by Mark Yarm
Copyright © 2011 by Mark Yarm
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Crown Archetype, an imprint of the
Crown Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
www.crownpublishing.com
Crown Archetype with colophon is a trademark of Random House, Inc.
Frontmatter photos: U-Men roadies Mike Tucker (left) and
Tommy Simpson pouring lighter fluid into the moat, and the
U-Men performing behind a wall of flames, both shot at the Mural
Amphitheatre, Seattle, September 1, 1985; © Valerie Broatch
Mudhoney “Overblown” lyrics on page vii copyright © 1992 Better
Than Your Music; used by permission.
The interviews contained herein have been edited for clarity.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Yarm, Mark.
Everybody loves our town : an oral history of Grunge / Mark Yarm.
p. cm.
1. Grunge music—United States—History and criticism. 2. Grunge
groups—Interviews. I. Title.
ML3534.3.Y37 2011
781.66—dc22 2011009192
eISBN: 978-0-307-46445-3
Photo research by Christine Reilly
jacket design by Maria Elias
Jacket photograph by Ed Sirrs
v3.1
To Bonnie and Dad
In loving memory of Clair Yarm
Everybody loves us
Everybody loves our town
That’s why I’m thinking lately
The time for leaving is now
—Mudhoney, “Overblown” (1992)
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
INTRODUCTION
CHAPTER 1:
SOMETHING CRAZY’S GONNA HAPPEN
CHAPTER 2:
THE GOSPEL ACCORDING TO BUZZ
CHAPTER 3:
HELLO, SEATTLE!
CHAPTER 4:
THE MOST BEAUTIFUL DANCE
CHAPTER 5:
SCREAMING LIFE
CHAPTER 6:
LEAVING HOME
CHAPTER 7:
A THIRD SOUND
CHAPTER 8:
THE FOUR WEIRDEST GUYS IN ELLENSBURG
CHAPTER 9:
GOING OUT OF BUSINESS SINCE 1988
CHAPTER 10:
SOUNDS LIKE THROW UP LOOKS
CHAPTER 11:
WE’RE RIPPING YOU OFF BIG TIME!
CHAPTER 12:
TOUCH ME I’M SICK
CHAPTER 13:
HE WHO RIDES THE PONY
CHAPTER 14:
BANDS THAT WILL MAKE MONEY
CHAPTER 15:
THE MUSIC BANK
Photo Insert 1
CHAPTER 16:
WHERE’S THE GROG?
CHAPTER 17:
CREATE YOUR OWN MYTH
CHAPTER 18:
INCOMPATIBLE INDIVIDUALS
CHAPTER 19:
ALL ABOUT KICKS
CHAPTER 20:
SMELL THE MAGIC
CHAPTER 21:
RAISE YOUR CANDLE HIGH
CHAPTER 22:
A BRIGHT, CLEAR SOUND
CHAPTER 23:
GOOD LUCK IN YOUR FUTURE ENDEAVORS
CHAPTER 24:
SICK OF CRYING
CHAPTER 25:
THE FINAL COUNTDOWN
CHAPTER 26:
PUNK BREAKS
CHAPTER 27:
ON THE CORNER OF DOPEY AND GOOFY
CHAPTER 28:
WILD OUTBURSTS IN PUBLIC PLACES
CHAPTER 29:
BILE HOG!
CHAPTER 30:
THE EMPEROR’S NEW FLANNEL
Photo Insert 2
CHAPTER 31:
THE OLD IMMIGRANTS HATE THE NEW IMMIGRANTS
CHAPTER 32:
STRANGE LOVE
CHAPTER 33:
INTO THE NIGHT
CHAPTER 34:
FUCK HOLLYWOOD!
CHAPTER 35:
A PROBLEM WITH WEIGHTS AND MEASURES
CHAPTER 36:
RADIO FRIENDLY UNIT SHIFTERS
CHAPTER 37:
NOTHING WAS THE SAME
CHAPTER 38:
ALL THE RAGE?
CHAPTER 39:
IN THE ROCKET
CHAPTER 40:
SITTING IN THE RUBBLE
CHAPTER 41:
FUCKING GREAT PRODUCTS
CHAPTER 42:
SOME IMPLODING GOING ON
CHAPTER 43:
THE MAD SEASON
CHAPTER 44:
THE BOYS WITH THE MOST CAKE
CHAPTER 45:
THE COUP
CHAPTER 46:
70 PERCENT OFF ALL FLANNEL
CHAPTER 47:
FELL ON BLACK DAYS
CHAPTER 48:
LOST NINE FRIENDS WE’LL NEVER KNOW
CHAPTER 49:
MY FRIEND, BUT NOT MY FRIEND
EPILOGUE:
THE COSMIC BROTHERHOOD OF ROCK
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
CAST OF CHARACTERS
NOTES
About the Author
First, let’s get that word out of the way. Grunge. Yes, this is a book about grunge. The term that bedeviled and, let’s face it, benefited (at least temporarily) many a Seattle rock musician in the early to mid-1990s. I cannot count how many times, when I described to an interviewee what exactly it was I was working on, I’d get back, “I hate that word …” And here they would go one of two ways: spit out “that word” grunge or insist, “I don’t even like to say it,” as if uttering that one syllable would somehow validate a now decades-old coinage. (For a thorough, yet inconclusive, probe into how grunge got its name, see chapter 17.) Others reacted to the term thusly: “rubs me raw,” “a marketing tool,” “it’s all just music,” “fuckin’ concocted bullshit.” And this: “When I see the word grunge, especially on books, I kind of go”—and at this point, the guy I was interviewing made a rather convincing vomiting sound.
Of course, most people don’t like to be reduced to a label (retch-inducing or otherwise), particularly when it’s applied seemingly indiscriminately by the media, as grunge often was after Nirvana broke into the mainstream with Nevermind’s lead single, the loud-quiet-loud anthem “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” in fall 1991. As more than one person asked me over the course of my putting this book together, how is it that a band like Pearl Jam—a well-polished musical outfit whose sound owes more to classic rock than punk rock—was labeled grunge, a word that evokes scuzzy guitar tones and all-around rawness? The answer, it would seem, comes down to genealogy (two of Pearl Jam’s members come from what many cite as the first grunge band, Green River) and, more simply, geography (they are, after all, from Seattle). “If you lived in Seattle and were under 30 at that point, you were grunge,” is how Ben London, who fronted the not particularly grungy Seattle band Alcohol Funnycar, described the early ’90s to me. Though in short order, the term would transcend geography, being applied to the Stone Temple Pilots (from San Diego), Bush (the U.K.), and Silverchair (Australia), all multiplatinum, “corporate rock” bands accused of jumping on the grunge bandwagon.
We could argue forever—and people on Internet message boards do—about what bands are grunge, because the label is entirely subjective. Are Alice in Chains grunge or heavy metal or both? Were 7 Year Bitch punk or grunge or Riot Grrrl? How about contemporary Canadian arena rockers Nickelback: Post-grunge? Neo-grunge? But with the passage of time, some in the Seattle music community have come to grudgingly accept the g-word. “We never considered anybody to
be grunge,” guitarist Steve Turner of Mudhoney—the band whose raw, scabrously funny single “Touch Me I’m Sick” epitomizes the so-called Seattle sound—told author Clinton Heylin a number of years back. “In 1995, we came out of the closet and said, ‘Fine, we’re grunge. If anybody fuckin’ is, we are.’ ”
Nirvana frontman Kurt Cobain once posed for a famous photo clutching his infant daughter, Frances Bean, and wearing a T-shirt bearing the words GRUNGE IS DEAD. This sentiment—then merely a joke/wishful thinking on the wearer’s part—also has become a point of vibrant debate, particularly since Cobain’s April 1994 suicide, which provided a convenient end to an era for some. But in the current decade, grunge seems to be quite animated: The Melvins, Mudhoney, and Candlebox are still kicking, and three of the big four grunge bands are also active concerns: Pearl Jam are celebrating their 20th anniversary this year; as of this writing, Alice in Chains are planning another studio album with their second singer; and Soundgarden are back together after a 13-year break. Meanwhile, surviving Nirvana members Dave Grohl and Krist Novoselic reunited with Nevermind producer Butch Vig to record a song for the latest album by Grohl’s Foo Fighters.
While Turner’s bandmate Mark Arm (no relation to this author, by the way) professes not to know what grunge is, he says, “I hate it when people say a particular type of music is dead. That’s a retarded notion. That’s viewing music as fashion”—and anyone who remembers the heyday of flannel and Doc Martens knows that grunge was viewed as fashion. “It doesn’t make any sense. It’s not dead as long as somebody’s playing it or writing songs in that style.”
So grunge, whatever it may be, is not dead. But enough from me—after all, I’m just a music writer from Brooklyn. This is a book made up almost entirely of the words of more than 250 musicians, producers, managers, record executives, video directors, photographers, journalists, publicists, club owners, roadies, scenesters, and hangers-on—people with firsthand knowledge of a truly remarkable era in rock-and-roll history. I hope their stories and commentary—at turns silly and insightful, hilarious and harrowing—affect you as profoundly as they affected me.
—Mark Yarm, May 2011
LARRY REID (U-Men manager; co-owner of Roscoe Louie/Graven Image galleries; Tracey Rowland’s husband) This was Labor Day weekend of 1985. Here’s how I remember it. The U-Men’s roadie, Mike Tucker, thinks it was my idea; I think it was Charlie Ryan’s idea. And it’s not that I don’t want to take credit for it, because it was brilliant. But I’m sure it was Charlie’s idea because Charlie had a fetish for Zippo lighters.
MIKE TUCKER (U-Men roadie) The idea, I do believe, was born out of a conversation between Larry and me. I remember going with Larry and getting the lighter fluid, which someone poured into Mickey’s brand malt-liquor bottles.
JIM TILLMAN (U-Men/Love Battery bassist) I’m fairly positive it was John’s idea. Suffice it to say that we all thought it was brilliant.
CHARLIE RYAN (U-Men/Cat Butt/the Crows drummer) It was my idea. I collected lighters. I was the firebug. I was the pyro. My idea!
LARRY REID The U-Men were the first real punk band ever booked at the Bumbershoot Festival. I managed to sell them as a performance-art combo. God bless ’em, the producers trusted me, and they shouldn’t have—and never did after this!
CHARLIE RYAN Larry says, “We’re on Bumbershoot.” And we’re like, “Oh, my God. Okay. This is going to be the ultimate showcase for us.” I start thinking about the fact that there’s the moat, this body of water in front of the stage. I wondered, Could we light it on fire?
LARRY REID Nobody was quite sure it would work, so we filled up my bathtub, poured some lighter fluid on it, and …
CHARLIE RYAN We took a match and threw it in, and it went boom! Flames.
LARRY REID There was a curtain on the window above the bathtub and it fucking went up, man. If we would’ve thought about it, we probably would’ve tried it outside using a bucket of water. The alarm went off, all hell broke loose—they had to empty the building, but it didn’t catch the apartment on fire. We were all high-fiving each other, and like, “Yes, this was a good thing. This is gonna work!”
So skip to the gig, a couple weeks later. Bumbershoot was held at an outdoor venue called the Mural Amphitheatre, which is on the grounds of this large city-owned property called the Seattle Center. There were hundreds of people in the audience because it was free.
KURT BLOCH (Fastbacks/Young Fresh Fellows guitarist) I was right there in the front. They’re setting up and everybody’s like, “Something crazy’s gonna happen, something crazy’s gonna happen.”
KERRI HARROP (Sub Pop Records sales and retail employee) I can even remember what I was wearing, the show was that significant. First of all, Bumbershoot’s this family-friendly event—it’s out on the open lawn in the shadow of the Space Needle—and you have these complete weirdos out on this stage.
CHARLIE RYAN It’s sunny and nice out, and we’re all in black leather and top hats and dark shades and being as menacing as we could be. Our freak show only appeared at night, in dark places, but here we are, in broad daylight. My mom was there—the end of the show wasn’t her proudest moment.
LARRY REID At the end of the set, the sun was just going down. Mike Tucker and myself walked out to the edge of the stage, and we’re each pouring what appeared to be a gallon of vodka into the pond. And Bigley comes out—they’re doing this song called “They,” which at that point was the standard last song.
JIM TILLMAN The last song was “Green Trumpet,” though I could be wrong. There were 2,000 or 3,000 people there. A couple of our friends, this guy Mike, who was sort of a roadie, and this other guy Tommy Bonehead—his real name was Tom Simpson, but he was called Bonehead because it didn’t matter how hard you’d hit him, he’d always fight—are pouring lighter fluid on either side of the stage.
TOM PRICE (U-Men/Cat Butt/Gas Huffer guitarist) We were playing a song called “10 After 1.” And John ducked behind an amp, because we didn’t want the authorities to see what was going on.
JOHN BIGLEY (U-Men/the Crows singer) I had gotten a broom and cut off the bristles, so it was just a nub where the bristles joined the handle, and wrapped it in a T-shirt soaked in lighter fluid. I ran back behind the drums, lit the broom with my lighter, and waited until the song “They” kicked into gear.
CHARLIE RYAN And John comes out, doing this insane tribal voodoo dance with a lit broom, menacing the crowd. And then he chucks it into the water.
MIKE TUCKER When John dipped his torch into the moat, it didn’t immediately ignite. It was like, “Oh, fuck, it didn’t work.” The second time he dipped it in, suddenly this wall of fire went up.
JOHN BIGLEY I throw the broom in and there was a giant fireball, 20 to 30 feet high, easy. It was gigantic and it made a sound, this whoosh of oxygen.
LARRY REID The pond fuckin’ exploded, man! I mean, it made the bathroom look like child’s play. It went up, oh, 10, 12, 15 feet.
JOE NEWTON (Gas Huffer drummer) My recollection was that it was over in the blink of an eye. It burned fast, it burned hugely high and bright, but it just lasted a second. I knew they were going to do it, and it was like, “That’s it?” Other people totally remember it being this huge wall of fire.
DENNIS R. WHITE (Pravda Productions partner; Desperate Times zine cofounder) In a lot of cases, people remember things being much bigger than they were. In this case, they don’t. It looked like the band was engulfed in flames.
JOHN BIGLEY And with the supercharged rock-and-roll music, that’s when the vast majority of the folks started jumping around and dancing. It was a crazy primal deal.
JAMES BURDYSHAW (Cat Butt guitarist; 64 Spiders guitarist/singer) The U-Men were into bones and skulls and black clothes and witch-doctor sort of imagery. The whole voodoo tribal thing became real ’cause the sun went down right when the flames happened. You felt like there was something dangerous going on but you couldn’t look away. The crowd was screaming, but it wasn’t out of fear. It was
like, Yes! Yes! It was elation.
It was like, Fuck the Man, we’re the most dangerous voodoo band—and we’re gonna do a human sacrifice next. It felt like that was gonna happen.
LARRY REID It was perfect, except we’d failed to take into consideration that the stage was built out over the pond. There was creosote and tar underneath the stage, so there was just black smoke billowing long after the flames had died down. And the soundman freaked out, thinking the stage was on fire, and he’s running up, trying to get his sound equipment off the stage. The audience is now going apeshit crazy. Cops being cops, they started wading into the audience and beating people with their billy clubs!
CHARLES PETERSON (photographer) The thing I remember most is that we all just went fuckin’ bonkers, and started slam-dancing into each other. And there were these Seattle Center security guards who thought we were getting into fights and were trying to separate us. This 60-year-old security guard was just freaking out, and some of us were like, “Dude, they’re just dancing!” I recall somebody grabbed a security guard’s hat and danced around. It was mayhem.
JOHN BIGLEY We finished the song, definitely. Someone, it might have been Larry, grabbed me and threw me towards the drums: “Get the fuck out! Load the shit!” It was very chaotic—people running and screaming and kids holding their eyes and arrests and that whole thing.
TRACEY ROWLAND (co-owner of Roscoe Louie/Graven Image galleries; Larry Reid’s wife) Norman Langill, who was running Bumbershoot, was yelling and screaming and freaking out and jumping up and down. He was furious.
JIM TILLMAN I’d parked our tour bus—it was a 1960s Chevy city school bus that said TACOMA HILLBILLIES on the side, though I have absolutely no idea why—in this spot next to the stage.
JOHN BIGLEY “Load the shit, load the shit!” We got loaded up and drove off before the police had gotten their act together to approach us.
CHARLIE RYAN I’ll never forget driving our bus out of the Seattle Center grounds—all of these nice, normal people looking up at us, these freaks in a school bus who had just set the moat on fire.