Five no-frills 1990s albums that define lo-fi

As a music enthusiast who’s spent countless hours lost in the rhythm and rhyme of various genres, I can confidently say that delving into the world of lo-fi music has been a transformative journey for me. From the raw, unpolished power chords of Bratmobile to the authenticity of Liz Phair’s Exile in Guyville, and finally, to the intriguing tales spun by The Mountain Goats in Beautiful Rat Sunset, each artist has left an indelible mark on my musical soul.

Stirring up debate among your musically knowledgeable peers who lean towards the geeky side? Ask them about their preferred low-fi albums. Instead of debating the merits of different albums, they’ll argue passionately about which ones truly belong in the low-fi genre.

Low-fi encompasses both a specific recording technique and a general philosophy. Recording your band in a friend’s basement with a TASCAM portastudio is an example of dabbling in lo-fi. The advancements in home recording equipment in the 1970s gave DIY musicians more refined recording capabilities. Although they didn’t meet industry standards, these recordings were good enough to impress your friends. If your songs were strong, you might even be able to sell a few.

In the early days of lo-fi music, R. Stevie Moore stood out as a trailblazer. Nowadays, his extensive collection of original songs can easily be accessed online. His tunes often feature a basic acoustic guitar melody paired with his vocals, though there might be some extra instrumentation such as bass or percussion, occasionally even electric guitar. The sound quality is characterized by background noise, fuzz, and crackles, giving it a thin, hollow feel that truly embodies the ‘low fidelity’ style.

Fantastic 1990s albums that define lo-fi

Lo-fi music, however, transcended just being a type of sound. It also became a style, and emo music aligns perfectly with this low-fi aesthetic. There seemed to be an air of authenticity in lo-fi that resonated deeply when a solitary artist shared their personal emotional struggles.

In 1982, following the success of his hit album “The River”, Bruce Springsteen unveiled another project titled “Nebraska”. Interestingly, he self-recorded the demos using a four-track TASCAM machine in his personal bedroom, intending to later refine these recordings with the E Street Band. However, events that unfolded after this initial step have remained a topic of conversation and documentation ever since.

In their attempts to reproduce the songs in the studio, many of them actually lost some of their unique charm. Particularly, the melancholic sound that Bruce’s low-fi recordings conveyed couldn’t be accurately recreated. Ultimately, they decided to publish the lo-fi demos as the album titled “Nebraska“. (A few songs seemed fitting for a full band performance. They were set aside for a later release, which was named after one of those songs – “Born in the U.S.A.”.)

Nebraska is an album much like The Velvet Underground and Nico, which didn’t initially sell well but had a profound impact on music. This led many artists with access to expensive studios to seek out more economical settings in order to achieve that “authentic” sound. For struggling bands struggling to make ends meet, affordability was no longer an obstacle. A lo-fi style became acceptable and, at times, even a deliberate artistic choice.

During the ’80s and peaking in the early ’90s, post-hardcore and grunge music found a cozy fit within the low-fidelity realm. Every scratch or crackle on the track, every raw, slightly out-of-tune voice seemed to challenge the overly polished synth pop. By the end of the decade, R.E.M., which originated from the lo-fi scene, had grown to be one of the most renowned bands globally.

By the early ’90s, the path was paved for low-fi musicians to shine. Improving technology made lo-fi music a touch more refined over time. The introduction of newer mixers led to reduced prices on older models. Crucially, there was a proven track record of success – if Bruce Springsteen and R.E.M. could achieve greatness with minimal equipment, then anyone else could too.

Let’s explore five fantastic low-fi albums from the early ’90s. I’m not saying these are the absolute best; I believe that label might be too subjective. Instead, consider these as five exceptional releases to spark your interest in this music genre. If you enjoy it, there’s a wealth of similar recordings, both classic and contemporary, waiting for you to delve into.

Little by Vic Chesnutt (1990)

By the late 1980s, Vic Chesnutt was becoming a beloved figure in Athens, Georgia. As major record labels journeyed southward in pursuit of the next big act like R.E.M., Chesnutt strived to preserve Athens’ authenticity and independence. He frequently performed in small, local venues, accompanying himself on the guitar as he sang his songs – at times with backup, other times solo.

Earlier in the last ten years, he suffered a neck injury in a car accident that left him paralyzed from the neck down. As a result, he performed while seated in a wheelchair and used a prosthetic hand, specifically on his right hand, to strum the guitar.

Charles Chesnutt’s enigmatic, multilayered songs resonated deeply with Michael Stipe, who recognized a fellow creative spirit in him. As the lead vocalist of R.E.M., Stipe spent an extended session at John Keane’s studio in Athens back in 1988, producing a lengthy recording marathon. Chesnutt performed and sang for nearly nine hours, resulting in 21 tracks. Two years later, in 1990, a selection of these songs were made available as part of Chesnutt’s first album, Little.

The equipment used was minimalistic. On the opening track, “Isadora Duncan,” you’ll find a short harmonica introduction before Chesnutt’s guitar takes over. Stipe plays a subtly wandering keyboard melody in the background. You can also hear faint vocals reverberating. That’s essentially it. Chesnutt found Duncan an intriguing subject due to their shared experience of surviving a car accident that left them both with broken necks. Unlike Duncan, the singer lived on.

As a gamer, I’d put it like this: The rest of these tunes are equally enchanting and straightforward, each one a snapshot of everyday individuals skillfully crafted and eloquently expressed. Take “Danny Carlisle,” for instance, who prefers to dream over action, as he so aptly puts it – “Rather dream than love.” Similarly, the heroine in “Soft Picasso” is a contemporary lady whose tastes aren’t confined to just modern men – she’s proven that even other modern girls can captivate her.

The last song on the album “Little” is as low-fidelity as possible. Unlike other tracks, it wasn’t part of Stipe’s marathon recording session. Instead, it’s an authentic home recording, capturing its raw, unpolished essence. You can hear echoes, snaps, and crackles throughout the track. It serves as a sincere tribute to Chesnutt’s inspiration at the time, British poet Stevie Smith. In this song, he incorporates her verses into his composition, accompanied by a banjo, fiddle, and some backing vocalists.

Over the following two decades, Chesnutt issued over a dozen albums, but tragically, he died from an overdose on December 25th, 2009.

Gimme Indie Rock! By Sebadoh (1991)

In a distinctive manner, Lou Barlow kicks off one of Sebadoh’s early EPs with a cry for change in the musical landscape. Instead of sticking to hardcore, he began exploring new perspectives in ’83, opting for a slower pace and pot smoking. This shift was reflected in his music. Notably, Lou would reference bands like Velvet Underground, Iggy Pop, Pussy Galore, Sonic Youth, Husker Du, and of course, Dinosaur Jr., as he narrated his personal journey in the realm of music.

Request for Indie Rock! This genre emerged a few years following J Mascis’ dismissal of Barlow from Dinosaur Jr., the post-hardcore trio they formed together. Their tumultuous relationship was reminiscent of a soap opera. Mascis, the quiet and innovative guitarist who played with unprecedented volume and speed, and Barlow, the bassist struggling with insecurities that could fill numerous self-help books, were polar opposites from the outset.

Initially, the band was composed of three equals, including drummer Murph; however, guitarist Mascis gradually took charge, becoming the dominant figure, with bassist Barlow stepping back. In retrospect, their relationship seems strikingly similar to a codependent, emotionally abusive partnership.

Barlow started penning his own tunes even while he was in Dinosaur Jr., and two of his self-composed tracks conclude their groundbreaking album “You’re Living All Over Me,” which dropped in 1987. Following his exit from the band, Barlow teamed up with Eric Gaffney and Jason Lowenstein to establish Sebadoh. Their initial works exhibit a distinctly low-fi vibe. In their five-track EP “Gimme Indie Rock!”, they share songwriting duties, but there’s an informal, disorganized feel to it all.

In Lowenstein’s “New King,” a humming drone hovers above a guitar, giving off an underwater-like sound. A tambourine is the only source of rhythm. Similarly, on “Calling Yog Soggoth,” Gaffney explores a touch of H.P. Lovecraft’s fantasy with that same faraway drone.

On their third complete album, “Sebadoh III,” released in 1991, five additional tracks from the album “Gimme Indie Rock! ” were included as bonus songs. However, Gaffney decided to leave the band, while Barlow and Lowenstein persisted in creating music with similar vibes for the next three decades. Despite Lou Barlow and J Mascis reconciling and reassembling Dinosaur, Jr. in 2005, they continued their collaboration.

Pottymouth by Bratmobile (1993)

In the early ’90s, Alison Wolfe and Molly Neuman found themselves drawn to the idea of forming a band, much like screenwriter Chris McQuarrie did with his movie “The Usual Suspects.” They didn’t have any musical skills or songs written yet, but they loved the name Bratmobile. So, just as McQuarrie crafted a story to fit his title, Wolfe and Neuman started their band with the intention of learning and growing into the roles they desired.

They first encountered each other as university students at the University of Oregon, where they developed a fondness for the DIY culture blossoming in the northwest. Their path to forming a band was significantly boosted by Calvin Johnson, a notable figure in lo-fi music during the 1980s and the frontman of Beat Happening. Eager to see them translate their talk into action, he assigned them to perform at an upcoming event supporting the iconic riot grrrl band Bikini Kill. In response, Alison and Molly promptly began composing original songs and honing their guitar skills.

Afterward, they returned to the city where Molly hails from, Washington D.C., home to punk icon Ian MacKaye. He showed interest in assisting their musical growth. They incorporated two more skilled musicians, Erin Smith and Christina Billotte, which made them feel like a genuine band. However, Billotte eventually departed due to the band’s disorganized and unprofessional ways. As a result, Bratmobile carried on as a three-piece group.

The songwriting and musicianship significantly advanced, yet they retained that raw, untaught vigor that captivated figures such as Johnson and MacKaye. By 1992, they amassed sufficient robust songs to consider a genuine album. Pottymouth, featuring 17 tracks, was recorded in both Washington, DC and Washington state. As Sara Marcus detailed in her portrayal of the riot grrrl movement, “Girls to the Front,” Nation of Ulysses guitarist Tim Green handled the engineering, receiving payment in pizza and black hair dye.

The album “Pottymouth” is often considered the quintessential riot grrrl album. The songs primarily explore the experience of being a girl in a male-dominated world, addressing both the music industry and society as a whole. In “Stab,” Wolfe repeatedly sings “You want to stab me, and screw the wounds” over a series of powerful chords, creating a repetitive mantra-like effect. Following this, they offer a raw, low-fi rendition of the Runaways’ “Cherry Bomb.”

In due course, they revisit one of their initial tracks, the mesmerizingly repetitive tune titled “Cool Schmool,” which delves into the labyrinthine terrain of high school. This track could be likened to a lo-fi rendition of The Waitresses’ “Square Pegs.” Despite its basic structure, songs such as “Queenie,” “Bitch Theme,” and “Throwaway” are remarkably catchy and share similarities with Green Day’s work during the same period.

Due to the power of Pottymouth, Bratmobile garnered recognition, but the burden of performance became overwhelming for some members who essentially sought band membership as a source of enjoyment. They disbanded within a year, although they’ve had multiple reunions and transformations in the subsequent decades.

Exile in Guyville by Liz Phair (1993)

For decades, “Exile in Guyville,” an iconic lo-fi album, remained a spectral figure, disappearing and reappearing on shelves due to frequent changes in distribution. However, with the release of its 25th anniversary edition, it became tangible again for a new generation who knew it more as a tale than a record album.

Similar to Bruce Springsteen’s “Nebraska,” Liz Phair initially produced “Exile in Guyville” by recording songs at home on cassette. Much like the band Bratmobile, her lyrics often explored the challenges of being a woman in a male-dominated society. At some stage during the development of these tracks, she conceived the idea for “Exile in Guyville” to serve as a response, in its own way, to the Rolling Stones’ “Exile on Main Street.” However, listeners can still appreciate it even if they’re unfamiliar with “Sweet Virginia” or “Tumbling Dice.”

When you tune into Guyville, what immediately strikes you is that Phair’s voice isn’t extraordinarily powerful. It’s serviceable, and she can certainly carry a tune. However, it lacks the polish that would impress the judges on a singing competition. Here’s the catch: this very imperfection might encapsulate the essence of lo-fi music more effectively than any other explanation I could provide. Phair exudes authenticity. We often wonder about the artists we listen to, questioning if they are truly baring their souls or simply putting up a facade. But Phair’s raw, unfiltered sound is so convincing that, regardless of its truthfulness, it convinces us that we are witnessing an honest human experience.

Absolutely, it wouldn’t make much difference if she weren’t a sharp songwriter who skillfully weaves insightful details and relatable themes into her music, infused with both witty humor and raw emotion. Phair made waves in 1993 with her sexually explicit lyrics. The unique blend of the sugary nursery-rhyme melody in her choruses and the bold sexuality in “Flower” (with its iconic/controversial line “I just want to be your ‘b*****b queen'”) certainly caught people’s attention. However, it was her endless stream of poetic insights into the characters and situations in her life that truly resonated deeply.

Phair didn’t need to resort to swear words to convey her message. In “The Divorce Song,” she skillfully paints a vivid picture of misunderstanding (though there is one instance of strong language, it’s barely noticeable). Her lyrics, such as “You’ve never been a waste of my time – It’s never been a drag – So take a deep breath and count back from ten – And maybe you’ll be all right,” demonstrate an author more concerned with empathy than with assigning fault. Instead, she seeks to comprehend what led to the breakdown in their relationship.

As a devoted admirer, I’d say that Phair’s songs often revolve around her solo performances, such as the hauntingly beautiful “Canary,” which is essentially just piano and vocals. On the other hand, some tracks receive the full-band treatment, like “Help Me Mary.” Yet, it never feels overly processed or sterile. It’s as if your friends were rehearsing in their basement, but with the added advantage of having one of the greatest songwriters on the planet composing their music.

Beautiful Rat Sunset by The Mountain Goats (1994)

John Darnielle, who holds a degree in English and Classics from Pitzer College, often incorporates literary and historical figures and events into the songs he composes for The Mountain Goats. Titles like “Itzcuintli-Totzli Days” and “Sendero Luminoso Verdadero” may not immediately resonate with listeners, but they frequently offer tantalizing insights into their narratives, drawing you in nonetheless.

In college, Darnielle started creating and sharing his own music on cassettes. By the time he graduated, he had already released numerous songs. The album “Beautiful Rat Sunset” was released in March 1994, followed by his debut full-length album, “Zipilote Machine,” on Ajax, a few months later. At that time, Darnielle didn’t own a multi-track home recorder; instead, he was simply strumming guitar and singing directly onto the tape.

Titled “Gorgeous Rodent Sundown,” this work showcases an intriguing artwork depicting none other than a rodent. The track “Ode to Mark and Joel” is a tribute to the pet rat’s caretaker and the artist who created the album’s captivating cover art. Upon closer inspection, it appears that the song’s content doesn’t seem connected to either the pet rat owner or the cover artist.

1. “Shining True Path” refers to Abimael Guzman and the Shining Path in Peru.

In simpler terms, I’m expressing my bias as a resident of Maryland, but I find the song “Going to Maryland” truly captivating, similar to other heartwarming hometown tunes like REM’s “Don’t Go Back to Rockville,” and 5 Chinese Brothers’ “Baltimore.” However, it’s worth noting that my favorite track on the album is the final one, “Resonant Bell World.”

Throughout his career, John Darnielle has collaborated with numerous other artists across various ventures, including The Mountain Goats. However, in this particular work, it’s predominantly just him – singing and strumming his guitar. Occasionally, you might hear backing vocals from Rachel Ware, Amy Piatt, Roseanne Lindley, and Sarah Arslanian, collectively known as the Bright Mountain Choir.

It doesn’t get much more lo-fi than that.

2024-08-13 13:01