THE MUSIC THAT MADE ME: AN OCCASIONAL SERIES
PART 2: 1989 - 1992
THE FOUR MOST IMPORTANT YEARS IN MY MUSICAL LIFE

About a year ago on this here blog, I posted a hefty tribute to my favourite band in the universe - the mighty R.E.M. - and decided that said post would be the first in an occasional series of articles that would come under the heading of 'The Music That Made Me'. These postings would take a look back throughout the decades at the most important areas of my music listening life and wax lyrical as it were about my most beloved bands, artists, gigs, genres and specific time periods that not only changed things dramatically at the time for those in the know, but that also shaped the person I was into the person I have become. Bands that opened a multitude of doors for me as I fell down the various rabbit holes of similar genres, discovering hordes of wondrous groups in the process. Gigs that frayed my senses and thrilled my tiny mind and that have stayed with me ever since. Time periods and music scenes that - at the time - may have seemed like passing fads but have since come to be acknowledged as seminal moments in music history. And, in particular, albums that - upon release - I knew to be fantastic but have grown even more magnificent since.
                                                     
For this second post in 'The Music That Made Me' series, I have decided to travel back in time some three decades to what I feel was the most important period in my musical development. An astonishingly exciting four years or so that shifted my perceptions when it came to listening to music, going to gigs, and embracing all that came with it. From 1989 to the tail end of 1992 the musical world tilted on its axis so many times, it's a wonder those of us who were there are still around today to tell the tale. Acid house, indie-rock, shoegaze, hip-hop, grunge, industrial rock, heavy metal, synth-pop, dance, goth-rock, baggy, jingle-jangle and all points in-between. A more fantastically fecund and extraordinarily edifying 48 months would be hard to think of. I know I was there for it all as I'm still here now but, along with the incredible highs, there were some serious lows - usually involving copious amounts of drugs - so those of a nervous disposition should look away now. In the meantime, pull up a comfy chair, pour yourself a flagon of something suitable - snakebite and black perhaps - and tune in. It's gonna be a bumpy ride.....

  

  
  1989

We start this extensive trawl back through the mists of time with the final year of the 'Me' decade - ten years defined in the main by money, status, power and the very real phenomena of 'Keeping Up With The Joneses' - which, if you grew up like I did in the Stockbroker Belt of leafy Surrey, was a constant and, dare I say it, ridiculous state of affairs. To me there were far more important things going on around the world throughout that decade than the desire to have a bigger house, a bigger car and more holidays each year than the family down the road. Obviously, I was only a teenager at that time so I cravenly lapped up all the good fortune that came my way but by the time 1989 rolled around, things had shifted in my personal life that made me fully aware of the transience of the good times. Across the globe, empires were crumbling and regimes were toppling that mirrored what was happening in my own world. The fall of Eastern European Communism was the big major event of the decade's final twelve months with the destruction of The Berlin Wall being the most obvious example. Elsewhere, Poland embraced the Solidarity party with open arms, which - once the Soviet Union declined to oppose - led to the collapse of Communist regimes across the rest of the continent. Czech dissident Vaclev Havel was elected President of his country whilst Romanian despot Nicolae Ceausecu was deposed, tried and - along with his wife - executed within a matter of days. Without a doubt, the world was changing at an alarming rate. Elsewhere across the globe, pro-democracy campaigners in China rallied in Peking's Tiananmen Square which led to the military clearing the crowds by any means necessary, with countless lives lost in the process. In Chile, the public voted to finally end military rule which led to the resignation of terror-inducing tyrant Augusto Pinochet. There was also a massive earthquake in California, the horrendously damaging Exxon Valdez oil spill in Alaska and the invasion of Panama by US troops who arrested the drug-cartel friendly General Noriega. As you can see, a pretty packed year, and one that needed the perfect soundtrack.

(The fact that the musical act chosen by German authorities to sing to the masses as the Wall came down was none other than cheese-encrusted US TV star David Hasselhoff just proved that point...)

So, what music was being bought, played and listened to by the general public as the world around them burned? Well, in the UK at least, it was all a bit shite to be honest. The brave new world of the Acid House vibe of 1988 had slipped comfortably into a more family-friendly, homogeneous easy-on-the-ear dance sound that was heavily in thrall to the pounding piano beats of the Italian House scene. To give you some idea of it's sway, the biggest single of the year was 'Ride On Time' by Italian DJ crew Black Box which, although it still gets the feet tapping all these years later, doesn't have one iota of the thrill and danger that the best of Acid House had to offer only months previously. The summer of 89 was swamped with variations on the Black Box theme with the likes of Technotronic, Starlight, Latino Rave, KonKan, Adeva, D-Mob and Capella hoovering up sales by the truck-load. There was some good stuff of course - I'm looking at you Inner City, Lil Louis, Coldcut, The Beatmasters, Ten City - but in the main, the UK Top 40 was beholden to unexciting and faceless dance acts, the fag-end of the Stock, Aitken & Waterman conveyor belt of pop hits - hello there, Big Fun! - and the utterly head-scrambling success of Jive Bunny, an act so horrifically dreadful I need not talk about them here. Albums-wise, all the big hitters that were expected to sell millions did so accordingly. The likes of Guns 'n' Roses, U2 and INXS were still having hits from albums released a couple of years previously and they were joined by Madonna with her magnum opus 'Like A Prayer' as well as Phil Collins, Tina Turner, Bon Jovi, Billy Joel, Eric Clapton, Chris Rea, Wet Wet Wet, Simply Red, Gloria Estefan, Elton John, Bobby Brown, Queen, Paula Abdul, Kylie Minogue, Jason Donovan, and the stomach-churning fake pop sounds of Milli Vanilli. As you can see, it was all rather safe and dull.

The old guard had been running things since the Live Aid days of 1985 and they had been joined by a veritable smorgasbord of plastic pop. A real change was needed to upset the apple-cart as it were and the likes of Phil, Eric, Freddie and Elton needed to feel the breath of the young bucks on their necks.Twas ever thus of course - commercially successful acts have always outstayed their welcome to be replaced by the next wave of artists - but with the dawn of a new decade on the horizon, there was a real sense across the young folk of the UK that, along with the recent Acid House revolution, something tremendously exciting was about to happen.

That tremendously exciting thing turned out to be four scruffy lads from Manchester who burst onto the scene in February of 89 and turned the world upside down for me and most of my peers. I had spent the majority of the 80's in thrall to the classic pop sounds of the early part of the decade, before embracing the gloomy guitar-toting indie hordes during my teens, and then finding myself in 88 frequenting many a local nightclub - hello there, Cinderellas in Guildford and Options in Kingston! - dancing my skinny limbs into a stupor to a mish-mash of Acid House, pop tunes and slinky soul whilst trying to meet as many young ladies as possible. I also found myself on many an occasion stuffed into the back of a transit van with a few like-minded souls traversing the hills and dales of my Surrey homeland late on a Saturday night on the lookout for one of those 'illegal raves' you hear about on those 'Back To The 80's' style documentaries on BBC4. There were quite a few of them during the late summer of 88 and I attended as many as I could. Fab times all round. Come the Spring of 89 though and something new was needed. Dance heads such as myself who still enjoyed listening to The Smiths or The Cure or even Guns 'n' Roses and were tiring of the commercialisation of Acid House were on the lookout for something more. Enter then, if you please, the aforementioned scruffy foursome from Manchester: The Stone Roses. I'd spotted them early in the year on a late-night music show performing 'Waterfall' and remember being blown away by their confidence, swagger and brilliant musicianship.

Their eponymous debut album then, upon it's release in April, was a seismic event and almost overnight changed the musical landscape for me. There was still some fantastic dance music being released over the rest of 1989 - 'Voodoo Ray' from A Guy Called Gerald and 808 State's peerless 'Pacific State' - but once The Stone Roses' album hit my stereo, all bets were off. I immediately re-embraced indie rock and alternative music, started to grow my hair out and went on the lookout for big baggy jeans and loose-fit t-shirts. The sound of The Stone Roses blended 60's style Byrdsian jangle with funky drummer beats which led the music press to label this new scene 'indie-dance'. I saw where they were coming from as it's almost impossible not to cut a rug to the likes of The Roses November 89 standalone single 'Fool's Gold' or later tunes by the likes of The Charlatans, Happy Mondays or New Fast Automatic Daffodills. Most of my local compadres in Leatherhead were into the same scene as well and I can remember many a late Friday night at the local football club where a DJ put together a two-hour set of Manchester-indebted bangers after chucking out time at the local pub. Fantastic.
Of course, it wasn't all just The Stone Roses. The indie scene was in especially rude health and my weekly perusal of Melody Maker and NME led me to dive head-first into albums released in 1989 by the likes of Pop Will Eat Itself, Mega City 4, Spaceman 3, Galaxie 500, The Wedding Present and the magnificent 'Hup' by raggle-taggle indie-poppers The Wonder Stuff. There was some fantastic pop albums from regular faves Erasure, Fine Young Cannibals and Atlanta's B-52's who bagged a massive Number 1 single with 'Love Shack'. Some other big favourites of mine from the early 80's re-appeared after a few years away with huge, epic albums. Matt Johnson and his The The collective - which now featured ex-Smiths guitar hero Johnny Marr - released the solid 'Mind Bomb' opus, whilst Scottish stadium fillers Simple Minds reached the peak of their career with the excellent 'Street Fighting Years'. Pick of the bunch though was the third album from cerebral, uber-selling pop duo Tears For Fears who stunned fans and critics alike with the magisterial 'The Seeds Of Love' album. There were some brilliant albums from legendary heritage acts that, once purchased by myself, led me down many a musical avenue and allowed me to discover acts from the past that I had yet to come across - which, at the end of the day, is what music is all about. These albums included 'New York' by Lou Reed, 'Full Moon Fever' by Tom Petty, 'Mystery Girl' by Roy Orbison - who sadly left us just before it's release - the tremendously groovesome 'Yellow Moon' by The Neville Brothers, and the staggeringly brilliant 'Freedom' by Neil Young who I had very recently discovered at this point in my life. I played 'Freedom' to death during the latter part of 89 and I spent the next couple of years devouring everything Young had ever recorded. It's safe to say he's probably my all-time favourite solo act - all down to a few months in my little Leatherhead bedsit playing 'Freedom' on a constant loop.

I also found myself listening to 'Technique' by New Order, The Cure's masterly 'Disintegration', 'Hats' by the - still - criminally underrated The Blue Nile, and the fabulously exciting 'Results' by Liza Minnelli as many times as my spare time would allow. Also bagging regular playing time on my - for it's time - reasonably up-to-date Sanyo stack stereo system, were the latest releases from Kate Bush, Tracy Chapman, Bob Dylan, David Bowie's much-maligned Tim Machine project and the terrifically strange second album from 1987's breakout star Terence Trent D'arby who followed up his multi-million selling debut album with one of the biggest flops in music history. His 'Neither Fish Nor Flesh' isn't a bad album per-se, it's just wonderfully weird and left many a fan - and critic - scratching their heads in disbelief. I still absolutely love it. My rock itch was scratched rather nicely with the likes of Aerosmith, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Faith No More, Motley Crue, The Cult's barnstorming 'Sonic Temple' and new kids on the rock block Skid Row with their thunderous debut album. There was also a strange new sound on the horizon from the wilds of the USA with albums such as 'Bleach' by Nirvana, Soundgarden's 'Louder Than Love' and 'Pretty Hate Machine' by Nine Inch Nails. However, I didn't discover any of these albums for at least another 12 months so that cultural shift will have to wait. I also embraced US hip-hop in a big way - having been indifferent to it for a few years - by throwing myself feet first into the Beastie Boys' second album 'Paul's Boutique', N.W.A.'s incendiary debut effort 'Straight Outta Compton', 'Done By The Forces Of Nature' by the Jungle Brothers and the truly groundbreaking '3 Feet High And Rising' from De La Soul which is still - to this day - one of my all-time favourite albums. British black music hit big worldwide too with a brace of extraordinary albums that showcased a new sound that would become massively influential. It's no stretch I don't think to suggest that without 'Club Classics Vol. 1' from Soul II Soul and 'Raw Like Sushi' from London rapper Neneh Cherry, there would be no Massive Attack, Portishead or much of the trip-hop scene of the early 90's.

I ended 1989 playing three albums - alongside that debut from The Stone Roses - and one single over and over again, hour after hour, day after day. I'd fallen for Boston's Pixies massively some months previously thanks to the late and very great John Peel and upon buying their second album 'Doolittle' in the late summer I knew this band would be with me for life. An extraordinary collection of spiky post-punk, chugging indie, janglesome grooves and incendiary screaming, there's not one duff note across the entire album and I must have played it ten times a day for months. It's as good as records get quite frankly. Also in the mix by year's end were what turned out to be the final album from Texan blues legend Stevie Ray Vaughan who released 'In Step' in September to universally positive reviews. I'd been a big blues fan for a fair few years by this point and Vaughan was pretty much my favourite guitarist. Tragically, he was dead within a year of the album's release - perishing in a helicopter crash in Wisconsin. The other best debut album of 1989 - alongside The Stone Roses - was the mighty 'Let Love Rule' by US singer-songwriter Lenny Kravitz. I hadn't realised by the summer of 89 that I'd been looking for an artist to blend some of my favourite sounds of the past - Beatles pop-smarts, soulful vocals, funk licks and psychedelia - into one cohesive whole, but this opening salvo from the multi-talented Kravitz, who played almost everything on the album as well as writing and producing the whole shebang, turned out to be exactly what I required. It's still far and away his finest hour and still in my Top Ten of all time. And that single that I played constantly? Well, if somebody had told me in October of 1989 that within weeks a record would be released that featured Barney Sumner from New Order, Johnny Marr of The Smiths and Neil Tennant from the Pet Shop Boys - three of my favourite groups in the world - I'd have laughed in their face. But it did happen, and 'Getting Away with It' was the astonishing result. What a tune it still is. In fact, if pushed, I'd more than likely choose it as one of my Desert Island Discs.


As you can see then, 1989 was a massive year musically and a real shift in dynamic when it came to the removal of what was becoming stale and boring and replacing it with the shock of the new. More thrillingly exciting changes were on the way in 1990 but for now, here's my pick of the best albums that 1989 had to offer:

TOP 15 ALBUMS OF 1989:

15: THE NEVILLE BROTHERS: YELLOW MOON
14: TOM PETTY: FULL MOON FEVER
13: THE CULT: SONIC TEMPLE
12: LOU REED: NEW YORK
11: SOUL II SOUL: CLUB CLASSICS VOL.1
10: TEARS FOR FEARS: THE SEEDS OF LOVE
9:  NEIL YOUNG: FREEDOM
8:  NEW ORDER: TECHNIQUE
7:  THE BLUE NILE: HATS
6:  THE CURE: DISINTEGRATION
5:  STEVIE RAY VAUGHAN & DOUBLE TROUBLE: IN STEP
4:  DE LA SOUL: 3 FEET HIGH & RISING
3:  LENNY KRAVITZ: LET LOVE RULE
1 = :  THE STONE ROSES: THE STONE ROSES
1 = :  PIXIES: DOOLITTLE

 1990                                                                                                                                                                   

The first year of the 90's was a pivotal year for me in many ways. I'd left home in early 88 at the age of 18 after a change in circumstances saw my family relocating to Cornwall. I'd only just bagged myself my first job after leaving school so had no intention of joining the exodus to the West Country. I was lucky enough to find myself a pretty decent bedsit 5 minutes away from my office job in Leatherhead - motor claims insurance if you really need to know - and soon found myself settling in to the regular routine of going to work, getting drunk most nights, clubbing at weekends, unsuccessful dates with members of the opposite sex, eating crap on a daily basis and trying to figure out how to use the washing machine. Heady days. There was the occasional gig too, although clubbing was more important to me at that time. Gigs had been mainly a family affair during the mid-80's with trips to see the likes of Pink Floyd, Stevie Wonder, Eric Clapton, ZZ Top and a multitude of blues-related events. By the beginning of 1990 however, I'd started to go and see bands by myself or with like-minded mates with gigs by Erasure, Pet Shop Boys, INXS and Suzanne Vega standing out.

The world around me was still changing at an alarming rate with events such as the reunification of Germany and the destruction of the Berlin Wall, US President Bush and his Soviet counterpart Mikhail Gorbachev signing their agreement to end chemical weapons production, Nelson Mandela finally being released from prison after 27 years, Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein ordering an invasion of Kuwait and over here in the UK the last desperate act of Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher: her decision to introduce a new Poll Tax which led to huge riots across the country - in particular Trafalgar Square in London - and eventually led to her resignation after a coup from within her own party. Ding-Dong - the witch was dead. Alongside all this global upheaval was the very real family strife that I found myself embroiled in. My parents had decided to separate and the long-standing secure family backdrop that I had become used to collapsed very quickly into a steaming pot of anger and recrimination.

At the time, I threw myself into music, clubbing, gigs, drinking and - in particular - my new-found love for chemical refreshment. Ecstasy, acid tabs and the odd 'herbal cigarette' became part of my weekend regimen and, before long and to paraphrase Aldous Huxley, my very own doors of perception opened up fully and it became increasingly apparent that the relatively stable day-to-day routine that I had fallen into was not for me and, coupled with the break-up of my family unit, I realised that something had to change. So, I decided that the most obvious thing to do was to give up everything nailed down in my life - job, pay-cheques, bedsit, security - and swan off to Corfu for four months on the off-chance that I might be able to find work out there. Like I said, obvious.

So, what was my soundtrack like as I weaved and wended my way throughout all these travails that 1990 had to throw at me? The year is without doubt split into three very distinct sections. The first part of the year - before I gave everything up and decamped to a sunny Greek island - was sound-tracked by hold-outs from 89 such as The Stone Roses, Lenny Kravitz and the Pixies but I soon added fabulous new releases to the listening pile from The Beautiful South, The Christians, Sinead O'Connor, Prefab Sprout, Soul II Soul, Lloyd Cole, Suzanne Vega and a stunning collaboration between old warring Velvet Underground partners Lou Reed and John Cale who put their animosities to one side to pay tribute to their old mentor Andy Warhol on 'Songs For Drella'. However, most of the first few months of that year were spent listening to the seventh album of doom-laden synth-pop anthems from Depeche Mode and their 'Violator' opus which saw them take the world by storm, as well as a splendid debut collection of janglesome indie-rock from The Sundays and a rabble-rousing opening gambit from bandana-bedecked Southern Rock outfit The Black Crowes who blew the doors off the hair-metal barn with the still utterly fantastic 'Shake Your Moneymaker'. My favourite two albums from that period though were the second release from former Waterboy Karl Wallinger and his World Party project who released the way ahead of it's time 'Goodbye Jumbo' to ecstatic reviews in April. A concept album about the destruction of the Earth and how the human race is to blame, Wallinger's magnum opus was chock-full of magnificent tunes encompassing 60's pych, 70's soul and 80's pop and should - by rights - have made him a massive star. Sadly, the album slipped through the cracks and the three-year wait for it's follow-up was too long for the casual listener.

The other album to do the business for me before I jumped ship to Corfu was 'Happiness' - the debut album from ex-indie rockers The Beloved. Formed in London in the early 80's, The Beloved had slimmed down from a full band to a duo comprised of Jon Marsh and Steve Waddington by 1989. Embracing - like most of us at the time - the Acid House scene with real gusto, the pair jettisoned their guitars and focused on synths and beats to produce an absolute marvel of an album. Featuring both in-your-face uptempo bangers like 'Scarlet Beautiful' as well as the perfect come-down chill-out vibes of 'The Sun Rising', this album was the bang-on soundtrack to a night out on the tiles. A rather wonderful 30th anniversary re-release has just been issued too, so if you haven't discovered 'Happiness' yet you know what to do.

Whilst I was away during the summer of 1990, I couldn't keep up to date with what was happening back home in the UK when it came to new releases - this was way before the internet and Google search, kids - so I had to wait until I returned home before catching up on what I'd missed. Greece wasn't renowned back then for keeping on top of trends, so most of my nights out in Corfu's clubs were spent dancing to a melange of recent chart hits, rock classics and cheesy Euro pop - bar the odd banger like 'Bigmouth Strikes Again' by The Smiths and 'She Sells Sanctuary' by The Cult. There was one glorious weekend when the DJ in my regular haunt - hello there, Samantha's in Vatos! - flew off to the UK to buy some more records and he asked me for a list of tunes to buy. He also gave me carte blanche to man his DJ booth for the weekend - allowing me to fulfill a life-time ambition - before he returned just in time for a new influx of British kids who swarmed to the venue to hear him spin the latest tracks by The Stone Roses, Happy Mondays - who had released the classic 'Step On' earlier in the summer - and various other UK indie acts that were hitting big back home. I didn't have to buy another drink for weeks in that place. That four months away changed me dramatically, shifting my perspective on life in a myriad of ways. My original intention before I left had been to head back to my previous existence but that went straight out the window as soon as I got home. I promised myself I would never work in an office again - a vow I have happily stuck to - and, thanks to the remarkable cast of characters I spent time with over that summer, my musical tastes and influences shifted even further into left-field. Upon my return, and once I was earning money again - this time from a variety of temporary assignments - it was back to buying CD's by the truckload. I started purchasing and listening to a lot more rock and metal with albums by Primus, Pantera, Extreme, Slayer, Helmet and Revolting Cocks all filtering through my radar. Best of that particular bunch though were the tremendously exciting 'Time's Up' by Living Colour, 'Facelift' by seattle crew Alice In Chains - who would soon be at the vanguard of the new 'grunge' movement - and the spellbinding 'Ritual De Lo Habitual' by LA art-punkers Jane's Addiction  - all three of which still get played to death inside No Static Towers.

I discovered a whole raft of of alternative acts that had up to this point passed me by such as Babes In Toyland, Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds, Sonic Youth and Buffalo Tom as well as established faves like Galaxie 500, Spaceman 3, Pop Will Eat Itself and the magnificent Pixies who quickly followed up 89's 'Doolittle' with the almost as good 'Bossanova'. Pixies bassist Kim Deal also did the business with 'Pod', the first album from her side-project The Breeders. Hip-hop had an interesting 1990 with it's biggest successes coming in the shape of novelty acts Vanilla Ice and MC Hammer - both of whom need not detain us here. However, there was still room for some majestic rhymes from A Tribe Called Quest, Monie Love, Queen Latifah, Eric B and Public Enemy. I was still buying albums by long-established legends too like ZZ Top's 'Recycler', 'X' by INXS, Neil Young's monumental 'Ragged Glory' and, perhaps surprisingly, the superb second solo album from 80's pop king George Michael - 'Listen Without Prejudice Vol. 1'. The Manchester sound of The Stone Roses had filtered through in a major way as well - so much so that the music press had bestowed it with the 'Baggy' moniker.

A multitude of similar bands had been signed and given a push by their respective record companies in the wake of The Roses' success - Inspiral Carpets, James, The Pale Saints, Northside, The Soup Dragons, the fantastic New Fast Automatic Daffodils and - in particular - Oldham's The Charlatans and Salford's Happy Mondays who released 'Some Friendly' and 'Pills 'n' Thrills And Bellyaches' respectively to almost universal acclaim towards the end of the year and who both quickly became two of the UK's biggest bands, garnering huge hit singles and selling out venues across the country. Indeed, my final gig of 1990 was a massive Mondays shindig at Wembley Arena that was one of the most ridiculously exciting things I'd ever been a part of. (As a postscript, the band that started the whole Madchester phenomenon - The Stone Roses - released one slightly underwhelming single in 'One Love' in the summer before hosting their huge Spike Island gig and then, thanks to an ill-advised lawsuit against their record company, disappearing for a full four years - blowing away any chance of becoming the band they should have been).

I ended the year falling in love with wonderful albums like 'Vision Thing' by goth-rock behemoths The Sisters Of Mercy, 'Behaviour' by my favourite synth-pop crew the Pet Shop Boys, the utterly gorgeous 'Heaven Or Las Vegas' by 80's dream-pop legends the Cocteau Twins, the shimmering shoegaze splendour of 'Nowhere' from floppy-fringed Oxfordian indie quartet Ride, the delightfully quirky funk-encrusted hip-hop pop smarts of 'World Clique' by Deee-Lite, and - more than any other album from 1990 - the masterful debut album from Liverpudlian jangle crew The La's who released their eponymous first offering in October before front-man Lee Mavers promptly disowned it in a fit of pique against his record company. The album still sounds utterly astonishing to me all these years later but sadly, Mavers doesn't agree and there has been nothing from him ever since. A real shame. What a band they could have been.
(A quick shout-out as well to a bunch of fantastic stand-alone singles released in 1990 that paved the way for further delights in 1991: New Order followed up 89's tremendous 'Technique' album with their World Cup song 'World In Motion' which promptly soared to Number 1 in the chart on the back of the England football team making it to the semi-finals of Italia 90. Also pricking up my ears toward the latter part of the year were the singles 'Loaded' by Glaswegian indie crew Primal Scream - a raucous mix of gnarly rock and roll and thumping beats - and the divine 'Chime' by Kentish electronica duo the Hartnoll brothers, otherwise known as Orbital. A stunning slice of downbeat UK techno that immediately made them one of my favourite dance acts.) 

So, I'm halfway through this look back at the most important musical period of my life and I've gone from a whey-faced and short-haired raver to a shaggy-locked indie kid who liked a bit of dance, a bit of baggy and a whole lot of guitar goodness. I'd given up a possible career - no great loss - as well as a secure home. I was lodging with a good mate and his family, working four hours a day at a local catering company, spending all my disposable income on CD's, acid tabs, evenings down the pub and the odd gig. I'd been dumped by one girlfriend at the end of 1989, and started a new relationship by the end of 1990. My family had broken apart but I'd gained a new one with a whole host of fine young fellows down in the wilds of Leatherhead. My four months away in the summer had given me a new outlook on life and as far as I was concerned, 1991 was going to be huge. In the meantime, here's my favourite albums of 1990: 

TOP 15 ALBUMS OF 1990:

15: THE BLACK CROWES: SHAKE YOUR MONEYMAKER

14: NEW FAST AUTOMATIC DAFFODILS: PIGEONHOLE

13: DEPECHE MODE: VIOLATOR

12: LIVING COLOR: TIME'S UP

11: NEIL YOUNG & CRAZY HORSE: RAGGED GLORY

10: JANE'S ADDICTION: RITUAL DE LO HABITUAL

9:  PET SHOP BOYS: BEHAVIOUR

8:  PIXIES: BOSSANOVA

7:  DEEE-LITE: WORLD CLIQUE

6:  RIDE: NOWHERE

5:  WORLD PARTY: GOODBYE JUMBO

4:  HAPPY MONDAYS: PILLS 'N' THRILLS AND BELLYACHES

3:  THE BELOVED: HAPPINESS

2:  COCTEAU TWINS: HEAVEN OR LAS VEGAS

1:  THE LA's: THE LA's

 

1991

So, we surge forward into 1991 on the back of a hugely exciting and tectonic-plate shifting previous twelve months - albeit slightly rocky underfoot due to the family strife occurring in my universe. Looking back over these times has been great fun for me although it's also been tinged with sadness too. Lots of bad shit was happening around me at that time and I often wonder how things might have turned out - not just for me but for others caught in the crossfire - if certain events had happened differently. But then, it's also true to say that I wouldn't be the person I am now if I hadn't gone through these experiences. Fate is fate at the end of the day. What I will say though, is that from almost 30 years remove, 1991 could well be the greatest year for music ever. Don't believe me? Read on...

With world events becoming even more extraordinary - across the year we witnessed the start of The Gulf War, the continued break-up of the Soviet Union with the likes of Belarus, Ukraine, Latvia, Estonia and many other countries gaining independence from the USSR, the long-overdue dismantling of the apartheid regime in South Africa, Slovenia and Croatia declaring independence from Yugoslavia which begat the Balkan conflict, the abolition of the Poll Tax, the release of Western prisoners such as Terry Waite from the Lebanon after years of captivity, the resignation of Soviet Union president Mikhail Gorbachev and the tragic death of Queen front-man Freddie Mercury - what was needed in my world was the finest soundtrack possible. I got it, and then some. I was fortunate enough to start the year in the employ of my local branch of a late and very much lamented record store chain - hello there, Our Price in Leatherhead! - and, subsequently, found myself with access to far more music than I ever thought possible. The hefty staff discount helped immensely too.

Across that first few months of 1991 - before the summer brought another shift in circumstances - I would man the till at the store serving the great and good of my local hood, whilst indulging in fantastic new releases from the likes of old school faves such as Simple Minds, Sting, Seal, Skid Row and the barnstorming third opus from Midlands raggle-tagglers The Wonder Stuff who hit number one with 'Never Loved Elvis'. Both De La Soul and N.W.A. returned with second albums that weren't quite as good as their debuts, and there was a huge influx of UK indie bands that married the baggy sound of the previous year with more uptempo dance grooves and found huge success. Both E.M.F. and Jesus Jones bulldozed into the charts over here as well as hitting number one in America too. Alongside them we saw the first flush of fame for Colchester crew Blur who released their debut album 'Leisure' to decent notices. Bigger things would happen for them later down the line of course. Old school indie had a popular few months early in 91 too with great albums released from James, The House Of Love and The Wedding Present. There was also two bands from Liverpool who succeeded in following fellow Scousers The La's into the charts with both The Farm and, particularly for me, The Real People releasing superb debut albums. The Real People's eponymous effort is a wonderful bunch of driving indie anthems, all sprinkled with joyous jangle and chiming curlicues that should have been massive. For some reason it just didn't happen but I guarantee a certain Mr Noel Gallagher was taking notes.

However, there was a raft of albums released during that spring period that were - and in a few cases - still are, hugely important to me. Alonside the likes of 'God Fodder' by Stourbridge grebo crew Ned's Atomic Dustbin - which scratched my hair-flailing indie-rock itch with some gusto - and the astonishing string-laden urban beats of 'Blue Lines' by Bristolian dance collective Massive Attack - which featured the deathless 'Unfinished Sympathy' - there was the psych-funk majesty of 'Mama Said' by Lenny Kravitz and the long-delayed self-titled debut from Manchester super-group Electronic, which saw Barney Sumner and Johnny Marr expanding on their indie roots with house beats, expansive groovers and even some ill-advised rap. What an album though.

The two biggest albums for me though were the return to the fray - after a far too long three year gap - from my favourite band in the universe, Georgia's R.E.M. Thanks once again to John Peel, I'd fallen for this lot in a major way in the mid-80's and had been playing their last few albums - in particular 88's magisterial 'Green' - to death whilst awaiting this new release. Arriving in March, it did not disappoint. Trailed by the utterly wondrous 'Losing My Religion', the band's 7th album 'Out Of Time' saw them take a quantum leap into a new realm, with - by year's end - 6 hit singles and almost 10 million records sold. Over the next three years - and on the back of no touring - they became the biggest band in the world. Couldn't have happened to a nicer bunch of chaps. As good as all the above albums are though, it was an unknown release that blew my mind in a major way. Slipping out almost unnoticed in April - some 6 months after it's US release - was the debut album from San Francisco power-poppers Jellyfish. I've waxed lyrical many times on this here blog about how much 'Bellybutton' means to me - indeed, it's without doubt my favourite album of all time - so I need not say much more. Suffice to say, my entire tenure at the Leatherhead branch of Our Price was sound-tracked by that record and I played it at least three times a day whilst travelling through Europe later that summer. I still play it at least once a month almost thirty years later. It's a masterpiece of life-enriching pop glory. So there.

Throughout 1991, there were some absolutely tremendous releases from all corners of the musical spectrum. My love of hip-hop was satiated splendidly with sublime selections from regular favourites such as Gang Starr, Public Enemy, Ice-T and Ice Cube as well as new discoveries like P.M. Dawn, Cypress Hill and the Dream Warriors. Pick of the bunch by some distance though was the glorious jazz-tinged majesty of A Tribe Called Quest's 'Low End Theory' which could well be one the greatest hip-hop albums ever made. Indie and alt-rock from across the pond had a banner year with thunderously exciting releases from Babes In Toyland, Throwing Muses, Hole, Mercury Rev, my favourite Dinosaur Jr album in 'Green Mind', the brain-melting 'Spiderland' from Slint and the fourth album in as many years from the Pixies in 'Trompe Le Monde'. Indie bands from our neck of the woods that hit big in 91 included the fabulously monikered Carter The Unstoppable Sex Machine and Nitzer Ebb as well as debutants Therapy, Kingmaker, St Etienne and the Senseless Things. There was some excellent output from legendary acts Tom Petty, U2, Neil Young, Prince, Julian Cope, Erasure, Talk Talk, a fabulous remix album from the hugely influential Kraftwerk and 'Woodface' from New Zealand's premier pop-smiths Crowded House, which - alongside it's parent single 'Weather With You' - made them very famous indeed. The heavier side of things was well-represented also with the return of Guns 'n' Roses in the autumn with not one but two new albums released on the same day. In truth, not all of the 'Use Your Illusion' albums worked - they could have easily been condensed into one blistering whole - but there was some phenomenal stuff on each disc.

The other globe-straddling metal band of the late 80's - Metallica - returned in the summer with the monolithic slab of heaviness that was their self-titled 'Black' album. Featuring the likes of 'Enter Sandman', 'Sad But True', and the uber-power ballad 'Nothing Else Matters', this one was always going to be huge but - thanks in part to its pristine production from Bob Rock - it ended up being monumentally massive, selling close on 30 million copies to date. For Metallica it seemed, 1991 was the year they became the biggest rock band in the universe. Other rock albums to cross my path in 91 included 'Ceremony' by The Cult, 'Sailing The Seas Of Cheese' by Primus and the big breakthrough opus from LA funk-rockers Red Hot Chili Peppers, who burst through the door of the mainstream with the stupendous 'BloodSugarSexMagik'. There was also room for some fantastic dance sounds from the likes of Orbital, The Orb, 808 State and The KLF who were a musical collective put together by Liverpool legend Bill Drummond and became, by year's end, one of the most successful groups in the UK.

Come the summer of 91 and - with all this fantastic music pumping through my ear canals and streaming through my veins - I found myself in a situation that enabled me to leave Leatherhead and travel through Europe. I left my Our Price job and jetted off to spend a few months with my then girlfriend and her family in their native Sweden.The Swedes at that point were a few months behind the UK when it came to current sounds and subsequently I spent a lot of time watching bands at local gigs over there who were still peddling the soft-rock hair-metal stylings of the likes of Bon Jovi and Def Leppard who had been commercially huge a year or so before. I did however, discover an album that opened the floodgates on a whole new rock scene that would very soon take the world by storm. Whilst watching MTV Europe one afternoon I came across a video by a band called Temple Of The Dog called 'Hunger Strike'. It was, and still is, an absolutely astonishing meld of rock and soul that featured two incredible vocalists.

Thanks to my semi-regular perusal of Kerrang magazine back in the UK, I knew that one of the singers was Chris Cornell from Seattle rockers Soundgarden, but the other singer was a mystery to me. The song quickly became my most-loved track through that summer - so much so that I recorded it off the telly onto a cassette tape. I vowed to find out more about this band once I returned to London. I spent the latter part of that summer travelling down from Sweden and into mainland Europe on a 6-week Interrail ticket which saw me visit Munich, Rome, Prague, Paris, Berlin, Brussels, a couple of weeks back in Corfu - as well as getting arrested for shop-lifting in Milan. I was innocent, by the way. One of my prized possessions across that whole trip was a cardboard box of cassette tapes that kept me and my travelling companions focused on the challenges of traversing the continent whilst listening to a whole smorgasbord of mighty music. There was a bunch of tapes devoted to the classic rock sounds that I had grown up with and also recently discovered over the previous couple of years - stuff like Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, Free, Creedence, The Doors, The Velvet Underground, Caravan, Love, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Black Sabbath - as well as tons of cassettes filled with the latest alt-rock and indie fare. I also played certain albums by the likes of Jellyfish, R.E.M. and the Pixies so many times the tapes wore out. The pivotal point of that whole summer though was my visit to Denmark's hallowed Roskilde Festival - the Danish answer to Glastonbury - which was my first ever experience of a full-blown rock festival. What a baptism of fire it was. A 5-day steamroller of Bacchanalian craziness and in-your-face hedonistic insanity, I'm still to this day utterly amazed that I got through it all in one piece. I frequented a lot of gigs throughout 91 before and after my time away that summer with visits to venues like Brixton Academy, London Astoria, Camden's Underworld and others to see Lenny Kravitz, Pixies, The Wonder Stuff, Cud, Ned's Atomic Dustbin, Mega City 4 and Ride - all for under a tenner too - but that Roskilde event was different gravy altogether. Those Scandinavians sure do know how to throw a party.

It was like an episode of that 'Vikings' TV show combined with a Hell's Angels rally and a week-long Acid House rave - with bells on. I needed a good month to recover. The lineup was pretty immense too, with the likes of Primus, Northside, Gang Starr, 808 State, Ned's Atomic Dustbin, Buffalo Tom, Lush, Jesus Jones, EMF, The Charlatans, Sisters Of Mercy, Deee-Lite, Iron Maiden, Billy Idol, Iggy Pop, Paul Simon and Simple Minds all putting on sterling sets. A fantastic way to pop my festival cherry.

Back home in London that autumn and I was lucky enough to be taken on by Our Price again - this time in the cosy Reigate branch - and my first act was to purchase the Temple Of The Dog album which I found to be magnificent all the way through. The sleeve-notes informed me that the co-vocalist on 'Hunger Strike' was a chap by the name of Eddie Vedder. I decided to keep my eyes and ears open for anything he might come up with in the future. I didn't have to wait long. I also discovered that Chris Cornell's other band - the tremendously heavy Soundgarden - had released their major-label debut 'BadMotorFinger' whilst I'd been away and I soon devoured that with great gusto. Soon, and alongside a brace of other Seattle-born albums in 'Uncle Anasthesia' by Screaming Trees and the previous year's 'Facelift' by Alice In Chains, my ears started to focus on what was happening in the North West of the USA. However, it was with the release in early October of 'Nevermind' by Seattle alt-rock trio Nirvana that the whole Grunge movement kicked into a completely different gear.

It's almost impossible now for anyone who wasn't there to comprehend what it was like for kids in their late teens and early twenties in 91 who had their senses frayed and their minds blown by 'Nevermind' and everything that came in it's wake and what it did for the underground music scene as a whole. Seeing bands like Nirvana and other scruffy longhairs on prime-time television that winter and hearing tracks like 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' on commercial radio stations all day felt akin to being dropped into another universe. These days of course, you'll hear Nirvana, Soundgarden and other bands of that ilk all the time on the radio but back then it really was quite extraordinary. Within a matter of weeks, the entire alternative rock scene - that had pretty much been a cult concern for a couple of years - became the mainstream and this heavy yet melodic strain of hard rock, encrusted with a sludgy coating, that had been made by, and for, outsiders, freaks and weirdos took over the world. In truth, the sands had been shifting for a while with the likes of Jane's Addiction, Faith No More and Soundgarden too pushing the boundaries over the previous 6 months or so, but it was 'Nevermind' and it's radio-friendly production and choruses to die for that blew the roof off. Nirvana had been on the cusp of greatness for a while with 89's 'Bleach' debut and their 1990 standalone single 'Sliver' both pointing toward something very special. But 'Nevermind' changed everything. In lead vocalist Kurt Cobain, a new hero was born for the young alienated youth of the Western world and the music industry in particular saw that this quietly unassuming trio from an American backwater had re-drawn the blueprint for what could be commercially successful and - as is their wont - they cherry-picked the best bands from the best US independent labels with chequebooks poised looking for the 'New Nirvana'. That was all to come though. But, for a short while there in the last few months of 1991, the musical world was a very different place and all kinds of bands with thrift-store clothes, plaid shirts, greasy hair and loud guitars suddenly found themselves on the front covers of magazines and selling out gigs.

Chicago's Smashing Pumpkins were a prime example - a band who, despite their prowess, couldn't get arrested before Nirvana hit big but suddenly found their debut album, the glorious prog-tinged grunge of 'Gish', selling bucket-loads. Pumpkins front-man Billy Corgan may not want to admit it, but it wouldn't have happened for him and his band if it hadn't been for the Nirvana effect.

Over here in the UK, there was another musical scene that I fell for in a major way that became quickly maligned but has since had a bit of a re-appraisal. The word 'shoegaze' had been coined by the NME as a bit of a slight toward UK bands who seemed to be more interested in their guitar pedals than the audience in-front of them. Most of the bands that were lumped into this scene did all have a pretty specific look (floppy fringes, cord jackets, scruffy jeans) and they all had a similar sound (driving walls of guitars, crashing drums, winsome vocals) but they were all also really good bands who made a lot of very good music. Oxford's Ride had been the first out of the blocks in 1990, and 91 saw some stupendous releases bag hours of playing time on my stereo like 'Raise' by Swervedriver, 'Just For A Day' by Slowdive, 'Whirlpool' by Chapterhouse as well as some brilliant EP's from Lush and Catherine Wheel. Pick of the crop though was the long-awaited second full-length album from Irish experimental sound-smiths My Bloody Valentine who released the utterly bone-shaking noise juggernaut of 'Loveless' at the end of the year. A stunning meld of dissonant guitar textures, thunderous rhythms, ear-splitting frenzy and blood-stirring soundscapes, 'Loveless' took so long to record and cost so much money that MBV's record label Creation came close to bankruptcy and, with a heavy heart, had to drop the band weeks after it's release. It is however, one of the greatest ever UK rock albums and it took the band almost 15 years to follow it up. That's how good it was. There were also two other albums released at the end of the year that have stayed with me through thick and thin over the last three decades.

Glasgow's Primal Scream followed up their huge 'Loaded' and 'Come Together' hits from the previous year with the seminal and era-defining 'Screamadelica' album. Hooking up with - at the time - relatively unknown London DJ Andrew Weatherall, the previously straight down the line rock and rollers married their Stones-ian swagger with Acid House dance beats, dub reggae and swooning instrumental passages to create something of a masterpiece. Another Scottish band who also pricked up my ears in some style toward the end of 1991 were Teenage Fanclub who released the wonderfully janglesome 'Bandwagonesque'. A quartet from Glasgow who merged the crunchy, gnarly grunge sound of the Seattle scene with three-part harmonies, life-enriching fuzz and sparkling power-pop, Teenage Fanclub have been one of my all-time favourite bands since this album's release. I still can't find anything negative to say about them or any of their subsequent records but this one will always be their magnum opus for me. It's just a wonderful, wonderful album.

So, there you have it. Like I said at the beginning of this section, I can't think of another year during my lifetime that has been so consistently brilliant musically and that saw the release of so many seminal and massively influential albums. It was an astonishingly productive twelve months that has held sway over most that has come since. For myself personally, I started the year with Our Price and - albeit with a four month gap away from the UK - I ended it with them also. I was still - just - in a relationship and, although I was living in West Hampstead by year's end, I was still spending most of my spare time with my Leatherhead crew drinking, gigging, experimenting with drugs, listening to as much music as possible and having an absolute blast. I was purposely ignoring the family strife going on behind my back to focus solely on having as much of a good time as my body would allow. The comedown and the crash would happen - and I was fully aware of that fact. But that's for 1992. For now, here's my favourite albums of 1991 - possibly the hardest choice yet.

TOP 15 ALBUMS OF 1991:

15: SMASHING PUMPKINS: GISH
14: THE REAL PEOPLE: THE REAL PEOPLE
13: NED'S ATOMIC DUSTBIN: GOD FODDER
12: TEMPLE OF THE DOG: TEMPLE OF THE DOG
11: MASSIVE ATTACK: BLUE LINES
10: RED HOT CHILI PEPPERS: BLOODSUGARSEXMAGIK
9:  METALLICA: METALLICA
8:  LENNY KRAVITZ: MAMA SAID
7:  MY BLOODY VALENTINE: LOVELESS
6:  PRIMAL SCREAM: SCREAMADELICA
5:  ELECTRONIC: ELECTRONIC
4:  NIRVANA: NEVERMIND
3:  R.E.M.: OUT OF TIME
2:  TEENAGE FANCLUB: BANDWAGONESQUE
1:  JELLYFISH: BELLYBUTTON 

1992

Into the final stretch of this monumental look back to the most important 48 months of my music-loving life and we start 1992 with a switch for myself from the Reigate branch of Our Price to the flagship Guildford store - bigger space, more staff, more responsibility for yours truly and - but of course - more music. I absolutely loved working for Our Price. This was in the days before uniforms became a thing and before store playlists were even invented so you could basically wear what you wanted - extremely important in your late teens and early twenties, as most of the staff were, to show which tribe you were part of - and you could also play what you wanted, within reason. Of course, this was also way before the internet, I-Pods and music streaming so when it came to buying your tunes, Our Price was one of the best places to visit as the selection in most stores was exceptionally broad and - if I may say so - the staff really knew their shizzle.

Whilst I was enjoying my tenure at Our Price, the world around me kept spinning on it's axis and throwing up all kinds of craziness: across the year we saw the signing of the Maastricht treaty which founded the European Union, the war in the Balkans became even more extreme and terrifying for those involved, Bill Clinton became the 42nd President of the USA, Windsor Castle was almost completely destroyed by fire, four LAPD officers who were accused of beating up Rodney King were acquitted leading to huge riots across Los Angeles, Mike Tyson was convicted of rape and Charles and Diana separated - which became the biggest news story of the year, sadly. In my personal life, my relationship had floundered early in the spring and I quickly threw myself back into the single life by continuing my social adventures with the Leatherhead crew in the usual manner.

Tons of gigs, lots of drinking and drugs and, in particular, a weekly jaunt from our Surrey heartland to North London and one of the best indie/rock clubs ever - hello there, Loony Toons in Tufnell Park! Those Saturday nights at The Dome are some of my favourite memories from that time with a whole bunch of us regularly throwing ourselves around with wild abandon to some of the greatest music in existence at that point. The feelings of solidarity and camaraderie within the throng at that club night when a track like 'Smells Like Teen Spirit' or 'Sad But True' or 'Give It Away' was played were absolutely infectious and I don't remember one Saturday when - driving home at 5 in the morning back to Leatherhead - any of us in that car felt anything other than brilliant. We were all living life one day at a time with no worries and - as far as I can remember - no real responsibilities to think of. Great days.

Musically, the grunge movement was the biggest thing around, all across the globe. Nirvana started the year by dethroning 80's pop king Michael Jackson from the top of the US album charts - a more obvious changing of the guard I can't think of - and were well on their way to selling 10 million copies of 'Nevermind'. Behind the scenes though, all was not well. Kurt Cobain - an extremely sensitive young man - found all of this new found fame and success way too much to handle and quickly threw himself headlong into an all-encompassing heroin habit that - as we all know now - he was never able to extricate himself from. His mood wasn't helped no doubt by the sudden influx of grunge-style bands signed by major record labels in the wake of Nirvana's staggering success. Some - such as Mudhoney, Tad, Soul Asylum, the all-female crew L7 and Screaming Trees - had pre-dated Nirvana and, subsequently, their 1992 albums (especially the astonishing 'Sweet Oblivion' by Screaming Trees) and commercial success were well-regarded. Others were accused of jumping on the bandwagon though and the likes of Stone Temple Pilots and their debut album 'Core', Blind Melon, Ugly Kid Joe, Candlebox and the like got relatively short shrift from the cognoscenti. A shame, as some of music released by the above-mentioned bands was really very good indeed.

The rock and metal scene in 92 was extraordinarily strong all year with fantastic records released from the likes of Pantera, The Rollins Band, Helmet, Kyuss, Megadeth, Danzig, the debut album from future prog-metal titans Tool, as well as phenomenally exciting albums from industrial rock legends Ministry and their 'Psalm 69' opus and the career peak of funk-rock behemoths Faith No More and 'Angel Dust'. Future Oscar winner and soundtrack maestro Trent Reznor re-appeared in 92 with his Nine Inch Nails collective with the incendiary 'Fixed' and 'Broken' EP's and, toward the back end of the year, LA's Rage Against The Machine made their first appearance with the cerebellum-crushing rock-rap hybrid 'Killing In The Name' which, aside from going on to become one of the most important rock songs of all time, also turned the aforementioned Loony Toons into a seething mass of moshing madness every Saturday during the winter of 1992. Tremendous.
The three most important rock records of 1992 for me though were the second album from doom-laden Seattle grungers Alice In Chains who released the astonishingly dark and anxiety-inducing 'Dirt' in the autumn and promptly became huge. The Black Crowes returned after a couple of years away with the barn-storming glory of  'The Southern Harmony And Musical Companion' which, doing exactly what it said on the tin, sold millions and placed then firmly on the edge of superstardom. And then there was Pearl Jam. When their debut single 'Alive' was released in February of 1992, it immediately became obvious to me that this utterly thrilling meld of Seattle grunge and 70's indebted classic rock would be by my side for ever. Not only that, but Pearl Jam's lead singer was none other than one Eddie Vedder - that second vocalist on 'Hunger Strike' by Temple Of The Dog, a song I had played to death throughout the previous summer.

Pearl Jam's debut album - the all killer, no filler majesty of 'Ten' - hit the shelves in March and, looking back, I'm pretty sure I played that album more than anything else over the whole of 1992. Probably 1993 too. What a record.

Other alt-rock and indie bands from the US that pinged my radar that year included cult acts like Sonic Youth, who released the storming 'Dirty' album, the corking 'Safari' EP by The Breeders, Throwing Muses and their 'Red Heaven' opus, Nick Cave and his Bad Seeds with their 7th album of gothic melodrama 'Henry's Dream' as well as fabulous debuts from Boston songstrel Juliana Hatfield, shoegaze enthusiasts Drop Nineteens, ex-Galaxie 500 guitarist Dean Wareham and his new Luna project and Arizona college rockers Gin Blossoms. Pick of the bunch though were the debut album from ex-Husker Du lead singer Bob Mould's new group Sugar who released the staggeringly brilliant 'Copper Blue' to rave reviews across the board. With good reason too as it's an utterly glorious collection of fuzz-drenched and punk-influenced power-pop, all laced with heart-rending lyrics and choruses to hang your hat on. Sublime. Even better though were 'It's A Shame About Ray' by Boston indie-rock dreamboat Evan Dando and his Lemonheads collective - which, at that time, also included Juliana Hatfield; 'Slanted And Enchanted' by North Carolina art-rock combo Pavement; and the magisterial 'Let Me Come Over' by Bostonian college-rock heroes Buffalo Tom. All three of these albums have been constants in my life since they were all released - within weeks of each other in fact. I used to play them on regular rotation at the Guildford Our Price store - to the eventual annoyance of most of my fellow staff members - and they still all feature in my Top 30 albums of all-time. What a time it was.

UK indie had a solid year too with fine debut offerings from the likes of future legends Manic Street Preachers and PJ Harvey, decent returns from former Smiths nabob Morrissey, Madchester nutjobs Happy Mondays, Stourbridge cronies Ned's Atomic Dustbin and Pop Will Eat Itself, as well as the likes of Therapy, Curve, Lush, James, The Charlatans, the wonderful 'Honey's Dead' from The Jesus And Mary Chain, Cud, The Sundays, Stereolab and Spiritualized. There was also a couple of wonderful one-off singles from Swervedriver with 'Never Lose That Feeling' and Adorable's incredible 'Sunshine Smile' as well as debut EPs from two bands who would become huge later in the 90s: Suede's 'The Drowners' and 'All In The Mind' by The Verve. Again though, there were three indie albums that stood head and shoulders above the pack for me. Ride's second collection of epic, prog-influenced shoegaze stormers - 'Going Blank Again' - was a splendid step up from their fine debut of a couple of years previously. Both principal songwriters - Mark Gardener and Andy Bell - were firing on all cylinders and, although they've released some excellent music since, nothing quite matches this one.

Another shoegaze combo - this time with a bit more beef behind their guitar sound - were Catherine Wheel, who had released the astounding wall of sound 'Black Metallic' in November of 1991. Their debut album, the sky-scraping 'Ferment' did not disappoint either and bagged many an hour of playing time on my stereo. And there was also a wonderful album of jangle-infused melodic indie strummers from The House Of Love whos 'Babe Rainbow' was an absolute delight.
Hip-hop and dance music still managed to make inroads into my consciousness - despite the all-pervading guitar-heavy sounds swirling around me at that time - with brilliant beats and remarkable rhymes from faves such as the Beastie Boys, Gang Starr, EPMD, Ice T and his ear-frazzling Body Count crew, ex-N.W.A. partners Dr. Dre and Ice Cube and new discoveries like Arrested Development, House Of Pain, the mind-melding lyrical brilliance of The Disposable Heroes Of Hiphoprisy, mysterious Cornish techno boffin The Aphex Twin and Essex rave titans The Prodigy - the latter of which would become one of the biggest bands of the 90's. There was also room for some classic acts and regular favourites of mine who all released very good albums in 1992: Lou Reed, Bruce Springsteen, The Cure, The B-52's, Prince, Suzanne Vega, INXS, Peter Gabriel, Roger Waters, the utterly wondrous 'Ingenue' from US country star K.D. Lang, and three superb albums from three of the finest songwriters of all-time: Leonard Cohen's 'The Future', the clanging Dystopian nightmare that was 'Bone Machine' by Tom Waits and the lush, acoustic gloriousness of 'Harvest Moon' by Neil Young. I also discovered the quite brilliant 'Hollywood Town Hall' by Minnesota's The Jayhawks which became my entry point into the whole alt-country and Americana scene of the mid-90's.

I also became aware of two new striking American songwriting voices that quietly crossed the water into the UK music scene during the early summer months. Singer and classically trained pianist Tori Amos had been peddling a soft-rock power ballad style of music for a couple of years to little success before stripping everything back to the basics and focusing her writing style on a more personal view of feminism, sexuality and religion. Her debut album - the still staggering 'Little Earthquakes' - blew my mind on first hearing, and it still resonates almost thirty years down the line.

And I also heard Mark Kozelek for the first time when his band - Red House Painters - released the 'Down Colourful Hill' mini-album. I've regarded Kozelek as one of the greatest living songwriters for quite a while now - he's certainly up there with Dylan, Waits and Cohen for me and, despite recent unsavoury revelations, I still feel that the bulk of his work is worthy of that accolade. This opening salvo is raw and ramshackle but the kernel of his genius is there - especially in the likes of 'Medicine Bottle' and the stunning 'Michael'. 
Talking of Michael's, wither Mr. Stipe and his R.E.M. cronies? Well, after the massive success of 1991's 'Out Of Time', the Atlanta alt-rockers took a tiny amount of time off before returning in October of 92 with the equally brilliant - if not even better - 'Automatic For The People'. A concept album of sorts, that focused on death, depression, ennui, lost love and the passing of time, this really shouldn't have worked at all. Somehow though, the album chimed with the bulk of the so-called Generation X and, coupled with timeless songs like 'Everybody Hurts', 'Man On The Moon' and 'Drive', the album was even more popular than it's predecessor - selling over 20 million copies world-wide. An extraordinary achievement for such a seemingly dark album. But then, R.E.M. were an extraordinary band.

Alongside all this fantastically magnificent music, there were gigs aplenty and with most events still costing just under a tenner there was huge scope for cramming in as many concerts as time and money would allow. The first half of the year saw me and my like-minded compadres grabbing front and center views of the likes of Lou Reed, My Bloody Valentine, Blur, The Jesus And Mary Chain, Senseless Things and Dinosaur Jr. as well as a rather splendid day out in Finsbury Park where goth-rock show-ponies The Cult headlined a bill that also showcased Brit-indie heroes Ned's Atomic Dustbin, Mega City 4, Therapy, PJ Harvey and Nitzer Ebb alongside US grunge royalty Pearl Jam and L7. It was a thoroughly enjoyable day. The autumn months saw me bouncing along in my plaid shirt and heavy boots to performances by Therapy, Sugar, Pavement, Throwing Muses, Cud, Pop Will Eat Itself, Mudhoney, Ned's Atomic Dustbin, Smashing Pumpkins and - in the case of Ministry's outstanding Brixton Academy outing - one of the loudest things I've ever been to in my life - before or since. Ear-splittingly good.

The event of the year though was my first Reading Festival over the August Bank holiday weekend. These days of course, Reading is twinned with Leeds for the annual 'R&LF' event which caters specifically for teenagers who have just passed their GCSE's. The modern-day lineup does a very good job of covering the pop and grime market with the odd rock band thrown in but in the early 90's the Reading Festival was a full-blown rock, metal and indie affair. I went to three more Reading's before trying other events and I always had a monumental time - despite the torrential rain most years and the occasional dodgy acid trip. 1992's event though will always take pride of place as it was my first one and as it also turned out to be Nirvana's final UK performance. Their Sunday night headline spot was - in truth - a little ropey in parts but for a lot of the time it was dazzling. Unlike the weather that remained dark, damp and gloomy for the entirety of the weekend. However, myself and my companions witnessed some truly amazing sets from the likes of Ride, The Wonder Stuff, Public Enemy, Mudhoney, Pavement, Teenage Fanclub, Smashing Pumpkins, L7, Nick Cave and - as the old saying goes - many, many more.

As 92 drew to a close though, things started to shift. The grunge scene - which had seemed so lively and exciting only a year or so previously - had started to fester into darkness and despair. It was obvious to us fans that certain figures from our favourite bands - Cobain being the most obvious example - had taken to experimenting with seriously hard drugs and the effect of this on the music was readily apparent. As much as I love 'Dirt' by Alice In Chains for example, it's an incredibly dark and destructive listen. There wasn't much joy to be had in the US rock scene and this doom and gloom seemed to filter through to the fans on the outside. My little Leatherhead bubble in particular became increasingly haggard and frayed around the ages. I'd lost my Our Price job due to a period of drug-frazzled tardiness and I knew of a few others who found themselves without work and lacking the funds to keep up the lifestyle we'd enjoyed over the previous months. The drugs became harder as the nights grew longer and relationships soured, friendships floundered and it became time to move on. After a difficult period of homelessness and weaning myself off certain pharmaceuticals, I left Surrey in early 93 to start a new life in London.

That period of time though - roughly from the spring of 1989 to Christmas 1992 - moulded me into the person I am now. The ups, the downs, the rough, the smooth, the ecstatic highs and the depression-filled lows. The music, the bands, the parties, the people, the gigs, the festivals, the joy and the despair. Acid House. Grunge. Alt-Rock. Indie-Dance. Hip-Hop. Techno. Heavy Metal. Dream-Pop. It all happened as it was supposed to happen and I wouldn't change a single thing. Except maybe that time at that party when my legs fell off. Now that was some trip....

TOP 15 ALBUMS OF 1992:

15: NEIL YOUNG: HARVEST MOON
14: CATHERINE WHEEL: FERMENT
13: THE HOUSE OF LOVE: BABE RAINBOW
12: TOM WAITS: BONE MACHINE
11: RIDE: GOING BLANK AGAIN
10: THE BLACK CROWES: THE SOUTHERN HARMONY AND MUSICAL COMPANION
9:  SCREAMING TREES: SWEET OBLIVION
8:  ALICE IN CHAINS: DIRT
7:  SUGAR: COPPER BLUE
6:  TORI AMOS: LITTLE EARTHQUAKES
5:  PAVEMENT: SLANTED AND ENCHANTED
4:  THE LEMONHEADS: IT'S A SHAME ABOUT RAY
3:  R.E.M. : AUTOMATIC FOR THE PEOPLE
2:  BUFFALO TOM: LET ME COME OVER
1:  PEARL JAM: TEN

Watch the best videos and performances from these four astonishing years here:

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLlijCVNDG1zmqQ07NwQX_IoqyWVtO-rN6

Listen to the finest music from these phenomenal 48 months here:

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6qnSY7sHDTzCofEEOlVSdg?si=nCyDqI54Tu-rHinEg_5PPQ