Today we give you one critic's choices for the best Orange County-bred pop songs and albums of the 1990s.
The lists, of course, are a trimester premature. But this has been a marvelous decade for the local pop scene, and it would be a shame to delay recognizing its peak accomplishments until December, when any pause for appreciation will be lost in the torrent of media spew rehashing the year/decade/century/millennium.
We hope this will catch your attention before your eyes have had a chance to glaze over, your minds have numbed and you have fled from punditry until it's safe to come out again in the next potentially normal, epoch-analysis-free year on the calendar (2001? 2002?). If anything brilliant comes out of O.C. in the next three months, we'll be sure to let you know as it happens.
First, the ground rules.
* For the sake of diversity, only one song and one album pick per artist.
* The picks adhere to the most narrowly subjective standard there is: my own listening pleasure. Some critics base their year/decade/etc. best-of choices on such legitimate criteria as a work's influence, its impact on society and the music scene, and on how well the music defined its genre, its style, and its time. I'm much too selfish for that. These are the songs and albums that most strongly touched my heart, fired my imagination and captured my ears. Matters of influence and impact are worth analyzing, but ultimately, for me, experiencing music comes down to the most personal and intimate encounter: a one-on-one conversation between artist and listener.
* As to what constitutes an Orange County musician--that's a matter of history as well as geography. Dramarama is mainly regarded as a Los Angeles band, but its O.C. shows always had a sense of homecoming, and its singer-songwriter, John Easdale, is a longtime O.C. resident who has been active on the local scene as a solo performer. Dick Dale and Liquor Giants leader Ward Dotson no longer live in Orange County, but their development and emergence as rock notables took place on the local scene, and they continue to perform here regularly. Sublime was a Long Beach trio, but when it comes to punk and alternative rock, Orange County/Long Beach has been a single, cohesive scene for 20 years.
Stone Temple Pilots and Rage Against the Machine would not qualify even if I were fond of their music, which I generally am not. Key members hail from O.C. but have not embraced their roots here or identified themselves as Orange County musicians.
The picks that follow include many obscure releases (including both No. 1 choices), along with some that reached the mainstream. This reflects a core truth that anybody who delves deeply into a fertile local music scene such as Orange County's will soon discover: commercial success has more to do with luck and temperament than with musical genius. Bands that play to 50 people in dives may be more worthwhile than ones that headline arenas. It has been my privilege and pleasure to indulge these past 12 years in the fruits of an exceptionally bountiful home-grown crop.
Songs of the Decade:
1. Richard Stekol, "America Walking By," BSQ (1991). Young soldier dies (though it could be any youth). Parents and community grieve. No schmaltz, all sparsely rendered, heart-wrenching truthfulness that probes ineffable sorrow. My eyes leak every time I hear this graceful acoustic song; Garth Brooks could commend himself to eternity by covering it. Commercial outcome: Stekol, an O.C. folk-rock fixture since the early 1970s with Honk, winds up a golf pro in Irvine, doing music on the side.
2. The Joykiller, "Supervision," Epitaph (1997). Original O.C. punker Jack Grisham (of T.S.O.L. fame) goes to pure-pop heaven in this poignant, beautifully detailed portrait of a working guy whose marriage is unraveling.
3. Eggplant, "Unexpected," Doctor Dream (1990). The melodic jangle of R.E.M. meets the philosophic reach of the Grateful Dead at its best. A song about enduring hope, with fine harmonies and a brilliant, climactic guitar solo from triple-threat Jon Melkerson, who also wrote and sang it.
4. Jann Browne, "One Tired Man," Red Moon (Swiss import) (1994). This clenched narrative of an alcoholic's death oscillates between muscular, soaring, country-tinged rock and hushed balladry. Do this one, too, Garth.
5. Chris Gaffney, " '68," Hightone (1992). A Vietnam War buddy tale that's funny and tragic; "The Deer Hunter" done lighter, with twang-rock fire and none of the bizarre stuff.
6. Social Distortion, "Bad Luck," Epic (1992). O.C.'s quintessential rock band at its swaggering, steamrollering best. Should've been a huge hit, but in the Year of Grunge, the song's hard slap at the cult of chronic complaint didn't fit the prevailing mood.
7. Liquor Giants, "I Don't Mind" ESD (1994). Ward Dotson's warm, conciliatory adieu to a broken romance is just one of many, many artifacts of his pure-pop genius.
