Weirdness Flows: The Songs of Dinosaur Jr (The Top Ten)

Before we get to the top ten, I'd like to thank everyone who has engaged with the blog and offered their comments. I'm grateful to Jason Gerber, the admin of the Facebook group, for allowing me to post my ramblings there. Particular thanks go to Joel Horton, who - although he disagrees vehemently with many of my evaluations - has offered positively-minded criticism throughout.

This list makes no claims to be definitive: it is a personal response borne out of a great love for the band's work, which has given me a lot of joy over the years. Even if you disagree with the order (which I know many of you do!) I hope the respect and admiration I have for what J, Lou, Murph and others have given us over the last 40 years is reflected in what I've written.

Thanks for reading!

Steve

10 I Don't Wanna Go There

Farm (2009)

I am, I must confess, a sucker for long, expansive songs (a lot of my listening is made up of stuff of the lengthy, psych-rock persuasion, like Kungens Män). This, I suppose, at least partly explains the appearance of Dinosaur Jr’s two longest songs in this top ten (the third longest, ‘Said The People’, came in at #44).

That said, there’s more to placing ‘I Don't Wanna Go There’ at number ten than the fact that it stretches to nearly nine minutes and is replete with all manner of majestic soloing (the sudden, frenetic appearance of the lead guitar at 4:15 is the pick of many choice moments). The way that the chunky riff alternates with the heady, swirling chorus, for example. But it’s also true that if this had been a four-minute track with a standard length solo, it would still have been an outstanding tune. However, the solos - especially the one that makes up the bulk of the second half - elevate it to something almost supernaturally poignant.

I occasionally wonder about J’s process in deciding which songs remain at ‘standard’ length and which get the full-on capacious treatment. Whatever the answer is, I remain eternally grateful that he chose to make this into such a captivating epic.

9 Alone

Hand It Over (1997)

J’s ventures into falsetto don’t always work, but they’re perfect here, contrasting especially effectively with the bed of shrieking distortion that alternates with the quiet, plaintive acoustic passages. The solos at points sit a little further back in the mix than is often the case, but this works well, contributing to a wall of noise that’s incredibly powerful. There’s a moment just past the 3-minute mark where the solo guitar kicks in that sets the heart racing. An incredibly, epically intense slow-burn howl of rejection.

8 In A Jar

You're Living All Over Me (1987)

After two sprawling behemoths, this is a very different proposition. ‘In A Jar’ is a wonderfully fractured, mysterious thing. The enigmatic lyric is delivered by J in a plaintive, vulnerable manner. At times, it sounds like the narrator is a pet animal (‘please come pat me on the head’; ‘you fed me / all I could do was lick your hand’; ‘you smile and decide to take me in / ‘cause I look cute by your bed’), although perhaps it’s all allegorical and it’s just a guy with really low self-esteem (‘just want to find out what you’re nice to me for’). Whichever, it’s certainly dark and on occasion disturbingly graphic (‘don't think I don't know about all the scabs you dread / it's hard to stomach the gore / I know you don't have the patience to peel 'em off no more’) - an aspect accentuated by the sinister moaning towards the end.

It’s also (for a Dinosaur Jr song) unusual, musically: led largely by Lou Barlow’s forthright bassline and supported by nimble but measured work from Murph, there’s barely any guitar until halfway through, and even then there’s only around 30 seconds’ worth of trademark distorted chords and soloing. The anticipation only serves to enhance the effect, the stirring guitar motif and compact solo that finally emerge acting as a joyous release after the preceding tension. To cement the air of mystery, the song concludes on a strangely quizzical and hesitant note. Overall, it’s a particularly singular piece of unfathomable beauty and curiosity.

7 They Always Come

Bug (1988)

Contains pretty much everything you’d ever want from a Dinosaur Jr song: a turbulent thrash tempered with aggressively abrupt pauses; a smoothly dynamic chorus (‘All the steps I’ve taken…’); an interlude of scratchy guitar that heralds a stately, anthemic passage featuring a yearning vocal (‘can’t face them…’) and a solo that both soars freely and whirls around itself furiously. And then it’s rounded off with a dreamily downbeat coda of cascading chords and a gently throbbing bass line. You really couldn’t ask for much more.

6 Just Like Heaven

Single (1989)

Cover versions tend to be rather throwaway things, hurriedly cobbled together to provide b-side fodder or fulfil a commitment to a various artists / tribute album. It’s unusual for them to be a particularly meaningful entry in a band’s back catalogue. Dinosaur Jr have recorded covers that are very much at the ‘throwaway’ end of the spectrum (‘Show Me The Way’ and ‘Lotta Love’, for example); they have also produced some that are solidly enjoyable (‘The Backyard’ and ‘Hot Burrito #2’). But their take on The Cure’s 1987 single is a rare example of a cover that transcends its source material without losing any of its original spirit.

The Cure song is an impeccably realised swirl of dreamily romantic longing; the Dinosaur Jr version deconstructs it brutally, but never loses sight of its emotional core. Layers of distortion and gruntingly heavily explosions transport the song to new heights, while J’s vocal is so effortlessly etched into the heart of it that it’s hard to believe that he didn’t write it himself. Robert Smith himself was a fan (‘it was so passionate. It was fantastic. I’ve never had such a visceral reaction to a cover version before or since’).

5 Feel The Pain

Without A Sound (1994)

The most incredibly taut and controlled song you’re ever likely to hear. That makes it sound sterile, but it’s actually full of exuberance and abandon. Its power comes from its unrelenting focus: everything is sharp and distinct; the chugging riff is steadfast, the chorus (‘is it up to me?’) is wildly free but clearly defined; the closing solo crams 20 years of J’s work into another 30-second summary of everything that makes him a genius.

Golf is the somewhat unlikely substitution for skateboarding in the video below; you can see the performance on Letterman here.

4 Been There All The Time

Beyond (2007)

A thrillingly exuberant blast of unbridled energy. It's another that contains all the elements of a classic Dinosaur Jr song: the crunchy staccato riff in the verse, the keening vocal over the thunderous chorus; the way that it’s punctuated by Murph’s tight fills and J’s array of bluesy bends and trills. Glorious stuff.

The interplay between J's solo bursts and the 'is it all me?' refrain in the closing section is particularly exhilarating. One YouTube commenter on the promo video - which features Thurston Moore and his daughter Coco - claims, quite reasonably, that this last solo is 'the best thing that ever happened.'

3 Get Me

Where You Been (1993)

What might have been a decent if unspectacular mid-tempo country-ish lope is elevated stratospherically by several factors: J’s tender world-weary vocal is one of his most vulnerable and among his very best; the chorus refrain (‘you're not gonna get me through this, are you?’) is beautifully, memorably moving; Tiffany Anders’ backing vocals are sublime, adding layers of depth and emotion. It’s a straightforward, unfussy lyric, a familiar tale of a relationship beset by uncertainty, but while the phrases might be relatively simple, they are genuinely touching: ‘every dream is shot by daylight’; ‘it's so hard to seem excited.’

And then, of course, we have the solos. Unusually, someone other than J has a go: Mike Johnson steps into the spotlight a minute or so in, contributing a clean, concise little piece of country-rock brio. Lovely though this is, it’s eclipsed by J’s two workouts in the second half of the song. In fact, it’s one solo really: after the first flourish, the solo still lurks in the background, bubbling away busily behind the final verses, biding its time patiently before bursting forth gloriously just after the four-minute mark. The concluding 100 seconds of the song see J come as close to perfection as is humanly possible, with a solo brimming with soul that grasps the heart and wrenches every last ounce of feeling from the strings. Even J, ever the master of understatement, was moved to describe the solo as ‘pretty good.’

2 Freak Scene

Bug (1988)

Like, I suspect, many others, this was the first Dinosaur Jr song I ever heard. I imagine it’s also the Dinosaur Jr song I’ve heard the most often - it’s certainly the one you’re most likely to hear on the radio or on a mixtape. If setlist.fm is to be believed, it’s by some distance their most-played live tune. Moreover, it has been written about more than any other track: number 48 on the NME’s ‘500 Greatest Songs Of All Time’ and the 74th best song of the 80s according to Pitchfork, for example. Everett True went as far as to say that the song ‘invented the slacker generation.’

With many artists, the ubiquity of their most prevalent / well-known / frequently played track can dull its impact, especially amongst those who would describe themselves as more than a casual listener. This has certainly been the case with other bands that I’ve written about myself: The Wedding Present’s ‘Brassneck’ and ‘Kennedy’ suffer from overfamiliarity as far as many of the more committed fans are concerned; the same is true of The Fall’s cover of ‘Mr Pharmacist’. However, in this case, despite the acres of print, the nearly 900 live outings and general popularity (Michael Azerrad commented that it ‘seemed to be blasting out of every dorm room in the country’ at the time), ‘Freak Scene’ still absolutely, utterly kills.

A ragged, visceral swirl of jagged riffs, laconic drawl and, as Azerrad, observes, ‘not one but two memorable, molten guitar solos,’ the song is somehow simultaneously laid-back and liberally smeared with don’t-give-a-f*ck insouciance whilst bristling with jittery zest. It captures perfectly the frustration of being unable to connect with others (perhaps referencing J’s dysfunctional relationship with Lou Barlow).

Nearly 40 (!) years down the line, the song has lost none of its power to move, thrill and captivate. The breakdown towards the end (‘just don't let me f*ck up will you?’) is still an impossibly touching moment. It’s interesting to speculate how things might have transpired had ‘Freak Scene’ rather than ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ been the big underground / indie breakthrough to the mainstream. On balance, I’m glad it wasn’t: I suspect that, if that had been the case, we might have never had a Beyond or a Farm, and the world would undoubtedly be a much poorer place without them. But… it could have been a contender…

1 Start Choppin

Where You Been (1993)

Obviously, whatever I place in the #1 slot is going to cause controversy. But, for me, this is the epitome of what makes Dinosaur Jr such a great band. Here’s why:

The opening riff: choppy, almost funky; redolent of lazy, beer-soaked summer afternoons where someone grabs an acoustic and starts knocking out a few mellow chords, treading firmly on the right side of the line between irritatingly self-indulgent and engagingly collaborative.
The understated, bluesy soling underpinning said opening riff - delivered with such delightful delicacy.
The trilling vibrato of ‘I ain’t telling you goodbye’, the hook that holds the whole song together.
The magnificently muscular riff that imposes itself at 0:44 and becomes a recurring motif (it sits at number 4 chronologically, but is number one in terms of significance).
J’s vocal: laconic drawl par excellence, in particular the shift into an enhanced emotional state (I’m telling you…’).
And, inevitably, the solos: particularly the first of the two, which starts off in a relatively restrained manner before being beefed up with a dose of distortion before morphing into something altogether more lyrical and expansive. The second one wigs out with shrieking abandon and rounds off the song in impressively chaotic style.

If you forced me to criticise the song, I might allow that the fade-out curtails things a little too abruptly. I would happily hear it play out more gradually, or have a ‘proper’ ending. But this is a minor quibble, as everything else about the song is, for me, pretty much perfection.