I promise, I deliver. Each year of the 1990s, from worst to best.
10. 1997
BOOKS: The first Harry Potter restored the balance as threatened by the presence of three Danielle Steel novels. Those seeking more adult fiction found Don DeLillo and Thomas Pynchon.
VIDEO GAMES: Playstation, goddamn. Final Fantasy VII is a record-breaking RPG considered then as now one of the truly magnificent video games. The first Grand Theft Auto also came out, and I've yet to play a single one.
Nintendo countered with the Game Of the Year, Goldeneye (yes, based on the movie that revived the moribund Bond franchise). Despite atrocious enemy AI, still one of the most engrossing games I've ever pressed "start" on.
TV: Just in time for HBO's prison drama Oz, it's TV ratings! The very first episode of anything to earn the coveted "TV-MA" was the pilot of Brooklyn South, Steven Bochco and David Milch's attempt to make a Hill Street Blues for the '90s. (Too bad they don't make 'em all like Brandon Tartikoff.) The real and actual best cop show of the decade, Homicide: Life On the Street, began its sixth season, lamentably sacrificing the heart and humor that made it so special in order to appease the suits.
Believe it or don't, the two best shows of the year were cartoons: MTV's immaculate Daria and of course, The Simpsons. Insanity peppers, dead co-workers, NYC, aliens, pretzels, John Waters, imposters…wait, scratch that last one.
FILM: Titanic was less movie, more event. Zero suspense, pretty faces, bigger is better. Suppose an attractive cast would also explain the success of As Good As It Gets, but then there's the Nicholson factor. '97 had a slew of impressive blockbusters (Men In Black, Con Air, Air Force One, The Lost World) and uncalled-for sequels (Speed 2, Scream 2, Mortal Kombat 2, Home Alone 3). Lest the likes of George Of the Jungle or Batman and Robin get you down, remember that '97 also gave the world Boogie Nights and L.A. Confidential.
MUSIC: Rock music in one word: Reload.
Tim Gane, Steve Malkmus, Doug Martsch, bless y'all fellas. Antidotes to the Tylers and Jaggers of the world. Veruca Salt released an album, which I point out only to compare it unfavorably to Dig Me Out.
Lillith Fair remains the musical festival equivalent of the UConn women's basketball: awesome to see my sisters achieve such success, but honestly, you bitches are beginning to annoy me.
That surreptitious sucking sound? Smash Mouth. That exploding landfill? Limp Bizkit.
Countering such gelatinous American-ness, Oasis and Radiohead. Eh. Of course Blur finally broke on through with the most Yankee-sounding song they ever did.
Wu-Tang Forever might have been bloated, but shit, least it enjoyed putting on all that excess weight. What's U2's excuse?
9. 1998
BOOKS: Big ups to the UK--specifically J. K. Rowling and Nick Hornby--for avoiding stumpage. Over here, Clancy and Grisham sold millions with thrillers that shot from A to Z as loudly as possible. I'd much rather talk with someone who had their life changed by Inga Muscio's Cunt. A promotion of sisterhood, an exhortation to reclaim sexuality and relinquish learned shame…get some fuckin' sand in your toes to that.
VIDEO GAMES: '98 can be boiled down to a pair of games: Ocarina Of Time and Rogue Squadron, both for the N64. Don't argue with me. Unless you're my boyfriend, in which case, make my drink first.
TV: Introduced the funny and unspectacular That '70s Show as well as the audiovisual rice cake better known as Sex and the City. Tim Allen needed competition for "Most Repulsive Man On Television," and Kevin James answered the call. (With a wet belch, probably.)
SNL added Jimmy Fallon and Horatio Sanz to appease those who'd bristled at Norm Macdonald. Time put Calista Flockhart on their cover alongside images of Gloria Steinem and Betty Friedan, and women didn't riot. (Guess we were too busy arguing about our favorite Powerpuff Girl. Blossom, for the record.)
Homicide screwed up their last season with the introduction of eye candy and long-lost Lieutenant's son. Still not as bad as NYPD Blue replacing Jimmy Smits with Danny from Silver Spoons. Are you dicking my fuck or what, Bochco?!
What other show in history has had a no-doubt great tenth season other than MST3K? Hell, how about a ninth season? Sure as sow shit wasn't Roseanne. Watching one of my all-time faves tumble so far so fast actually hurt my heart. (All that excess fat encasing it back then sure didn't help matters.)
FILM: Just once I'd like to watch a film about the impending end of the world that doesn't leave me feeling disappointed when the world does not, in fact, end.
Animation was a mixed bag, and the only hilarious comedy was The Big Lebowski. (File The Waterboy and There's Something About Mary under "questionable risibility.") Worst of all, the most pointless film of all-time came out in '98. Take a bow, Gus.
MUSIC: May 17, 1998. The best band puts out the best album.
I've grown to appreciate Sonic Youth and Cat Power's contributions even more, considering all the acts that lost their vitality in 1998: Liz Phair, R.E.M., Pearl Jam, the Beastie Boys, Anthrax. (Slayer almost made that list.) At least headbangers had System Of a Down, if they wanted them.
Did no one care that Duran Duran put their "Night Versions" out on disc finally?
Jay-Z used the white girl to get rich…again. Outkast continued being fucking amazing. Big Pun becoming the first Latino solo rapper to go platinum was cool; his being one of the most masterful lyricists the genre's ever heard, much cooler.
The end of Lollapalooza, the start of Total Request Live. Just in time for Britney! Madonna at her worst still beats Britney at her best, and Ray Of Light was definitely not Maddy's nadir. Last clutch of the crown, more like. There was no doubt where pop music was headed.
8. 1999
BOOKS: The last Harry Potter of the decade was also the last one you could drop on your foot without breaking a toe. Geeks genuflected before the offerings of Neil Stephenson and David Foster Wallace. Hannibal is on some Berenstain Bears ish compared to Cunt. Oh yeah, there was a novel titled Cunt. It's even got a delicious twist. Seriously, it's butterscotch on vanilla ice cream on peach pie on a brownie.
VIDEO GAMES: The psychological horrors of Silent Hill or the ambitious reinvention of Final Fantasy VIII, Playstation just owned. Nintendo dropped the ball with DK64, a tedious game that lost its freshness faster than you can recite "DK Rap."
The entire gamer community dropped the ball when it came to Sega's Dreamcast. The first sixth-gen console proved too innovative too soon.
TV: Damn, TV's in good shape for the new century: The Sopranos, SUV, The West Wing, Futurama. Huh? Family what? Which Guy?
Homicide concluded a generally distressing final season with one of its stronger episodes. Funny how the two best cop shows in history followed the same pattern: amazing first four seasons, great fifth season, decent season six, then a painfully half-hearted last season.
Freaks and Geeks and Home Movies were almost literally of too high a quality for network television. The host of The Daily Show went from a smirking fuckboy to someone who could actually hold a conversation. The Simpsons started shedding nuance at a frightening rate.
Meanwhile, over at 30 Rock, the women were getting ready to take over….
FILM: Entertainment Weekly crowned 1999 "The Year That Changed Hollywood." If the creative sea change was for well or ill is debatable, especially if you're an asshole. Lessee: The Matrix, Fight Club, The Sixth Sense, Toy Story 2, The Blair Witch Project, The Phantom Menace. What's most interesting to me, four of those six films were directed and/or written by people who'd follow them up with works perceived as not just inferior, but tremendously so, leading the revisionist ravens to roost.
Who could've guessed Stanley Kubrick's swan song would be outdone by Spike Jonze's cinematic coming out party? That the creator of Beavis & Butt-Head would be responsible for '99's most quotable comedy, less surprising.
Proving that not all change is welcome, and that anything with this title tends to be rubbish, American Pie. That pork meatball made Jason Biggs a star and for that, it must pay in perpetuity.
MUSIC: Raw sewage…I can smell it. When I think of the music of 1999, I think of the documentary Grizzly Man. A somewhat amusing, largely exasperating look at environmentalist Timothy Treadwell, who lived among the grizzlies in Alaskan national parks for thirteen summers. Or, to put it another way, until one of the bears decided that he'd had enough of this nosy human and ate Treadwell (and his girlfriend) alive. Before leaving his tent to confront his eventual killer, Treadwell apparently turned on his video camera (leaving the lens cap in place). A six-minute audio recording of the ensuing horror was found by law enforcement and given to one of Treadwell's closest friends. In the doc's most indelible scene, director Werner Herzog listens to the tape through headphones. He remains silent, allowing welling tears to tell the story. Herzog removes the headphones and implores Treadwell's friend to never, never listen to the tape.
1999 is one of music's most wretched years. Have you ever heard a good Collective Soul song? Have you, fuck. Christ, Lou Bega and Jennifer Lopez doing their damnedest to forever taint the numbers 5 and 6 is somehow among the least of the sins committed.
No, the true demons here are wearing red ball caps and lame tattoos. The bizarre mass ritual of Limp Bizkit's popularity really deserves the Ken Burns treatment. Fred Durst--who I like to call "Mr. Honeybunny," 'cause I just wanna rip his head clean off--became a generational spokesperson and millions of stupid people decided that nu-metal" was not just a thing, but a thing that they liked and would willingly want in their lives. What is "nu-metal"? White guys rapping or scatting over loud, dumb guitar riffs, making it the musical equivalent of candy cigarettes. Do white guys have legit grievances? Absolutely. And I wish to this day they'd actually address them, rather than misdirecting their anger. I wish they'd learn what "causality" means.
I wish I could have spent 1999 in a coma.
So relentless, the horrors. Smash Mouth invited us all to a party with Natty Light on tap, stale homemade Cheetos in cracked bowls and weed seedier than a Russian hotel. 311 had the stones to write a song called "Come Original," namedrop NOFX and Black Eyed Peas as examples of musical innovation, and somehow weren't blocked from re-entering America at the first available opportunity.
Boy bands ruled. I lived through New Kids. That was bad enough. The late Nineties gave me the New Kids again, then the New Kids again. I thought Meat Loaf's inexplicable return to glory was abhorrent? Ladies and gentlemen, Carlos Santana!
TLC, Sleater-Kinney and Lauryn Hill at least repped, and well, for the women. Sadly, the likes of "No Scrubs," "Start Together," and "Everything Is Everything" were sapphires in the cow dung. Sammy Hagar, the Scorpions and Dokken all put out albums. Ringo Starr and Amy Grant each released Christmas albums.
Thanks to Jim O'Rourke and Stereolab for letting me chug out of the water jug. No thanks to Pavement for tucking tail and running. Boredoms spun the sun for an hour and I still suspect I underpaid. DMX kept releasing music, and barking in every song, and damnit, I miss that crazy crackhead. Raekwon and GZA followed up classics with…not classics. Sigh.
7. 1992
BOOKS: Drifting away to All the Pretty Horses and She's Come Undone was fine. I and lots of other people did so. Still, I swear, if you didn't like Bastard Out Of Carolina, the hell with ya. Oh, and take The Bridges Of Madison County with ya. One for each hand.
VIDEO GAMES: My three most-played of the year: Super Mario Kart, Kirby's Dream Land, and Wolfenstein 3D. That's SNES, Gameboy and PC.
TV: I used to loathe the very idea of pineapple on pizza. Then, the guy I was fucking--who loved pineapple on pizza, almost as much as he loved fucking me--turned me into a believer. I returned the favor by telling him about this hilarious show with Garry Shandling on HBO.
Seinfeld and The Simpsons each got their sea legs this year. American TV is the best!
MTV debuted The Real World. American TV is the worst!
British TV is rarely the best or worst, so it was a big deal indeed when the first series of Absolutely Fabulous aired on BBC. I'll stab a bitch over that show, incidentally.
Pissing off the religious is a noble pursuit. There is no such thing as a "wrong time" or "wrong place" to tell sanctimonious sphincter sores how weeping they are. Hope everyone who spoke out against Sinead O'Connor feels duly ashamed--even if they'd never admit it to even themselves.
FILM: Disney in the 1990s, my gawd. I'm forever iffy on Robin Williams as an actor; as a voice actor, though, guy was untouchable.
Blow up a small country in a film, some eyebrows might lift. Chick with no panties crosses her legs, it's the end of Western civilization. Moviegoers spotted a few rare birds--the watchable film based on an SNL character, and a pair of winsome sports flicks.
Time can be dickish. A Few Good Men is more a catchphrase than a full film. The Crying Game is more a salacious twist than a full film. Glengarry Glen Ross is more a rant than a full film. At least Malcolm X emerged unscathed.
Really, though, '92 is all about which dog you preferred: the sinner or the St. Bernard.
MUSIC: Jesus, '90s pop could make me strap two poodles to my ears and start a fight with a Rottweiler.
Yeah, Slanted and Enchanted sent the indie world into a frenzy. Guess what? Midas missed it like a Wallace family Christmas. Sonic Youth's actual "sellout" album, Dirty, set the charts on fire, all right…sufficient for a single s'more, perhaps.
Athens, GA went 1-for-2. (Good Stuff so so fucking ain't, y'all.) Add heroin to mud, you get Dirt. Metalheads took solace in Pantera, whose Vulgar Display Of Power dared to be unabashedly metal in the eye of Hurricane Kurt. The cowboys from hell refused to smooth their edges to survive, nor did they scurry back underground as a form of protest.
White America giggled to "Baby Got Back," while Redman and Gang Starr low-key created exceptional music.
6. 1996
BOOKS: For Fight Club and A Game Of Thrones alone, I gotta give the 9-6 proper due. Add in some politics, some dystopic satire heavy enough to kill an rhino, you know sometimes I forget books are under no obligation to be entertaining.
VIDEO GAMES: Nah, Tomb Raider was cool. Just, I grew up on Metroid. What's a tank top to an arm cannon?
My heart belonged to a single title this year. Super Mario 64, I will never place another ahead of you.
TV: Oh, boob tube, you tried. Lithgow, wow! Fox-y! Italian David Schwimmer! Seinfeld picked a fine time to peak with Season 7, AKA "Dancing and Dying."
Homicide, sweet Homicide. Lily Tomlin in her creepiest role since Moment By Moment, Bruce Campbell as a grief-stricken cop, a wedding, an off-screen birth, and a near-death. Meanwhile that other cop show, NYPD BLUE, had their "lovable bigot" Sipowicz drop the "n-bomb" as if daring audiences to turn their backs, not grasping that a lot of the character's biggest fans would forgive him anything up to and including the execution of an unarmed drug lord in front of his children.
Nickelodeon rolled out the nostalgia network TV Land. Plenty of mid-century fluff for the old folks, but what was fucking with the drama block?
The Simpsons, actually. Their brilliant seventh season stuck a flawless landing, and the eighth season featured "A Milhouse Divided," a vital episode since it contains the most gut-busting visual gag in the show's history.
FILM: What a dudely year. Disaster porn, spy porn, military porn. People still really liked Tom Cruise and Adam Sandler.
I've watched Twister once. I've watched Fargo three times, once while showering.
Trainspotting scandalized American conservatives and gave the UK film industry a temporary chubby that they ended up using to piss over a knee wall.
MUSIC: Rock in a word: Load. Metallica got haircuts and ended Lollapalooza. I'd say it was worth it just to read Lars Ulrich in interviews blabbing about how "the alternative is now mainstream, what's the big deal?" and claiming that his band's been alternative since putting a ballad on their second album, but you know as well as I know that that would just be a droopy-faced lie.
Incentivized mimicry and implacable dilution took the 9-3 for the 9-6. Candlebox and Matchbox Twenty were Nickelback before Nickelback. The Wallflowers, boy howdy, the apple catapulted from that fuckin' tree.
Heroin maintained a strong presence. Besides nearly taking out the vocalists of Depeche Mode and Pantera, it did the job on Sublime's Brad Nowell months before his band's self-titled album KROQ-eted up the charts on its way to a baffling five million copies sold. (They are arguably the most creatively-bereft band of the Nineties, and yes bro I will hella say it to your face.)
The West Coast dependably supplied the crap in '96. Everclear--an utterly unremarkable group fronted by a Cali careerist who relocated to Portland with visions of small ponds dancing in his head--made me vow to never visit the city of Santa Monica, a full six years before I wound up having to stay there for four nights.
The Spice Girls were basically babies. Cute at first, it made me smile to see them smile, and then they spit and shit all over themselves.
At least R&B was more DTF than ever before.
Outkast from the Dirty South, Redman from Dirty Jerz, so the West Coast came in and cleaned up. Jay-Z released his first full-length, and there's a difference between being ill and being Illmatic. Which, ahem, Nas followed up this year with It Was Written. Deliberately went mainstream and produced a near-classic, now you calculate those odds and get back to me.
5. 1990
BOOKS: John Updike polished off the "Rabbit" saga (fat SOB receives redemption, dies), James Ellroy kept the "L.A. Quartet" rolling, and the Bourne legacy continued. No book appeared on more beaches and in more planes, though, than Michael Crichton's dinosaur tale.
VIDEO GAMES: Super Mario Brothers and Mega Man? Charmed!
TV: Law & Order and Seinfeld? Pull over NBC, that ass too fat. Twin Peaks inspired snobs to purchase TV sets. The Fresh Prince Of Bel-Air gave the airwaves some much-needed color.
Season five of The Golden Girls got serious, almost gravely so: Blanche had heart surgery, and Rose had an HIV scare. Season six continued the sudsy trend; thanks to sharp writing and bravura performances, it remained irresistible viewing.
Muppet Babies, You Can't Do That On Television! and Ducktales all ceased producing new eppys. Haha, fuck kids!
The Simpsons went to the bowling alley, the baseball field and the putt-putt course, walking away a record-setting champion from each.
FILM: A tale of two mobster flicks. One, a classic that could not have been improved upon. The other, a good movie that thanks to a father's blind love, is forever a "what could have been."
A tale of two domestic comedies. One featuring a white kid who doesn't know enough to call the police. The other, featuring black kids who know enough not to.
A tale of two Arnies. One a late 21st-century construction worker with a disturbing dream life. One, an undercover cop who finds his true passion when he goes back to school.
Sequels had it rough. Robocop 2 and Look Who's Talking Too deserved all the rotten squash, but it took time (and video rentals) for audiences to appreciate the follow-up to Gremlins.
Ghost for the parents, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles for their kids. At least the kids whose parents loved them. If not, it was off to Problem Child they went!
MUSIC: The Nineties left the starting blocks roadrunner-style.
1990 was the year I discovered Sonic Youth. 1990 was one of heavy metal's finest showings: killer albums from Megadeth, Anthrax, Pantera, and the surprising, scintillating return of Judas Priest.
Fugazi, Pixies and Jane's Addiction. Wood, wool, double platinum. Rollovers from '89 that pleasantly dominated radio included the B-52s, Depeche Mode, and Janet Jackson. Mariah Carey was new, thus fresh, and New Kids On the Block had a top 10 hit with "Tonight," a song that would make Jeff Lynne giddy.
Prince and Madonna began losing the plot. The less I say about Devo, the better. Duran Duran released an album that had one notable single--for a band that once released an entire album of singles, that's just unacceptable.
While Vanilla Ice and MC Hammer tried to make the hip hop genre a laughingstock to mainstream America, Salt N Pepa and Digital Underground made music that was fun, funny, but no joke. And related to that, Eric B. & Rakim released an album this year. Also, it's impossible to smile while listening to Amerikkka's Most Wanted. Try.
4. 1994
BOOKS: 1994 belonged to non-fake stuff. I mean…three Danielle Steel novels in one year, fuck me.
The Bell Curve was the year's most infuriatingly controversial read--possibly racist, certainly pointless. Prozac Nation proved (?) not all depression is created equal and Get In the Van convinced me Henry Rollins has never tongue-kissed another human being in his life.
VIDEO GAME: Dubbed "The Year Of the Cartridge" by no less an authority than Nintendo. Donkey Kong Country was the crop's cream, an endlessly enjoyable experience (at least until "Mine Kart Madness") without a plumber in sight.
TV: Hi, Friends! In no time, you will be the most talked-about show on television, featuring the most fawned-over cast! Women will emulate your haircuts, men will parrot your catchphrases! Other than adorable oddball Phoebe/Lisa Kudrow, I will grow to actively despise each of you on and off the screen!
The medical drama came back in a huge way. ER made stars of a nerd, heir to a hair product fortune, and the future husband of Amal Alamuddin.
Bittersweet farewells to: Star Trek: The Next Generation left the air after seven seasons, while Phil Hartman departed from Saturday Night Live after eight outstanding years.
Ebullient greetings to: Duckman, an animated series about a cynical, crude private detective duck. Unappreciated at the time (airing on USA Network will do that to a show) and unappreciated at this time. Guys…sex-crazed duck voiced by Jason Alexander! There's nothing else you'd rather be watching! Slightly more people watched The Critic, a show from two producers/writers of The Simpsons. Because hey if we're gonna have to put up with Jon Lovitz, may as well be "cartoon Jon Lovitz."
FILM: Don't let the majesty of James Earl Jones and Madge Sinclair's second-greatest film collaboration fool you; don't be taken in by chrono rejigger; temper your excitement over a well-done Stephen King adaptation. 1994 is still the year where millions flocked to see Tom Hanks play a character whose cabinet is missing more than just a few cups.
Not to mention a Richie Rich flick. Piss in a cup and call it a lunch, ya artless pricks.
MUSIC: R.E.M. in the Eighties--Rolling Stone darlings, true heartland rock. R.E.M. in the Nineties--one of the world's biggest bands Henry Rollins in the Eighties--human chainsaw, better than Keith/not better than Dez. Henry Rollins in the Nineties--multi-media iconoclast.
1994 is rightly considered the pinnacle for "mainstream alternative." Each of the so-called "Big 4 Of Grunge" had an album reach the top spot of the Billboard Top 200, Beck had a top 10 hit, extensive interviews with Thurston Moore appeared in major music magazines, Meat Puppets went from signaling scorpions to selling half a million albums. Green Day and Offspring went from broke punks to breaking punk, or at least the sort of punk that values words over actions. And still neither SY nor Pavement could go gold. (If it's any consolation, no figure in indie rock history has been selected as the "F" in games of "FMK" more times than Steve Malkmus.)
Big picture, people: the number one song of the the year was "The Sign." Toad the Wet Sprocket was a thing that happened. Mind, they sounded like the Byrds compared to those ham-fisted turkey heads in Live. With song titles like "Tired Of 'Me'" and "Operation Spirit (The Tyranny Of Tradition)" and lyrics such as "It's the way we sing/That makes 'em dream," of course these assclowns went platinum. David Byrne got to work with the B-52s, so naturally Jerry Harrison would one day produce a band led by bootleg Michael Stipe.
Oh hey, remember when Rage Against the Machine infiltrated the machine from the inside and transferred the power back to the artists?
Hip hop golden age in full effect with the debuts of Biggie Smalls and Nas.
3. 1995
BOOKS: Michael Crichton knew exactly what he'd done. From the moment he started writing The Lost World to the moment he stopped writing.
Philip Roth's demented Sabbath's Theater reminds me that the '90s are only matched by the '70s for fiction that makes me think men are complete trash. (And that women are incomplete trash.)
VIDEO GAMES: Hiya, Playstation.
Mortal Kombat 3 and Tekken 2 kept me vowing I'd one day learn how to throw a real-life punch. Yoshi's Island and Donkey Kong Country 2, I gotta wonder if anyone would choose to be human. Oh, and Chrono Trigger is the best RPG to date.
TV: Full House off the air at last!
"King Size Homer." That is all.
The fourth Star Trek series, and first to feature a female captain, began its troubled run. I swear, I'll watch Voyager one of these days. I'm kinda more interested in the show starring fat Kate Mulgrew these days.
"The Soup Nazi." I will never stop marveling at society's proclivity to see or hear a good thing and decide to ruin that thing.
Over on SNL, the Janeane Garofolo Experiment came to an end. Lorne Michael's decided "rebuilding" was in order, and brought on two unfunny people (Jim Breuer and Colin Quinn), with two kinda funny people (Chris Kattan and Cheri Oteri) and a gifted impressionist (Darrell Hammond). I was just happy to not see Sandler's dumb face anymore.
FILM: Bad stuff first. I actually saw Mortal Kombat and Species in a movie theater. At least with the latter, I had some enjoyment as I sat and called out plot turns and character fates well in advance. Remember, this was 1995. Pre-Google. And no, I hadn't read a single review or spoken to anyone who'd already seen the film. I was just that good. No…I mean, Hollywood is just that bad.
More than just the first feature-length film to be entirely computer-generated, Toy Story felt more authentic than pretty much any other film featuring real people.
Clueless and Kids were teen films that both represented and revolutionized the milieus they showed. Seven was the rare thriller with a diverse palate. The Brady Bunch Movie proved that a tough love relationship with your source material can actually work sometimes.
Crazy that Gregg Araki is still around, 'cause that motherfucker cannot make a movie to save his life.
MUSIC: The last gasp of salable alt-rock, a world where Royal Trux gets a Rolling Stone write-up. Sonic Youth, Pavement, Fugazi and Yo La Tengo release great albums that don't sell shit compared to the larceny squad, headed this year by England's Bush. The name "Steve Albini" started to mean nothing around this time. Usually the U.S. is good about rejecting the snot-smears our mom dates, but we as a nation slipped, fell and busted upon our motherfuckin' heads in '95. Fuck Oasis. If I want reheated Beatles (and sometimes I do), ELO made thirteen albums. (You know what I don't want? Actual reheated Beatles produced by the guy in ELO.)
A year after Cobain's death, his widow and bandmate are on the charts with unoriginal music that nevertheless sells, 'cause it still sounds better than most anything else on the radio. (I missed Nirvana so badly, it took me four listens to realize that Dandelion song sucked.) In the spirit of artistic fearlessness, both Smashing Pumpkins and Guided By Voices released a 28-track album. Only one piled on the overdubs like a guy strapping on rubber after rubber in hopes it will make his dick look bigger.
Courtney had to share space on the angry couch with Alanis and Gwen while Hootie and the Blowfish arm-wrestled Counting Crows for light beer and diet soda. Hip hop, thankfully, sounded as safe as a trip to Action Park. 2Pac, Mobb Deep and Raekwon were just a few of the young gentlemen who wrote songs about fucking you up rather than actually fucking you up.
2. 1991
BOOKS: Why bother with A Thousand Acres or The Firm when there's American Psycho. Hell, even Generation X has a certain, "I'm glad I lowered my standards for this" charm.
Every woman in the country should have been forced to read Backlash. Actually, please allow me to amend that: every woman in the country should be forced to read Backlash.
Baltimore Sun reporter David Simon introduced readers to the busiest murder police in America with Homicide: A Year On the Killing Streets. Required reading for all true crime buffs.
VIDEO GAMES: No game, no matter how awesome, shone as bright as a single console, the Super Nintendo Entertainment System. The SNES, the ess-en-ee-ess, the Snez. Do you conceive of how willing to sustain and inflict serious injury people are over a 16-bit sugar shack?
TV: For foisting Tim Allen upon the world, I will forever live a "Fuck Home Improvement" life. (That motherfucker in the hat can sit and spin, too.)
Dinosaurs made me laugh for like two episodes, probably not even consecutive ones.
Nickelodeon animation OD'ed on spinach: Doug, Rugrats and this little show Ren & Stimpy. I cried when I had to miss the third-ever episode during its original run. (I've forgiven my mother; never will I forget.)
"Fasten your seat belt, slut puppy"--The Golden Girls began their seventh and final season. I leave you with these six words: "The Case Of the Libertine Belle."
FILM: T2 for the thrills, Silence Of the Lambs for the chills, Beauty and the Beast proving Disney "and stiiiilll." Boyz N Da Hood and Thelma and Louise were two peas in a pod, when I think on it. Once is all you may be able to watch 'em, and once is all you'll need.
It still tickles me that The Addams Family nearly outgrossed Hook domestically.
MUSIC: Y'all ready for this? A cast of musical misfits took the stage(s) or the first-ever Lollapalooza, a traveling festival of assorted artistic endeavor conceived by Jane's Addiction singer Perry Farrell. I could probably do a list ranking Lollapalooza lineups, and might still, if I absolutely run out of ideas.
My Bloody Valentine spearheaded elliptical water-logged rock in the late '80s, and '91 heard them take it a league lower. Seattle, which had not yet become unbearable, provided the last months of the year with some incredible records by the likes of Mudhoney, Soundgarden, Pearl Jam and Nirvana.
It would've been quite easy to ignore the Red Hot Chili Peppers. Yet, so many of us did not.
My idea of Hell is falling asleep to "Wind Of Change" and waking up to "(Everything I Do) I Do It For You." Or is that the other way 'round? Those aren't songs; they're tumors that I'll never be able to extirpate.
1. 1993
BOOKS: The Pulitzer for made-up stuff went to E. Annie Proulx's The Shipping News, one of the sneakiest roller coasters I've ever paid to ride. Jeffrey Eugenides's Virgin Suicides was tenderly wrought and surprisingly funny. (Trainspotting was also released this year, but wouldn't find its way into my hands for another two years.)
VIDEO GAMES: A fun year for the console crowd. Mortal Kombat and NBA Jam in our homes! Add in Super Mario All-Stars and Kirby's Adventure, it's no surprise I gained like forty pounds in '93.
TV: Biggest show of the decade that I never gave a damn about? The X-Files. Meanwhile everyone's running around telling me "The truth is out there," while I knew the actual truth was much closer--75 miles away in Baltimore. Based on David Simon's non-fiction book, the pilot for Homicide: Life On the Street debuted on NBC immediately after Super Bowl XXVII (the second-highest scoring ever) to disappointing ratings. With producer Tom Fontana (St. Elsewhere) and Barry Levinson (Rain Man) attached, the network gave Homicide a nine-episode first season.
NBC didn't have much time to mourn the death of Cheers. Producers and writers from that long-running sitcom moved right on to a proper spin-off, Frasier, quite possibly the most sophisticated American sitcom, and a prime example of how crucial scribes are to the small screen.
I have to admit, I gave up too early on Deep Space Nine. I am only now atoning.
It's aged worse than Ed Asner, but for its time, Beavis & Butt-Head was like nothing else on the tube. MST3K wrapped its fourth (finest) season with an acned beast and a pass through old El Paso. The cool kids tuned in to Nick for our fix, courtesy a wallaby named Rocko and two brothers named Pete.
THE SIMPSONS. THE motherfucking SIMPSONS. 1993 contained the second half of season four and the first half of season five. I mean, just in case I hadn't yet convinced you 1993 was the greatest year for TV of the entire decade.
FILM: Dinosaurs! Holocaust! The most prominent Tom Hanks film I've not yet watched!
Mrs. Doubtfire has aged better than the logical part of my brain keeps insisting. Not so lucky--Sleepless In Seattle.
Lots of overlooked comedies in '93: Groundhog Day, Men In Tights, The Sandlot. Having just seen it recently, I need a tight essay on why Last Action Hero is so maligned.
Nothing worse than Dennis the Menace, unless it was Super Mario Brothers, unless it was Coneheads. Fuck you, Akyroyd.
MUSIC: So yeah…the continued existence of Aerosmith, the sudden reappearance of Meat Loaf, Prince changing his name, that goddamn 4 Non Blondes song… not looking good, 9-tray. Luckily, two stubborn scruffy saviors approach from the land of rain and trees.
So much great rock music under the radar: Melvins, Fugazi, Gumball, Polvo. Liz Phair's sophomore record underwhelmed, although the first single was pure honey biscuits. And my God, the overdue return of Duran Duran to pop prominence! Still thyself, heart!
'93 was also the last year Billy Corgan could be considered even remotely tolerable as a human being. That fuckin' guy. Tom Scholz reincarnated as a self-loathing twatcake, Corgan desired the approval and acceptance of not just the masses, but also those same "snobs" who snubbed his glamorous confessional alt-rock and whined when he couldn't win them over.
The golden age of rap began officially on 11/9/93. On that day, two masterpieces blessed record store racks: Midnight Marauders and Enter the Wu-Tang: 36 Chambers. So whenever our current political climate threatens to drag you entirely underneath, just relax yourself, reset plan…tiger style.
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