Dinosaur Jr. Green Mind (Sire, 1991/ Reissue 2006)

"There's a place I'd like to go/ When you get there then I'll know/ There's a place I know you've been/ Here's a wagon, get on in."

In his liner notes for the reissue of Where You Been, Dinosaur Jr.'s 1993 follow-up to the epic Green Mind, rock critic/journalist Byron Coley observes, "The rule seems to be that whichever [Dinosaur Jr.] album a particular fan heard first is his/her favorite." Pretty good observation, and one that certainly applies to me. As a freshman in high school, a friend's band did a cover of Green Mind's title track, and I though it was awesome. Consequently, having never heard Dinosaur Jr. before, Green Mind was the first of their albums I bought, and I wore it out. And having listened to a lot of Dinosaur Jr. in the years between then and now, to include the "classic" pre-'91 albums with Lou Barlow on bass, I still consider it the band's best record, and certainly my favorite.

As any indie rock nerd worth his salt will tell you, to claim Green Mind as your favorite Dinosaur Jr. record is tantamount to blasphemy in some circles. This was the first album after Lou Barlow's unceremonious booting from the band, and the album that basically saw Dinosaur Jr. complete its transformation into the J Mascis Show. Pre-Green Mind, Dinosaur Jr. was far more impressionistic and experimental, with Mascis's '70s-era guitar workouts crowding for space among hardcore noise blasts and Barlow's more subdued folk explorations on albums like You're Living All Over Me and Bug. Pre-'91, the band was essentially two bands, with Mascis and Barlow each moving in decidedly different directions. That tension produced some amazing material, but eventually was too much for the group to bear. So Mascis fired Barlow, who went on to form Sebadoh and its many offshoots, and began to perfect his own Neil Young/Foghat/Frampton-cum-Black Flag idolization. And that's where Green Mind comes in.

Green Mind was Dinosaur Jr.'s first major-label album, having moved to Sire from the esteemed indie SST, where they'd been since 1987. It's worth noting that the year of its release, 1991, was a seminal year for '80s-era indie rock, "The Year Punk Broke," to borrow the title of the Sonic Youth tour film in which Dinosaur Jr. feature prominently. Sonic Youth had released Goo on Geffen in summer 1990, and Geffen would release Nirvana's Nevermind in September 1991. Along with those records, Green Mind (released February 1991) hammered some nails into the coffin of hair metal and bland corporate rock, and helped to define the cool-kids' aesthetic for much of the coming decade. For many, J Mascis's mopey, blurry, mumblecore shamble punctuated by moments of sheer rock-god brilliance would define the style of the '90s: yeah, this is great, but whatever, man, I don't know. Who cares?

And make no mistake, Green Mind is brilliant. Mascis wrote all of the songs, and played almost all of the instruments (with some help from Dinosaur Jr. stalwart Murph on occasional drums and Don Fleming on bass and guitar here and there). Gone are the distractions/abstractions of the Barlow days: Mascis is free to let the guitar heroics and fiercely melodic riff-fests fly. These songs are polished, focused, and tight, informed as much by classic AOR wankery as by punk and hardcore aggression. The end result is an almost impossibly listenable record, each instrument crisply recorded and mixed for maximum punch.

This being a Dinosaur Jr. record, the guitar sounds great (Fender Jazzmasters and Jaguars played through Marshall stacks, big, thick slabs of distortion, overdriven tones and crazy sustain), but the drums are the secret weapon. Murph plays drums on three tracks, and Mascis handles the rest. Mascis started out as a drummer, and has effing incredible chops (it's also, I think, why his guitar style is so rhythmically informed). He plays really hard and really loud, but has a highly developed sense of timing and phrasing, which means that oftentimes the beats fail to land where you'd think they should, but always land in the right place. It's badass, and keeps the listener guessing in the best of ways.

Oh, right: the songs. Well, there's not a bad one on here, to be perfectly honest. Album opener "The Wagon" is a Dinosaur Jr. classic and concert staple, and rightly so. Flanged guitar kicks in right away, the drums drive the song in all the right directions, and Mascis turns in some fundamental face-melting. "Ring the doorbell in your mind/ But it's locked from the outside/ You don't live there anyway/ But I knock on it all day" whines Mascis in pitch-perfect slacker tones as everything just wails behind him. "Puke + Cry" mixes acoustic strums and a plodding beat with spry electric rhythm guitar. "Blowing It" segues seamlessly into "I Live For That Look," soaring leads piercing the jaunty jangle of the main melody. "How'd You Pin That One on Me" is the most hardcore track here, thrash and burn and thrash again, Mascis wailing, "How'd you pin that one me?/ I haven't even done it yet!" before sickly murmuring, "Get me a bucket." "Water" could be Green Mind's prettiest song, a delicate tune covered in underwater reverb and some of Mascis's most vulnerable lyrics. "Thumb," with its plaintive recorder line, is a heartbreaker, as well. And the album-closing title track, obviously, is a gem, a straight rocker with searing solos and era-defining lyrics like "If I keep stewin’ ’bout how I feel/ Eventually you'll split, then I won’t have to deal/ Sounds like a plan."

The 2006 reissue of Green Mind (which you should get, 'cuz it's been remastered and is bargain priced at around $10) adds three bonus tracks, one of which is a devastating cover of the Flying Burrito Brothers' ""Hot Burrito #2." Well worth a listen, as Mascis' interpretation of the Burritos' spaced-out country fits just right. The other two are pretty standard-issue Dinosaur Jr. tunes, which is to say, they rock pretty hard but don't leave much of an impression.

Some of my favorite memories of high school involve driving around in my first car (an '84 Subaru hatchback, maroon) blasting my worn, clear plastic tape of Green Mind. Back then, these guys seemed like everything that was great about guitars. And listening to it today, I still feel that way. This is guitar rock in one of its best, most thrilling, inspiring incarnations, noise and hooks for the sake of noise and hooks, distortion as an end and a means. And loud, too.

Polvo. Celebrate the New Dark Age (Merge, 1994)

"I won't get out/ I'd rather burn/ I won't trust scarred survivors/ And I will never learn."

Polvo's patented brand of atonal, angular, vaguely eastern rock fury is one of my all-time favorite sounds, and Celebrate the New Dark Age is an ideal distillation of what made this Chapel Hill four-piece such a force to be reckoned with. The oddly-tuned twin-guitar attack of Ash Bowie and Dave Brylawski is some of the most alarming kick-assery ever laid to tape, and the fact that the rhythm section (Steve Popson on bass and Eddie Watkins on drums) could keep up with the whiplash time changes and breakneck stop-start dynamics -- let alone excel at keeping the songs anchored firmly in the realm of the listenable -- is a testament to its abilities. Listening to Polvo is like getting a glimpse into what rock and roll sounds like in an alternate, non-Euclidean universe, where math and physics and gravity don't operate according to our rules. It's Lovecraftian postpunk.

This seven song EP was released shortly after Today's Active Lifestyles, Polvo's second full-length and the album where they really started to nail their sound and style. By Celebrate the New Dark Age, Polvo were in full control of their abilities, and it shows right away. Lead off track "Fractured (Like Chandeliers)" is a straight classic, careening wildly as Bowie and Brylawski trade off anti-leads and pry alien tones from their instruments, bending the notes to the breaking point but never abandoning the hooks that nail the tune in place. The bass and drums here as in most Polvo songs are a big part of what makes the tune such a great listen: while the guitars twist and flail and generally push the boundaries of good sense, Popson and Watkins stay firmly in the pocket, adding some flourishes here and there but otherwise plowing straight ahead and keeping the parameters in place.

The more subdued "City Spirit," with its rubbery lead lines and slightly spacey vocals reminiscent of Thurston Moore, provides a nice breather between the first song and the third, the monumental "Tragic Carpet Ride." Introduced with an electrified jangle of dissonance, "Tragic Carpet Ride" in short order plunges headlong into three minutes and twenty seconds of unmitigated unsanity, an oscillating wall of distortion underpinned by driving drums and pulsing bass. It's a relentless riff fest, as Bowie and Brylawski take turns churning out unnatural lead lines, their guitars sounding terrified and confused. And when Bowie sings, "Tell me that you understand/ Tell me why you look concerned/ Tell me that you know/ Or I will never learn," he could be speaking directly to the listener, puzzled and, sure, concerned, but also enthralled.

"Every Holy Shroud" is another overwhelmingly awesome offering, essentially three or four songs in one. The band switches up tempos and melodies at the drop of a hat, never losing the plot or making it look anything less than effortless. The half-Asian tonal excursions are on full display here, but the grinding primary chords are good ol' steak-and-potatoes rockness. And Bowie shows off his sense of humor and self awareness on this track, opining, "And now we just brought a sitar/ So be prepared/ Apologetic trips to make you sick/ Now I'm toking from this bag of tricks." Clearly a band that knows what it's on about.

Polvo were true guitar pioneers, making decidedly eggheaded, post-grad music that was exceedingly exciting and, most importantly, fun to listen to. And on Celebrate the New Dark Age, all of Polvo's disturbing and stupefying abilities are laid bare. This stuff is an exhilarating math problem that you want to drink to. As a new dark age descends upon us, check out this EP and find a reason to celebrate.

Los Campesinos!. Sticking Fingers into Sockets (Arts and Crafts, 2007)

"And yeah it's sad that you think that we're all just scenesters/ And even if we were it's not the scene you're thinking of."

It's a nice thing when a band's enthusiasm and sheer joy in rockingness shine through on an album. When the band sounds completely stoked to be playing, it's hard for the listener not to feel completely stoked about listening, and the band and the audience unite in a state of stoked that's pretty exciting. This is what it's like listening to Welsh group Los Campesinos!'s short LP (long EP? At six songs, it's kind of a gray area) Sticking Fingers into Sockets, a handful of songs wearing its feverish pop passion on its sleeve, failing wonderfully to show any restraint at all.

Los Campesinos! pack a lot into each tune, with boy-girl vocals trading off on sing-along melodies, fuzz-tone guitar, sprinting rhythms, frantically pounded keyboards, and sporadic strings. The end result is a busy, overstimulated sound that goes straight for the pleasure center of your brain. Towards the end of each song, the group tends to go completely nuts until everything just sorta collapses in on itself. And then a new song starts. It's a cycle of sonic addiction.

Album opener "We Throw Parties, You Throw Knives" sets the party atmosphere right away, as the singer exhorts, "I'll sing what you like/ if you shout it straight back at me," and the song bursts into a rousing chorus driven by crashing drums and airy girlgroup vocals. Next up is "It Started with a Mixx," a nostalgic ode to the lost art/frustrations of mixtape alchemy, handclaps and plucked strings underscoring a wistful melody as the singer pines, "Trying to find the perfect match between pretentious and pop/ Some crappy artwork that took way way too long to draw/ Handwritten tracklisting restarted every time the pen smudged/ Encoded title doesn't give away as much as it should." Remember that? When a 90 minute mixtape took, like, three hours to make and seemed really important? Los Campesinos! do.

"Don't Tell Me to Do the Math[s]" is a charmer, as well, as the stampeding beats and spiky guitar workouts make room for toy piano interludes and lilting strings. An effing adorable cover of Pavement's "Frontwards," from the classic Watery, Domestic EP (which is probably due for a writeup of its own one of these days), is a highlight of this collection. Los Campesinos! play it pretty straight, but the song comes across like they must have felt the first time they heard it: charged, elated, caught up in its pure hooky genius. It's an exuberant, instantly endearing take on the tune, and it's over before it even begins. "You! Me! Dancing!" follows "Frontwards" with another stunner, a celebration of basement parties and being too young to care about the terrible, insanely fun decisions you inevitably make. The main riff is inspired chunky distortion, thrusting the song onto the listener with willful abandon, the background singers going all "ooooh-ooooh" all over the place and your ears exploding from the sugar high.

Los Campesinos! are really, really excited to be here, man. That's pretty obvious. And you should be, too, because Sticking Fingers into Sockets is an exhilarating slice of indiepop. Have some.