cocteau twins garlands 1982.

Who would have thought that the work of the folks on this album would have led to the sop that followed? Some of that later sop was pretty damn good, but none of it surpassed the darkness and cold beauty of 'garlands.' Who knows what she's singing (she later admited to making up noises).

swans greed/holy money 1985.

Here grouped with cop/young god. There was nothing like swans: hard, hard, hard, silent and slow. their music was like having your arm slowly sawed off. There has never been anything heavier and I doubt there will ever be.

"I'm a coward-
put your knife in me."

pixies surfer rosa 1988.
pixies doolittle 1989.

I won this from a college radio station in Albuquerque knowing the name of the lead singer of Echo and the Bunnymen. I listened to it and filed it away convinced that 4AD Records had lost its way. I wasn't until a couple years later that I put it back on the turntable and realized that I had ruined part of life by not 'discovering' the Pixies when I first got the disc.  Both of these albums are perfect and were ahead of their time. Later efforts had their high points, but never quite made it to Mecca as these did.

ministry the mind is a terrible thing to taste 1989.

I was in Tucson with a friend looking for an apartment as I was about to embark on a second dose of graduate school. As a reward to my friend's hospitality for driving me all over town, I took him to where-ever he wanted to eat and we found ourselves at an all-you-can-eat shrimp place. After dinner, we dropped in on a new-wave dance club and popped a couple long-island ice teas. Suddenly I heard the whine and clanging: the opening to 'burning inside!' After flailing wildly for 5.14 and scaring the hell out of everyone in the room, I rejoined my friend at the bar. The shrimp, the evil teas, and the 5.14 flailing had caused my insides to burn. I rushed for the bathroom and discovered that the toilet was nothing more than a giant ashtray filled with cigarette butts. Knocking folks out of my way, I burst onto the balcony and spit out a mouthful of vomit onto the pavement. 'That wasn't so bad!' I thought, and then came the unholy retch of a whale's belly of shrimp and tea onto the pavement and shoes. A couple more teas got the taste out of my mouth.

my bloody valentine loveless 1991.

I had just moved to Austin after growing up amongst cornfields and going to college in the middle of the desert. Austin was the big city! I'd never really met any famous band people in person and therefore jumped at the chance to meet the members of My Bloody Valentine at a record signing at Waterloo Records. I was just beginning my love affair with MBV, so I had not purchased tickets to their show before it sold out. MBV at the signing were charming and sweet, although they thought it peculiar that I didn't want them signing the cover of their new album, loveless. I was bringing up the end of the line, so Belinda Butcher and I chatted for awhile. She asked if I was going to the show, and I said no, explaining that it was sold out. She said she couldn't promise, but that she would try to get me and a friend into the show on their guest list. Yes!

Later that evening, we showed up to the show. A mob of ticketless mops had already formed outside Liberty Lunch. As cool as a  dead baby's butt, we strolled to the front, "We are on My Bloody Valentine's guest list.' After Santa Claus checked his list twice, he informed us that, no, we were definitely not on the MBV list. After a brief instant of mass depression and embarrassment, we joined the other mops sweeping the streets for folks unloading tickets (of which there were very few). While we streetwalked, we heard some minor cussing: Fuck! Shit! Owww!. We turned to see a leather clad (and that cow had been beaten!), be-mohawked cripple dude in a wheelchair four-wheeling over people's feet to get to the head of the line. 'Punk cripple,' we thought, pretty damn cool. When the punk cripple rolled to the front of the line he tried to roll right in. After a brief discussion about respecting handicapped folks and wanting to get in free, the bouncers redirected him back into the crowd, Fuck! Shit! Owww! as he wheeled himself back over to his friends in the parking lot.

The punk cripple was pretty drunk and rowdy as were his friends. Soon, his buds were wheeling him dangerously around the parking lot at great speed. It was all pretty funny, but sure enough, inevitably, he took a pretty nasty spill and into the gravel went the punk cripple, the wheels spinning on his overturned chair. The crowd and the cripple's buds (as well as us) thought this mighty funny. Suddenly, a seven-foot tall hippy dude parted the crowd and approached the punk cripple. the hippy-dude set the wheel chair right and gently picked up the punk crippled and place back into the seat of his chair. There was still considerable snickering in the crowd, and this set the hippy dude off. I don't know what it felt like back in the day when Jesus himself preached to the unwashed, but I suspect I know now. The hippy dude had booming voice that let all of us know how despiteful we were to laugh at a handicapped person spilled from his chair. The hippy dude explained that he had been in Vietnam and had friends who were crippled but stayed home all the time or killed themselves because they were depressed and ashamed about not being able to walk.  This punk cripple, he explained, deserved our applause for living his life out among the walking. And of course, he was right, and we all applauded.

As the hippy dude walked to join his friends, the punk cripple slowly propped himself up with his arms, and then, with a flourish and a hop declared: 'It's a miracle! I can walk! I can fuckin walk!' It then became apparent that he had been faking his handicappedness to try and get into the show! Needless to say, the hippy Jesus dude was not happy. After bounding over to slap the punk cripple around a few times, the crowd broke up them up. After all this excitement died down, we returned to the street in search of folks selling their tickets. After several minutes, we then heard some loud screams and a booming voice saying 'Suck it down, mutherfucker! Suck it down!' We quickly returned to the parking lot and their, with his back to us, was the hippy Jesus dude. Before him, on his knees, was the punk cripple, his head near the hippy dude's crotch. 'Holy shit!' we thought, 'He's pissing down his throat!' After some struggling, it became clear that the hippy dude was forcing the punk cripple to drink a Shiner Bock, essentially drowning (or baptizing?) him. Suddenly there was a squeal of tires and loud horns as a pick-up truck with the hippy dude's friends roared around the corner. Like Moses, the truck split the crowd. A couple guys jumped off the truck, grabbed their hippy dude friend, and, in a shower of gravel, sped off, but not before the hippy dude threw the beer bottle at the vomiting punk cripple, exploding at the cripple's feet.

We finally got into the show halfway through MBV's set. Like the album, it was wonderful. truly one of the greats. 

portishead dummy 1994.

This is an astounding album that takes the trip-hop sound spearheaded by massive attack to its premature, but logical, conclusion. 

pj harvey to bring you my love 1995.

I fell in love with harvey's music with her first album 'dry' and single 'dress.' However, she didn't have a perfect album until this one. Combining the best elements of her earlier style with blues, organ, and sadness resulted in a beautiful album. One of my all-time favorites.

I don't know if it is the inevitable mellowing of old age or I cracked my head one too many times, but here it is: a country-rock album. My gal wendy picked up the cd after hearing tracks on KGSR and played it relentlessly for a few months. Alone, searching for something to play, I found myself putting this disc on as well. Once my gal wendy came home and discovered me red-eared, car wheels on the stereo. 'You DO like Lucinda!' she exclaimed with a wry smile. Damn.

the damnations half mad moon 1999.

I first saw the damnations at the hole in the wall in austin. By the end of the evening, the sound man was so drunk he butchered the sound. At one point, when he was adjusting the microphones before the damnations took the stage, he regaled us with his previous evening's conquests: 'So I'm fucking this guy last night, and I'm in the middle of fucking him, and he stops me and says he wants a hug. Can you believe that shit?' Even with knives in the hands of a homosexual sadomasochistic soundman, the damnations country-rock found it way through to the inner ear.

my os 1991.

I ha