The cover to the 1994 reissue of RFTC’s Boychucker captures the short-lived fad of mid-90s youths with custom, RFTC cutout Pogs. Remember Pogs? Nah, neither do we. The back cover comically spotlights Speedo (Swami) furiously destroying a couple of grade school infants at this forgotten and aggressive activity. Get the original, but checkout this reissue. LONG LIVE POGS!
Back when Lagwagon’s sophomore album, 1994’s Trashed was rereleased on colored vinyl (2008), buyers were not told which colored vinyl version they would receive. Fat Wreck Chords didn’t indicate the varying array of colors, so nobody knew how many variations of the 765 reissues there were. Then pictures started popping up on forums showcasing a coke bottle clear vinyl version. Having already owned the original, black vinyl version of Trashed, and having received a blue vinyl reissue, I decided it made plenty of sense to order another and try my luck at the coveted coke bottle clear version. What I received was this muddy purple version, and then all 765 were sold out. For the past 7 years I’ve been hunting for that damn coke bottle clear version, but those lucky bastards aren’t selling, and rightfully so. The last one sold on Discogs on 11/13 for a whopping $85, so the hunt for a reasonably priced copy continues. On a side note, I’ve since acquired yet another copy of Trashed with 2011’s Putting Music in its Place box set. It’s a great album, but I may be obsessing just a bit…
For its 20th anniversary, Old 97’s debut album, 1994’s Hitchhike to Rhome, was released on double translucent orange vinyl, which is painfully obvious after having already seen the photo on the left. I recently wrote about my esteemed excitement over this release, so I won’t ooze my giddy juice all over this post. What I will say, however, is that although this jelled mix of country and rock makes for a catchy, singalong classic, it is unmatched to the band’s third effort, 1997’s Too Far to Care. An album that, I’ll have you know, I’ve yet to find…
Majestic and righteous, all in one cohesive and awe-inspiring logo. File under Album Ass, or best logo of all time. On a side note, mainly because I don’t yet own it on vinyl, but how much does “fresh meat” in Underworld’s stellar Mmm, Skyscraper, I Love You sound like “Presley” during the line, “Elvis, fresh meat, a little whip cream?” Intentional? I’d say, yeah! Happy Monday.
Arguably the soundtrack to my 1994 summer, NOFX’s fifth studio album Punk in Drublic saw a slight cover variation between the compact disc and the vinyl release. For unknown reasons, the CD had a pink sky behind the floating rodeo queens and the pervie kid below, while the vinyl version (as you can plainly see here) has a light brown sky.
Serving (more or less) as the band’s greatest hits album (though, as previously stated, is a proper studio album), Punk in Drublic features the following personal favs: Scavenger Type, Lori Meyers, The Brews, Linoleum, Don’t Call Me White, and Punk Guy. A dubbed cassette version of this album (the B-side being Pennywise’s 1995 classic, About Time) lived inside my truck for a solid three years, and was constantly turned down (or off) by frequent riders as being “not universally enjoyable.” Oh, what I wouldn’t give to experience this album fresh for the first time again.
If ever there was the perfect collection of songs ripe for a transparent blue vinyl release, it’s Weezer’s debut album, 1994’s Weezer. So, one would think that said album would have several, slight variations of blue vinyl releases… 10th anniversary, 15th anniversary, the original Croatian release, but instead, there are exactly zero blue vinyl releases of this astounding, and necessary album. This is something that needs rectifying, people. Please file.
This could have been pressed on oil black, single vinyl with no bonus tracks or download card and I still would have thrown fists full of my hard earned cash for an opportunity to own Old 97’s insanely classic debut, Hitchhike to Rhome. Lucky for me, this puppy is the Cadillac of vinyl releases, as clearly stated by this marketing sticker, and needless to say, I’m giddy over FINALLY owning this uncompromising release.
Beware when purchasing records off Amazon, kids. There may well be a time when you read the description for a 2013 marble red vinyl reissue of Faith No More’s 1994 masterpiece, King for a Day Fool for a Lifetime, and you order and receive its black vinyl brother instead… then again, upon contacting Amazon describing the issue, they send out a replacement that’s… identical. Needless to say, they’re both going back. Buyer beware, kids
If you haven’t noticed, we’ve been swimming in the urine-infested pool of pop punk lately, and even though our fingers are beginning to prune, we’re not ready to towel off just yet. Released in 1994 by Epitaph Records, this first of (so far) 10 comps in the Punk-O-Rama series features early 90s classics by NOFX, Pennywise, The Offspring, Rancid, Bad Religion, and SNFU, among others. As the only version release on vinyl (then again in 2014 on limited green), Punk-O-Rama (vol. 1) stands alone, kicking the dirt with its boots, desperately waiting for his brothers, volumes 2 – 10 to come out to play. Punk-O-Rama is a pure, pop punk classic.
I’ve seen them live, and, in fact, they don’t suck. In general, perhaps, but for all the tomfoolery and blatant side poking they flamboyantly indulge themselves with, NOFX is a solid outfit, and a wholesomely prominent collective, “across the board.”
Do they rustle the feathers of social abnormality? Well, of course, and damn well they should! No effects are a necessity, no matter how it’s spelled.
So, after 19-years, the universe is one, once again. It wasn’t without the help from organ queen, Dr. Carol Williams, and Pinback alumni, Rob Crow, that Drive Like Jehu was able to reload their one-off reunited arsenal of post-hardcore wizardry. The venue, San Diego’s Spreckels Pipe Organ Pavilion at Balboa Park, was serene and picturesque, while the crowd, aging warriors with golden ears and eager offspring were many, and ecstatic.
Thank you in advance for allowing me to present this respectful homage (read: blatant ripoff) by the lovely (yet, unfortunately bankrupt) folks at Grand Royal Records, of Ronco Teleproducts, Inc.’s 1974 “as seen on TV” comp, Get It On! (If you look closely, you can see my father playing guitar above a couple adventure-types maneuvering a raging river in a tippy canoe.)
I’ve got to admit, as a collector of all things Grand Royal, I had no idea of this Ronco release, cover design or otherwise, until about a week ago. I’d ordered Super Hits online some time ago and had always admired its depiction of 70’s glowing sunshine, but, and I’m a bit bashful to admit, I had no idea it wasn’t anything shy of 100% original. I’m happy to report, that both comps are outstanding, in their own rights, of course. One has Also Sprach Zarathustra by Deodato, and the other has Mullet Head by the Beastie Boys, so really, what’s not to fall in love with?
The Avatars of They, before they were so known, switched from a quirky, two-piece, drum machine-heavy outfit to a full-fledged live ensemble with their fifth full length, 1994’s John Henry. One of only two TMBG CDs owned by yours truly back in High School, John Henry was on par with the critically, and fan, acclaimed Flood, their 1990 offering, for reasons, upon initial spinning, that are glaringly apparent.
Released on vinyl for the first time (on Asbestos Records), John Henry was one of the last remaining “need to own on vinyl” albums on my “never released on vinyl” wishlist. Thankfully, opportunity, and an understanding SO, allowed for this double LP to (finally) come home.
So much personal grief has been filtered through these 20 tracks, with specific, loathing, heartbroken attention diligently paid to A Self Called Nowhere. It’s exceptionally difficult to listen to this lamenting track and not picture the narrowing walls of my basement bedroom, all the while desperately (and at times violently) seeking any form of alleviation from the inevitable pains of one’s first breakup. A Self Called Nowhere was my internal theme for far too many weeks, and it helped to push me through an experience that callused my nerves like the fallout of first relationships are rightfully meant to do.
For being such a staple, or unquestionable necessity, I rarely ever listen to this 1994 musical masterpiece of cinematic wisdom. I remember discovering this soundtrack at a small-time Milwaukee record shop back, some 12+ years ago, and thinking how unbelievably underpriced it was at $4. Double that with the fact that I’ve never crossed paths with another copy makes me shamefully realize that I should spin the ol’ girl much more often than I do.
Desperado needs a vinyl release. I’m just going to put that out there and let the potential fate of Antonio Banderas-admiring record collectors (such as myself) scurry amongst the hopes and dreams of wishful thoughts, until it becomes a reality, if only within the confines of our own imaginations.
The Bouncing Souls were often the frontrunners for repeated and consistent spins during my (long-winded) pop-punk days. Their first album, 1994’s The Good, The Bad, and the Argyle, featured this Neurotic 7” in its entirety, although its tracks don’t appear in the same order. The New Jersey punk outfit are a hell-of-a-lot of fun live, and the studio recordings of some of their early work still stands out as some of the best of the pop-punk genre.
I like your mom and it’s no fad,
I wanna’ marry her and be your dad
If you don’t know The Bouncing Souls, you should get a pretty good idea of their mischievous, yet adolescent tendencies by the above lyrics (which are pretty much the entirety of I Like Your Mom). Couple that with melodic, fast-paced race-rock, and you’ve got the makings for an energy-filled trip down Memory Ln (even if it happened to exist over 15 years ago).
The year was 1994, and oh what an awkward and transformable year it was. Allow me to paint a 20-year-old picture using swift, roomy strokes if I may. In those days, I occupied the basement of my parents’ suburban homestead. I shared my first quasi-studio apartment with a blow-up mattress for a bed, ripped out Snowboard Magazine pages taped to plastic sheets covering the rows and rows of canary yellow insulation, a loud and obnoxious hot water heater that would wake me up in the middle of the night in a dead panic, and of course, my adorable mother popping down every half hour to painstakingly adhere to the family laundry. My “bedroom” throughout the duration of my high school days was a labyrinth of new and exciting music, and at the time, few syncopated sounds were more otherworldly (for a suburban white kid living in the rural Midwest) than Los Angeles’ own, Cypress Hill.
As a gullible and easily impressionable youth, anything that wasn’t early 90s country radio (or the overly played and equally obnoxious doobs of the grunge scene) grabbed my conformed and sheltered ear. Jane’s Addiction, Onyx, Beastie Boys, Operation Ivy, Ministry, Vacuum Scam, and The Pharcyde all became rhythmically projected voices, representing the outside world; a world I knew nothing about, but that which promised gilded and painful excitement.
Cypress Hill’s first two albums are critically flawless. Fans of Tim McGraw and those still clinging to Pearl Jam may have a different (and mortally incorrect) opinion. On the We Ain’ Goin’ Out Like That single, which is really more of an EP, there featured a song that was released exclusively to this release. This song, the opus of my youth, and a song my friends and I still quote on a weekly bases, is Scooby Doo. No mysteries are solved during the three minutes and 39 seconds of this epic story, and nobody utters the icon phrase “jinkies” (at least in English). Instead, Scooby Doo is a bass-heavy, skull-vibrating anthem covering themes of street confrontations and the ultimate and fatal error of crossing that forbidden line in the sand. It was, at the time, a force so strong, we’d play it on as many different stereos as we could to see whose rig had the biggest bass. Lancer Dancer is the legendary champ on all counts of said experiment (his mobile speaker system would knock you up side the head and inject a subtle, but piercing ringing sensation, both pleasing and a bit sobering).
Scooby Doo, if only for me, and a modest core group of friends, is 1000 times more legendary than Stairway to Heaven, and will forever live as the biggest, most atrocious bass-tastic song I’ve ever had the distinct pleasure of experiencing.
You’d aroun’ da way, mang… I know where chu at!