Aural Fixations

DINOSAUR JR.
Dinosaur
You're Living All Over Me
Bug
(Merge)
Dinosaur Jr. was such a staple of the alternative rock landscape in the 90s that it's hard to remember that what the Massachusetts trio was doing was absolutely groundbreaking. Melding appealing melody with appalling noise was hardly a new idea when Dinosaur emerged in the mid -80s from the wreckage of hardcore band Deep Wound—the band's fellow New Englanders in Mission of Burma had already blazed a few trails. But the way guitarist/vocalist J Mascis, bassist Lou Barlow and drummer Murph played with dynamics was more extreme than anything that had come before. The tunes may have been borrowed from sources as disparate as New Order and Neil Young, but the almost overpowering onslaught of hellacious distortion, feedback and scree the band applied to them was something else again. That the group could drop from a nail-chewing wall of sound to a plainspoken pop gallop without missing a step made it even more special. Dino Jr. also drew heavily from 70s classic rock and singer/songwriter sensibilities, both deeply unfashionable at the time of its ascent. While it would be simplistic to call Dinosaur Jr. the sole pioneer of any kind of postpunk loud/soft alternarock sound, listening to these reissues of the band's first three albums makes it clear that Dinosaur Jr. helped write the check that the Pixies, Nirvana and their ilk cashed.

Originally released in 1985 on Homestead Records, Dinosaur (self-titled before litigation forced the band to add "Jr.") pretty much lays out a blueprint the group would spend the rest of its career refining. Mascis writes tunes built on more that simply three chords and one tempo; his songs shift from midtempo folk rock to psychedelic volume-abuse on a dime. He's not yet the guitar god he would be hailed as; his fingering sometimes betray his origins at the drum kit. But, buoyed by Barlow's busy bass parts (always the band's most underrated virtue), Murph's solid timekeeping and his own musical instincts, he's able to get gnarly rock/pop tunes like "Repulsion," "Gargoyle" and "Forget the Swan" across with appealing style. Who knows what he's on about in a song like "Quest," but the actual meaning of words has never been of primary importance to Dino. The band's formula could still use some tweaking—the multi-part "Pointless" pretty much lives up to its name, for example, and the live bonus track "Does It Float" shows a certain lack of live stability. But for the most part Dinosaur Jr. sprang forth fully formed, like Athena from the mind of Zeus. Fans/detractors of Mascis' infamous laconic singing style will be taken aback by the strength he puts into the choogling punk/metal anthem "Mountain Man" (a duet with Barlow) and the appropriately-titled "Bulbs of Passion." [buy it]

There's not a sign of sophomore slump on 1987's You're Living All Over Me, considering by some to be the trio's finest album. Indeed, if anything Dinosaur Jr. has gotten better, more confident, more sure of what direction it was taking underground rock & roll. With sharper production (despite Mascis' carping since) and tighter arrangements, the band almost drowns its ever-more melodic tunes in a grain-silo's worth of distortion and amplifier torture. "Little Fury Things" opens the record with some horrific screaming; while it calms down considerably afterward, its dynamic shifts set the tone for the rest of the album. "Kracked" and "Sludgefeast" both boast winning melodies, but the band does its best to obscure them under thick basslines, crashing cymbals and guitars cranked way past eleven. No amount of six-string strychnine can obscure the immediate appeal of pop songs like "Raisans" [sic] and "The Lung," however, and the group almost eschews distortion completely on the folk-rocking "In a Jar." Meanwhile, Barlow's home-recorded "Poledo" marks the debut of the low-fi, introspective experimentalism the bassist would perfect in his band Sebadoh. This edition of a landmark alternative rock record also includes Dinosaur Jr.'s gonzo cover of the Cure's "Just Like Heaven" and a pair of videos. [buy it]

Bug, released in 1988 and the group's last indie album before a jump to the majors, begins with "Freak Scene," an absolute gem of a tune that rolls all of Dinosaur's best attributes into one memorable number. Introducing acoustic guitars to the mix while still reveling in gonzoid electric theatrics, making Mascis' slacker vulnerability overt, the song is probably the band's greatest and was unsurprisingly released as a single. The rest of the record is even more airtight than the first two albums; having banished any thoughts of democracy, Mascis had taken complete control, giving Barlow and Murph instructions on their parts. This may not have been good for band unity&both Barlow and Murph would quit following this record, though Murph would sporadically return—but it makes for a taut, polished rock sound, one that manages to emphasize both the melodies and the sheer sonic roar of songs like "Yeah We Know," "They Always Come" and "Let It Ride." The shimmering, almost gentle "Pond Song" is the latest in a long line of attempts to write a song like the Cure, though it sounds more like Dino than anyone else. Bug may be Dinosaur Jr.'s cleanest, catchiest collection of songs, with some of Mascis' most impressive leads and strongest vocals, and as such is a perfect introduction for beginners. Which isn't to say the band didn't keep a hand in the old aural terrorism&mdash: "Don't" consists of little more than an all-out assault on the volume knobs while Barlow screams "Why don't you like me?" as if he's punctuating every syllable with a hammer blow. Bug is as classic and influential an underground rock record as its celebrated predecessor. [buy it]

The band, with Mascis firmly at the helm, would go on to a contract with Warner Bros. and a handful of records that continued the sound found here. Great music would abound (particularly on 1994's Where You Been), but nothing Dinosaur Jr. captured its own zeitgeist as well as its first three albums. Michael Toland