By Melissa Fossum
By Lauren Wise
By New Times
By Amanda Savage
By Jason P. Woodbury
By Troy Farah
By New Times
This triumvirate of modern American music is suddenly being remembered by double-CD anthologies put out by curiously reverential record labels. Does the industry feel it's finally time to pay homage to these precursors of the lucrative alternative-rock format? Hardly. Look at the calendar. 'Tis the season for "Best ofs," and there are only so many ways you can repackage those Elvis Costello and Clash catalogues.
Industry intentions notwithstanding, these new collections are keepers, all three valuable and, yes, nostalgic glances back at the height of America's independent underground.
The first and arguably most original of the three acts was X, a band that did more than simply shout angry edicts ("We're desperate, get used to it") and usher in West Coast punk. X was a band of artists, a group that expressed itself as if its noise was an exhibit at some abandoned downtown warehouse. X's sound was immediately striking, most notably in the exhausted yet life-affirming harmonies of co-leaders John Doe and wife Exene Cervenkova (formerly Cervenka), archetype of the thrift-store Raggedy Ann sound and look. On X's first album, 1980's Los Angeles, Doe and Cervenkova made it quickly known that their wailing voices came with equally striking words: "She had to leave Los Angeles," they sang on the title cut. "She had started to hate every nigger and Jew/Every Mexican that gave her lotta shit/Every homosexual and idle rich/She had to get out, get out."
L.A. to X was a bit inland from cheery Beach Boys tunes.
The title cut from Los Angeles opens Beyond and Back: The X Anthology with suitable spunk, and from there the compilation moves fast. By cut five, "Hungry Wolf," from X's third album and major-label debut, Under the Big Black Sun, the band's energy is still shown to be focused, the anger still threatening to spill over, but the passion's enhanced by better production. If X's second album, Wild Gift, was the band's most convincing effort, Under the Big Black Sun was its most accomplished and its last truly important LP.
Among the other great stuff on the anthology's first disc is a monster 1979 demo of the Doors' "Soul Kitchen" that not only beats the version off Los Angeles, but totally smokes Jim Morrison's original. There's also a toto-punk take on "The Once Over Twice" from a 1982 show in San Diego. Other concert killers include "Beyond and Back" from an '82 L.A. gig at the Country Club, with the same show offering a boffo take on another Wild Gift song, "Universal Corner." Also of note: a remixed outtake of "Blue Spark," perhaps the band's best pop song and among the most lyrically subtle in alluding to Doe and Cervenkova's blatantly hashed-out marital woes.
Disc two presents X as a postpunk band that slowly but relentlessly adopts country music as its new voice. Maybe it was all the breakup songs, maybe the band really had to get out of Los Angeles, but the keyed-up explosiveness of the first three albums gave way to more tuneful, if less intense, John Doe-sung songs and to the band's increasing attention to its country-fried side group, the Knitters. Granted, many of X's songs from the mid-'80s were strong--among the best, "Poor Girl," is included here--and the Knitters were influential in themselves, helping to instigate what would evolve into the current "No Depression" neo-twang. But Doe and Cervenkova's vision blurred as they moved from the art house to the trailer park. Credit X for not clinging to its jagged, youthful angst, but Beyond and Back: The X Anthology proves that Doe and Cervenkova were more Sid and Nancy than George Jones and Tammy Wynette, and most likely still are.
The Replacements were the Rolling Stones, the Heartbreakers, the New York Dolls and other raunchy rock acts rolled into a scruffy, Middle American mess. The Minneapolis foursome was once and always a shameless, full-tilt indie-rock band, its scattershot brilliance making for live shows that ranged from beyond perfection to wanton mediocrity. The Replacements were sloppy energy made musical, which makes it surprising to hear how singer/songwriter Paul Westerberg's slower songs hold up better than the rockers on the double-disc retrospective All for Nothing/Nothing for All. The acutely pensive "Here Comes a Regular," for example, tugs even harder now with its profile of the beautiful loser at the corner bar. It's a tremendous song, and one that resonates sharper when considering casualties, like the Replacements' original guitarist, the late Bob Stinson, who never survived such a life. The acoustic and equally effective "Skyway" also jumps out, its charm embedded within its hopeful ache of introspection.