Weirdness Flows: The Songs of Dinosaur Jr (51-60)
60 Crumble
Beyond (2007)
Beautifully understated and elegant moment from Beyond, with one of J’s most plaintive and delicate vocals. Features one of those simple but gut-wrenching chord changes (‘built a picture yesterday’) that, on the first pass, leads into a compact, exquisitely restrained solo.
59 Good To Know
Give A Glimpse Of What Yer Not (2016)
Back to the hectic stuff: a thunderous intro gives way to a classic garage-punk riff; the chorus (‘not my love…’) is built around abrasive, squalling shards of wah-wah. Throw in an intricate high-register solo and you have a winning concoction.
58 Ocean in The Way
Farm (2009)
Towards the less frenetic end of the spectrum, ‘Ocean’ has a distinctive, thoughtful swagger. The crashing chords are deceptively simple, bolstering a tale of regret and confusion (‘there's an ocean inside of my mind / it's all so murky, the truth's hard to find’). The emergence of the solo at 2:50 is, if you’ll forgive the cliché, spine-tingling.
57 Forget the Swan
Dinosaur (1985)
Throughout Dinosaur, you can hear a young band wrestling with how to corral their various musical influences and a multitude of their own ideas into a coherent whole. It doesn’t always work, even if it’s entertaining to hear them try. Opening track ‘Swan’ is one of the most successful, not because it’s especially cohesive - there are some jarring transitions, and it’s a little sloppy in places - but because it sounds more like a song trying to branch out into interesting directions than a random stew of multiple ideas.
The main sections, sung earnestly by Lou Barlow over a spindly guitar line, have an almost poppy hook, J’s left-turn into country territory just about hangs in place, and the burst of flanged guitar distortion is a blast. There’s some intriguingly abstract imagery in the lyric (‘I found a box / untethered and true / possession it understood’) although on occasion it does try a little too hard to be deep and meaningful (‘Beware her wrath, the image gone / the shell is crumbling, fix my frown’).
56 Pond Song
Bug (1988)
A song of delicious contrasts. The main body of the song alternates between a crooning vocal backed by melodic arpeggios and a crunchy riff underpinning a withering drawl; the middle eight consists of a dreamy refrain punctuated with bursts of controlled aggression. The lyric has a touch of ‘rhyming dictionary’ about it in places (‘The dreams keep me awake / feelings seem hard to shake / same way I always flake’) but ‘I sprinkle looks to let you know… jump on now, or we'll have to row’ is goofily sweet.
55 Stick A Toe In
I Bet On Sky (2012)
Drifts along hazily, occasionally rousing itself into a melancholy yet stirring chorus. J is at his most world-weary, seemingly dredging many of the lines from the very depths of despondency; some of which are oddly fragmented (‘Take my hand / don't let her teach you of the feeling / you deserve anything’) which adds to the atmosphere of swirling mournfulness.
54 Tarpit
You're Living All Over Me (1987)
After a deceptively jaunty opening, the song slides into a bewitching two-chord swirl of muzzy distortion and plaintive despondency (‘it's time to burn the hope I stored’). J’s slightly off-kilter phrasing (Why's it screaming? / What's unfair?) guards against it becoming a dirge, and the way the song dissolves into unearthly, squalling discord in the final third is entrancing.
53 See It On Your Side
I Bet On Sky (2012)
I Bet On Sky reaches a highly satisfying conclusion with this expansive, mid-tempo track. There’s a pugnacious bass line, carefully flamboyant drumming, layers of Crazy Horse-esque rugged guitar, an uplifting refrain (‘all this time…’) interspersed with thoughtful, downtempo lulls and grimily fuzzy salvos of keening solo guitar - over which J delivers a vocal rich in regret and ennui.
52 Water
Green Mind (1991)
On the second side of Green Mind, ‘Water’ sits stylistically somewhere between the clumsy shuffle of ‘Muck’ and the soporific haze of ‘Thumb’ and is more successful than both. Crisp and controlled, it’s only slightly let down by that hangover-from-the-80s crashy drum sound.
51 Drawerings
Where You Been (1993)
A sludgy yet stately march that feels in danger of falling apart at any moment; something that is emphasised by the incredibly forlorn and desperate vocal. It sounds as though J is having to summon up every single ounce of his remaining energy to perform it - the way he delivers the line, ‘I can't decipher messages you send’ in particular feels as if it took a heroic struggle. The melancholy guitar solo towards the end echoes the desperate tone of the vocal beautifully.
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