and summer promises wither and fade.

Still, there is a fall music season, believe it or not, and this year, it’s even caught Mister Faded Glory‘s musical attention.

I’ve lamented my favorite bands’ decisions to release greatest hits albums in the past. Stop rolling your eyes.

I know it signals that I’m either old, behind the times, close-minded toward new music, or living in the past. While all four are somewhat true, each subsequent new “greatest hits” package is a sad, depressing reminder of faded glory, old haunts, and times past — like memories dredged up in a shiny new casing, as if constantly attempting to prove youth or relevance. Draw your own parallels.

So, here we are. Perched on October, and two cherished bands in Mister Faded Glory‘s heart are releasing — supposedly all-new, remastered, re-ordered, repackaged, replenished, reimagined, re-, re-, re- greatest hits album. What’s troubling is not necessarily the greatest hits albums per se — I’ve lived through Pearl Jam, Nirvana, and Soundgarden compilations and even a Nirvana box set (which is awesome, excuse me) — what’s troubling is the attempt to consider each package as the first.

First up is Jane’s Addiction. Up from the Catacombs supposedly features a bunch of ‘remastered’ Jane’s tracks, but Mr. Faded Glory isn’t sure if they’re remastered from Jane’s first swan song/greatest hits album, Kettle Whistle, or Perry Farrell‘s sort-of greatest-hits album Rev.

Pigs In Zen, we suppose, could be remastered from either its inclusion on Jane’s Addiction or Nothing’s Shocking, and Jane Says could be remastered from any of its versions on two of Jane’s Addiction‘s original albums or its landmark cut on Kettle Whistle.

Anyway, the whole Catacombs stunt reeks of overkill, and with only one cut off Strays (you’ll chuckle as you remember MFG saying in 2003 on DSV that Strays would save rock and roll), they seem to be discounting that album in general. (Granted, it’s their worst, but it’s good, and True Nature or Strays could both be included.)

Overdone. Overwrought. Good track listing, I guess, but even if you’re a Jane’s novice, I suspect you already own Kettle Whistle, which is just as good, if not better, of a compilation album. And you may be missing Ted, Just Admit It, or Summertime Rolls, but cripes, man, buy Nothing’s Shocking. Best album of the 1980s. Get with it!

Mister Faded Glory’s second-favorite band ever (in a virtual tie with Mother Love Bone and Nirvana, but, well, you know) has decided to once again crash record stores with The Essential Alice In Chains. Now, I love Alice In Chains. I do. (Seeing them in November, in Wichita. Scary’s on the wall, indeed.)

But this is — count them — greatest hits album number four. Five, if you count AIC:Live, which I do. Six, if you count MTV Unplugged! And I have to. I think that album was my major in college! But also clocking in as a compilation Chains album:

Music Bank (Alice’s landmark boxed set, with almost every song, including Get Born Again and Died.)
Nothing Safe (Released in conjunction with Music Bank in 2000, just a snippet of AIC’s greatest.)
Alice In Chains MTV Unplugged (1996)
Alice In Chains: Live (2000)
Alice In Chains’ Greatest Hits (cheapo for Lazer/Edge/Slam FM metal radio listeners.)
And now the Essential AIC.

Essentials is good, don’t get me wrong (Ha!). It includes the album Sap in its entirety, which is nice, in case you jokers haven’t bought that. Both Get Born Again, and Died. Some classics off Dirt which may have been unnoticed, like Hate to Feel. Of course, What the Hell Have I. Somehow, Whale & Wasp/Don’t Follow was omitted. And Bleed the Freak and Junkhead. And no DOWN IN A FREAKING HOLE???? Okay, now I’m upsetting myself.

Still, it’s a little redundant, yes? Alice keeps churning out (or at least sanctioning) these records — and they didn’t have the largest body of work to begin with.

They’re a classic rock band, their music is virtually timeless because of its uniquity, but we’ve got greatest hits after greatest hits. In fact, we’ve got more compilations than original releases! The whole notion is outlandish in its sheer stupidity.

But I’m beating and berating a dead horse. Instead of shaking my head at these unnecessary releases, I should embrace them, right? I should offer Mister-Faded-Glory‘s truly greatest Alice In Chains playlist. Yes, that’s exactly what I should do! Not only that, with Alice touring this fall, and this is a perfect primer. Here goes.
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Obviously, today’s Grungedown is significant not only just for capping off the most inane and meaningless drawn-out narcissistic countdown in history. Rather, in addition the crown also is another feather in the cap of the greatest, most precisely “grunge” band in musical history. Not only that, the countdown’s end marks the very week of Mister Faded Glory’s long-awaited pilgrimage to the ascribed promised land of Seattle, where “everything is cool.” Thursday!

Before we get to it, though, I gotta get something off my chest. See, I’m somewhat of a musical — nay, grunge only — snot. And, untrue to form, throughout this countdown, I’ve been admittedly notorious for the inclusion of some seriously ‘mainstream’ songs – and say what you will about grunge or music elitism, usually I skew choices more towards my personal favorites rather than incorporating chart success, subconsciously or overtly.

However, I realize that I didn’t skew that way here, and this may have led to some dissension and backlash among selections (I know, quite the uproar), mainly because several of the songs have been staples on Power/Edge/Laser/Killer 1990s rock stations for the better parts of 10 years. (I.e., Mad Season’s I Don’t Know Anything instead of Wake Up; Nirvana’s Come As You Are instead of Lounge Act; and the complete and total omission of Soundgarden’s Mailman in favor of cuts from BadMotorFinger). So if I haven’t opened you up completely to any revelations from grunge bands’ back catalogs, I apologize. Even further, in a lame attempt to rectify the situation, tonight’s number one arrives complete with a B-side in tow, from the same album.

Grunge countdown

No. 1 . . .

(drum roll)
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Can you believe it? It’s just one week until Mr. Faded Glory makes the pilgrimage to Seattle, Washington. One week!

Sadly, that’s not a segue. Right now those pesky Barenaked Ladies are running through your mind, but campy song classic One Weekstill isn’t on this countdown. Look for it later in the year, though, on “Top 25 songs that made us all want to commit suicide in late summer 1998.” On to Number 2 in our grunge manifest:

Temple of the Dog, Hunger Strike.

Chris Cornell‘s swirling and epic tribute to late Mother Love Bone singer Andy Wood resonated for months upon its chart entry in 1991, gaining notoriety and thundering into the rock landscape during grunge’s 1992 explosion. Though the band is the current lineup of Pearl Jam, the album has Cornell‘s unmistakable fingerprints all over it, and was a landmark grunge release entertwining the two superpowers, albeit under the umbrella of Wood‘s demise.

The plucking, methodical opening guitar chords are instantly recognizable 15 years after its release — still inspiring chills in followers of Mother Love Bone, Cornell, Soundgarden, and to an extent, Pearl Jam.

The entire Temple of the Dog record is outstanding — Chris Cornell, Matt Cameron, Jeff Ament, Mike McCready and Stone Gossard mesh almost seamlessly as the memory of glam-band and charismatic frontman Wood fades (or burns) into memories. The iconic guitar solo and clash-of-the-titans vocals between Cornell and special guest Eddie Vedder revealed a picturesque interplay, between guitar, mourning, wailing, thinking, and hesitance. Hunger Strike remains a classic not just for its place in grunge music and Seattle history — but rock and roll history in general.

Even today, “I don’t mind stealing bread,” and “I’m goin’ hungry,” two bizarrely innocent phrases, instantly create a mind landscape of the song — I can still remember where I was when I first heard Hunger Strike. I was 14, and wasn’t completely obsessed with Seattle – though I loved Nevermind, and Ten, but treated them more as casual listening rather than Biblical reverence. I played a lot of basketball, mowed a lot of lawns, and ran around a lot on a Trek 820 that summer. Somehow, one summer day, I was home, laying face-down on the couch, snoozing during an afternoon. We were remodeling the porch or something and were taking a short break in the afternoon. (Yes, ironic, isn’t it? Remodeling the porch!)

Anyway, I had flipped away from the video previously a few times during the summer during MTV‘s “Rock Blocks,” which was their theme. (You remember – Club Block, Rock Block, R+B Block. It was Block Party Summer. Somehow, EMF‘s Unbelievable! was a strong enough song to transfer freely across any Genre Block, but, you know, we were dumb.)

You remember the lasting images of the video, right? You know, the one with the lighthouse, Cornell in full-Jesus mode, a flannel-clad Vedder emerging from the weeds to deliver his cameo. The bonfire between PJ and SG at the end, as the day closes. Well, that video came on as I was napping, my eyelids briefly fluttering as I caught the lighthouse, heard the opening guitar stanza, and decided before drifting off in time with Cornell‘s opening lines to leave the remote be.

Through my sleep, somehow, the picturesque guitar opening, the crescendo of Vedder and Cornell’s respective deliveries, and the landmark chorus burned into my head — so much so that I rolled over, off the couch, fell flat on my back, and my braces bit my tongue. It was that memorable.The first time I really heard Hunger Strike — a masterpiece — and I still pause every time I hear the song. The next day I joined Columbia House just to get Temple’s album, along with ten others, for a penny!

I don’t know that I still consider Hunger Strike even my favorite song on Temple of the Dog (Possibly Wooden Jesus or All Night Thing). I do know, however, there are few songs that still possess the ability to stop me in my tracks in passing, and give me goose bumps during the right listen. Hunger Strike is one of these. Not only the perfect complement to Crown of Thorns (Official Theme Song of Mr. Faded Glory), but a grunge and hard rock classic that deserves its place in the legacy of rock and roll for eternity.

So what could top it? Guess you’ll have to wait ’til Wednesday. You’ll be goin’ hungry . . .

No. 3. Pearl Jam, Porch.

Absolutely and unequivocally Pearl Jam‘s greatest song. In fact, what more can I actually write about this, except to include it as the No. 3 Grunge Rock song of all time. As a personal favor to you, the reader, I humbly include a list of the 10 best performances of Porch of all time. Before delving into that, however, it’s best to mention that Porch is Pearl Jam‘s most explosive song, with perhaps its most intense lyrics, and a furious guitar bridge that often swirls into gentle exposition, furious bursts, or lengthy, improvisational guitar tags. It’s a crowd-pleaser, a show-stopper, and at its core, it reveals a person finally, ultimately, defiantly confident in their own skin. And, if you’ve never spent five minutes on this blog or in person avec moi, you know that it’s a personal favorite song of mine, forever entrenched as a track on the soundtrack to my life. So there.

10. Porch/Dancin’ Around, Sports Palace, Barcelona, Spain, 1996.

9. Porch/Catholic Boys, Kosei Nenkin Kaikan, Osaka, Japan, 1995.

8. Porch, The Gorge, George, Washington, 2005.

7. FunkyPorch, Bridge School Benefit, Shoreline Amphitheatre, Mountain View, CA 1996.

6. Porch/Time to Realign Your Mind, Sports Arena, San Diego, 1995.

5. Porch, The Academy, New York City, 1992. (Live in NY 12/31/92)

4. My Generation (Favorite Station)/Porch, Riverside, Newcastle, England, 1992.

3. Porch, Astoria Studios, Queens, NY (MTV Unplugged) 1992.

2. Porch, Volkshaus, Zurich, Switzerland, 1992.

1. My Generation Blues/Porch, Target Center, Minneapolis, Minnesota, 1998.

And feeling Minnesota …

Our No. 4 entry into grungedown is Soundgarden’s arrival song:

4. Soundgarden, Outshined.

Grunge’s heaviest arena band burst onto the scene with the rest of its cohorts with the release of Outshined, a huge, thundering, arena-rock anthem that echoed at times Led Zeppelin, at times Black Sabbath, and at times Guns N’ Roses.

We all know the Soundgarden story. A charismatic frontman, a low, bitter, extremely guttural sound, and the ability to create a fury with catchy guitar hooks and angry, screaming vocal riffs. Outshined is the second track off BadMotorFinger, which of course, isn’t the greatest grunge rock album of all time, and of course, isn’t even one of Soundgarden‘s best efforts. It does, however, feature three thunderous metallic grunge rock cuts, all of which (Rusty Cage, Outshined, JC Pose) live on today.

The undercutting hook and beginning anger in Outshined quickly give away to a regretful and plaintive crying stanza (So now you know…), before the fury returns in the song’s hammering chorus. It’s a classic cock-rock, arena-anthem, fuck-you song — yet with hints of more substance behind Cornell and Soundgarden‘s rough edges. And it’s a bit overplayed, a bit overused, yet still a classic song.

Welcome to Grungedown’s Top Five – lest you think all of our remaining cuts somehow melted in the aforementioned sweltering, stifling midsummer heat wave, we’re back! On a Friday, no less. But, of course, because we’re about to bid adieu for the weekend (Don’t think that Mister Faded Glory’s reluctant adultism will preclude adamant drunkenness.), we have a couple of other items to quickly stab at:

Check out these excellent blogs deadspin to read all about the Cubs Blog Army’s inadvertent takedown of the WorldWide Leader (even Deadspin is almost a curiously innocent bystander – yet not according to the ranting Stephen A. Smith, who no doubt was yelling into poor Teddy Greenstein’s telephone yesterday).

“For me it never has been about just being on TV. I’m about success.”

Stephen A. Smith
Greenstein, Quite Frankly: Baker Bails Out, Chicago Tribune.

Yes. Totally. That incessant screaming and ranting crap wasn’t completely about crafting an ‘edgy’ bombastic persona just so ESPN’s Mark (Sigh. Iowa grad.) Shapiro took notice in 2002.

Watch out, bloggers, Stephen A. is about success! Even though the combined daily site hits of deadspin and GROTA likely surpass the monthly combined viewership of Quite Frankly by tenfold – Stephen A. can totally afford way more steak dinners at the ESPNZone. Probably more Zimas, too. And Stuart Scott no doubt springs for drinks all the time.

Hmm. That was actually just one item. And, admittedly, my commentary adds nothing to GROTA, Desipio, VFTB, or Deadspin. (By the way, I realize that Quite Frankly, uh, quite frankly dwarfs my audience. So I’m not throwing stones. Seriously, does anyone like Stephen A.? Anywhere?) But I just wanted to piggyback. Regardless, what else can I bore you with? Oh, right, the countdown.

No. 5
Screaming Trees, Nearly Lost You.

The underrated Trees burst onto the pop culture landscape just a scant few times – an extremely solid and workmanlike band, they perfectly epitomized some elegant aspects of the Seattle sound – frustrated, deep, resonant vocals, scratchy guitar riffs and even some spooky and heartfelt ballads.

However, Nearly Lost You is by far their biggest hit – from Sweet Oblivion but included on the Singles soundtrack and charting during the summer of 1991, the tune is a catchy, inspired love song.

Its guitar hook is thunderous yet understated, and it’s plaintive but relieved vocals are down-to-earth and quietly optimistic. The song opens with fury, yet elegantly descends into the first stanza, as if the narrator was loudly proclaiming his message – yet slowly reflecting during his delivery. The lead guitars are forceful, but the backing hooks are wistful. It’s a simplistic, short ditty of a grunge song – yet there is still a lot going on, layers abound, musically and lyrically.

Nearly Lost You checks in at five, but it may well be the most timeless cut on the countdown. Its melody and structure very easily could have been a 1970s anthem or even a late-1990s alt-metal cut, but with the grunge wrinkles and the Trees’ usual virtuoso performance, it stands out perfectly as a grunge classic. It’s busy, but ultimately real in its sentiment, delivery, and story.

And, at the time, we all thought that’s what grunge was all about. You know what? Some of us think that still.