Grunge Is Dead

by Greg Prato

  JOHN LEIGHTON BEEZER: Mudhoney gets a lot of respect, for saying, “Whatever we were doing with Sub Pop, we were doing it right. Why on earth would we want to change?” Well, several million dollars, maybe? [Laughs.] They stayed with Sub Pop during that feeding frenzy. I think Nirvana ended up being “the Mudhoney that wasn’t Mudhoney.” You can’t take anything away from Nirvana, but at the time, they were like “the little brother band.” When I first saw [Nirvana] on MTV, I thought, “Oh my God, that’s Mark Arm playing Steve Turner’s guitar!” Steve had that trademark baby blue Fender Jaguar, and that was Mark’s hair. It wasn’t a coincidence — he really looked up to Mudhoney, and wanted to be Mudhoney. When Mudhoney wouldn’t sign with a major, the majors went around saying, “What’s the next best Mudhoney?” It was Nirvana.

  MARK ARM: We didn’t leave Sub Pop because Nirvana got huge. We left before Nirvana exploded. If we knew that would happen, we could’ve stayed at Sub Pop. We left because Sub Pop was so overextended financially that we thought it would collapse. We decided that we had to get out of there before our friendships were strained over some stupid little thing like money. It was tough for us to leave, but we felt like it was something that we had to do. I know it was tough on Bruce and Jon too — Nirvana had just left. Now Mudhoney, Tad, and the Fluid were leaving.

  The first label we met with was Caroline Records. They distributed Sub Pop at the time, and we thought we could cut out the middleman, and deal directly with Caroline. So the president of the company, Keith Wood, came out from New York and took us to lunch. They were having success with the first Smashing Pumpkins album [1991’s Gish]. He told us that if we wanted to be on Caroline, we would have to do a couple of things. First, we would have to concentrate on Mudhoney, and we couldn’t have any side projects. Steve and I had just done the Monkeywrench record. We were just like, “Huh? We should be free to do whatever we want to, when we want to!” Then he said we had to sweeten our guitar sound [laughs]. We’re like, “If we sweeten our guitar sound, what have we got?” Finally, he said we’d have to tour nine months out of the year, because that’s what the Smashing Pumpkins did. That would raise our profile and make shit happen for us. We were looking at each other in disbelief. We could do whatever the hell we wanted at Sub Pop — this sounded insane. We figured if this kind of insane shit is coming from a guy from a minor independent label, we might as well start talking to majors. What have we got to lose?

  So we talked to a couple of labels — we whittled it down to Epic and Reprise. The a&r rep at Epic was this guy who wore cowboy boots and a black fringe leather jacket. He was a nice enough guy, but he had this dude-in-the-record-industry vibe. When we did the rounds at the Reprise offices, we met Bill Bentley, a publicist who’d been there forever, and probably still is. He was the first person we met who didn’t cover his walls with posters from the label. He’s a music fan, a human — not just a shill promoting whatever “hot new release” the label is currently pushing. There were more people like that at Reprise than any of the other labels we went to. It seemed more real to us. Also, Warner Bros./Reprise had this long history of being “the artist friendly major label.”

  Another weird thing was Sonic Youth, who were on DGC — a Geffen subsidiary — had been authorized to act as a&r reps for that label. So they were trying to get us to sign to DGC through them. We met with their manager, John Silva, who was also Nirvana’s manager. The guy always gave us really weird vibes — he seemed a little slimy. We had a lunch meeting with him right when “Teen Spirit” starting getting airplay on MTV. He’s facing a TV, we’ve got our backs to it. He’s talking at us, not to us, staring at the TV. And then the Nirvana clip came on — he starts laughing. He’s trying to tell us what he could do for us. “Sonic Youth — in name — will be your a&r guy. But basically, your a&r guy is going to be me” [laughs]. He’s totally transfixed by the fact that Nirvana is taking off. I swear you could see dollar signs in his eyeballs. It was just the fucking grossest, most transparently icky encounter we had in our label search [laughs]. Of all the a&r people we met, David Katznelson — who wooed us on behalf of Reprise — was the most down-to-earth. At the time, Reprise seemed like it was as cool as a major label could get. We didn’t realize that that was only going to last a couple more years.

  ART CHANTRY: Mudhoney everyone thought was smart, because they were one of the last ones to sign with a major. They signed for an incredibly low advance in exchange for ultimate creative control. No other band did that — they all took big advances. Advances are loans — they have to be paid back to royalties. So what happens is the bands become indentured servants — they owe money and they work until they pay off the debt. Time and time again, you saw bands from Seattle — hungry for the limelight after years of toiling for nothing — getting this huge carrot on the end of this real long stick. They’d try to resist, but just couldn’t restrain themselves. The moment they grabbed for that carrot, man, they were toast. And Mudhoney didn’t do that. And even then, they ended up getting screwed [laughs].

  COLLEEN COMBS: I looked at Mudhoney as being middle class. They didn’t become millionaires, but they really could make a living off what they did. Which is what a lot of musicians always said they wanted. And in Seattle, you could buy a house and live a decent life at that level.

  MARK ARM: The Singles soundtrack was another one of those weird things — they offered us $20,000 to come up with a song for the soundtrack. Twenty thousand for one song? That’s insane! I’m sure they thought that we would go into a huge studio. Most of the other bands were used to working with major label budgets. They’re probably used to spending $200,000 or more on a record, so I guess $20,000 is one-tenth of a ten-song album. We went back to Conrad’s, recorded “Overblown” for $164, and kept the rest [laughs]. We recorded and mixed it in one afternoon. I was incredibly stupid with money then — I was blowing it on heroin. Money would come in and flow out like water going over a waterfall. The one good thing about having all this money — I never got to the point where I was stealing from friends or family. God, the stories you hear about junkies who’ll do anything to stay high. Luckily, I was in a comfortable enough place. I also supported my girlfriend’s habit, and I was fairly generous with other friends [laughs].

  We recorded [1992’s] Piece of Cake in the same studio we used for Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge — Conrad Uno’s basement. When underground bands from the ’80s, like Hüsker Dü and the Replacements signed to Warner Bros., their records got slicker. The main reason we worked with Conrad on Piece of Cake — besides the fact that we liked working with him — was that it would prove a point. Prove to ourselves, and to the people who would pick up the next record who had been fans of ours, that we weren’t going to radically change our sound. The bonus was that we recorded Piece of Cake for $20,000 and got to keep the rest of the money [laughs]. I’m not even sure I was aware that was how our contract was set up until the check came. That was probably one of the smartest things we ever did, because it allowed all of us to put down payments on houses.

  STEVE TURNER: We didn’t think it was that great of a record after a few years. There was some filler on that record.

  ED FOTHERINGHAM: When they signed to Warner Bros. and were putting out a record with them, [they] wanted Art Chantry to design it, and me to illustrate it. So I made money that I didn’t think was possible before — I quit my day job and became an illustrator, and stopped painting. Then I went to New York — I’d been doing these record covers, so I had printed work. I went into the New Yorker, and had a job in two days. I can’t tell you how great it was to be from Seattle in 1992. It opened doors like it was fucking crazy. It was hilarious — a joke. What’s wrong with you people? You suckers. It was sucker-time.

  EDDIE VEDDER: You know who’s a big part of Seattle music for me? The obvious answer is Mudhoney — but also Bob Whittaker, who is like the fifth member of Mudhoney. He was the manager, but if you were to make a Richard Lester film about Mudhoney, the other star of the ban
d is Bob. And I think it was becoming friendly with them that really felt like a big part of being accepted. The acquaintances of that facet of Seattle — that was the real deal, as far as from Nils Bernstein to Per Bernstein, to Bob, Charlie from the U-Men, John Bigley, to the Fastbacks and Kurt. Because I definitely did feel like an outsider, and was really malleable as far as, “How do you do this stuff?” I think I knew how to work on music and all that, but I didn’t know how much fun you were allowed to have [laughs].

  I remember going over to Novoselic’s house, and he had two pinball machines in the basement. And I thought, “Well … you’re allowed to do that?” Like that’s not seen as decadent and “Liberace,” but cool — having a jukebox. Whether it was or not, they made it that way. It was a blast. So I was highly impressionable and fortunate to be around to not make all my mistakes on my own. And at the same time, not take yourself so fucking seriously. You do things, and in the back of your head you could just hear Danny Peters and Matt Lukin laughing at you [laughs]. As they watch some MTV Awards, or whatever the fuck it is. Or seeing them in a pool hall, and them going, “Dude, what was that about?” Thinking you did something intense and cool, and they’re like, “Yeah — whatever, guy.” I owe them a lot.

  LILLY MILIC: They played with Sonic Youth at Red Rocks. I remember being backstage with them, and some girls showed up — groupies. I remember all of us looking at them, and they’re standing looking at us. Mudhoney, this is not typical rock, in terms of their attitude — rock star–ish or anything. Matt Lukin looked at them and said, “Do you have a beer?” They had nothing to say, they just stood there uncomfortable, and walked away.

  VAN CONNER: The Mudhoney guys — similar to the Nirvana guys, in the “taking it to the nth level.” I remember after the Reading Festival, all three bands running around and raising total hell. I fell off the stage and screwed up my foot really bad. I remember waking up in the middle of the night in Dan Peters’ bed, with their tour manager on top of me in a dress, trying to kiss me — with my foot throbbing in massive pain! Peters had to take me to the hospital. I’m lying there in pain, and Peters stole a whole bunch of latex gloves.

  DONITA SPARKS: I think we played the Endfest with them, at the Vogue. I was a little nervous because I could see Mark Arm — he was on the side of the stage. We were doing a cover of Agent Orange’s “Bloodstains” — I busted into the lead, and I totally played it in the wrong key. And he put his arms in the air, like it was the greatest thing!

  RON HEATHMAN: I don’t think a better front guy can be found than Mark Arm. He’s everything. Their shows were mind-blowing. And then getting to know them, they never took themselves seriously — at all. I still appreciate that.

  EDDIE VEDDER: I probably tried to get the courage to say hello to Mark that first time that we played. There’s a healthy sense of intimidation about him [laughs]. We were going to Europe for the first time — I got the courage to ask Mark, “Any advice?” I could see [he was like], “OK, I’ll go along with it.” He goes, “Yeah, don’t smuggle.”

  I was shooting a lot of Super 8 back in those days — and I have incredible footage of Mudhoney. There’s no sound, it’s silent. I’d watch this footage, and at one point, they’re playing, all synchronized — Matt’s head bobbing with Danny’s drums — and it’s a shot from the side, you can see everybody. All of a sudden, they take their hands off the guitars, they all turn around — as if this is Russian synchronized swimming or something — pick up a beer, take a sip, lean their heads back, put the beer down, back to the song. All four of them — unbeknownst to them that they’re doing this. Just magic.

  If you go back and listen to tapes of Matt Lukin at the end of shows, he’d walk off, and just as he was stepping to the middle of the stage, he’d see Mark’s mic, and look at it as if it was an old friend that he bumped into on the street. He’d just have to say something. The most bizarre, non sequitur … y’know, “How about them Cowboys?” I don’t even know what that means. Always a real experience — something just perfectly random.

  STEVE TURNER: We were doing really well on the college circuit, but we never thought we would be the next “explosion.” We knew our place immediately — “OK, footnote!” [Laughs.]

  TAD DOYLE: We got signed initially to RCA/BMG for about five minutes. They gave us this huge advance. Then they decided they wanted to sell the contract, so we moved to Giant/Warner. Little did I know how good we had it with Sub Pop. I don’t regret doing anything I did, but I do regret how it turned out a lot of times. It seems like we could have gotten a little more action out of these labels. They throw 5,000 releases out per year, and the one that sticks to the wall is the one they focus on. We didn’t change what we were doing — we kept on doing what we loved. Never once did we let go of our integrity to do something different and out of our comfort zone.

  KURT DANIELSON: We found another drummer — Josh Sinder — he used to play drums for the Accüsed. He went into the studio with us to do [1993’s] Inhaler. I felt now and then that this record was as important as 8-Way Santa, in terms of the music itself. It was a completely different kind of production — much rawer than 8-Way Santa. Ironically, it cost a lot more money. But we had a lot of fun making it — it was fun working with J Mascis as a producer. After Inhaler, Gary left the band. Gary — from the very beginning — was an integral part, just as Steve was. I can’t say what happened with Gary, although I feel personally that I made a mistake, and I wish that we would have continued working with Gary. When he was gone, I realized how important he was.

  JACK ENDINO: The final thing [Skin Yard] did as a band was tour Europe in October–November [1991]. We toured the U.S. and then we went to Europe immediately — five weeks here and then five weeks there. Our fourth record came out around the same time, [1991’s] 1,000 Smiling Knuckles, and was our biggest record — it did about 14,000 copies — which is very good for an indie record. At least in those days. We went to Europe, and at the end of our tour, all our equipment got stolen — that took the wind out of our sails. We finished the tour on borrowed equipment. Literally, on the flight home, the band called it quits. We were all tired at that point; my producing career was starting to take off. All these people really wanted to give me money and confine me to the studio for long periods. Our singer Ben was starting Gruntruck — he was getting antsy to get that going.

  No more than two weeks after we got home, in January of 1992, I got a phone call from Van Conner of the Screaming Trees. He said, “We heard you guys are breaking up. I didn’t want to ask this without checking with you first — but we need a drummer.” [Laughs.] He was interested in Barrett, who was the drummer for the last two years of our existence. And I just got this look on my face — “Oh my God, Barrett Martin in the Screaming Trees? What an amazing idea! Yes, take him!” So Barrett joined the Screaming Trees, Ben started Gruntruck, Daniel had become a father shortly before and had already left the band a few months before that — he was running C/Z Records full-time. And I became a record producer full-time. The funny thing was a few months later, we called each other up and said, “You know all those songs we wrote last year? We really should make a fifth album.” So we decided to make one more record — for posterity. We made [1993’s Inside the Eye], even though we didn’t play any more shows. I’m satisfied with what we did — five albums that are dramatically different from each other.

  Skin Yard ( Jack Endino second from right)

  VAN CONNER: When we got [Barrett], we decided, “Let’s make a different kind of record.” He was a different drummer then we had before — more Bonham-y. We came up with things [on 1992’s Sweet Oblivion] like “Shadow of the Season,” where it was more of a groove, heavier sound than we had before.

  MATT VAUGHAN: The Screaming Trees were also on the tour [with Alice in Chains and Gruntruck]. This was the same tour that Mark Lanegan supposedly “went to the hospital.” I remember seeing an MTV news report that Lanegan had to go to the hospital and was off the tour for a week. When, in act
uality, that’s not what happened at all — he was just missing for a while. I think management had to spin the story a bit. I remember him getting in a fight with Mark Naficy — the sound guy for all three bands. They got in a fistfight, but that isn’t anything that hadn’t happened before — Lanegan was known to throw his fists around. He threw me his coat and was beating up on Naficy. At first it was funny, but then got out of control. I remember Lanegan walking away and he just kept walking — I think we were in the South somewhere. He ended up hooking up with a girl, hung out with her for a week, and was later found in another part of the country. He may have had a stint in the hospital in his stupor or love hangover. Screaming Trees were off the bill for a week or two. Two years later, I get a tap on my shoulder at a Nick Cave show — as I’m wearing Mark’s coat — and Lanegan says, “I want my coat now.”

  TOM NIEMEYER: Screaming Trees were amazing, and got a small break for a minute. Image was too important to “the music machine,” so they got ignored.

  DALE CROVER: We were sitting in a restaurant, and Cobain goes, “Would you guys ever consider being on a major label?” We’re like, “Sure.” We got hooked up with these lawyers from Berkeley, who had done a deal for Mudhoney and Warner Bros. And because of Nirvana and the whole Seattle thing, our name always came up — those guys drummed up some business for us. We talked to a few labels. We went into Atlantic Records — the Lysol record was about to come out. We sat in a meeting with the people from Atlantic, Danny Goldberg, and played them this record. Said, “Check out our new record — what do you think? Still want to sign us now?” And they said, “We know what your band’s like. We know you’ve been working like this for a long time. We don’t expect you guys are going to be some huge band. We like your band, and we’ll put your records out. We’ll give you this much money, and let you do what you want to do.” Sounds good — why not? If this doesn’t work out, we could always go back and be on an independent label. We knew we were out of place. It was this opportunity we had to try.