We might need a NOS music label because I have another NOS album for you. Dave wrote about Zamrock previously, here and at SOD, after spending eight hours in a car with me listening to lots of different music. And I wrote about new old stock music a few weeks ago. As luck would have it, Now-Again Records (remember the Whitefield Brothers?) just released a new old stock Zamrock album from Ngozi Family, "Gate Crash '78." Here's the story:
If you're into collecting things you're probably familiar with the concept of "new old stock" or "NOS," which Wikipedia defines as "aged stock of merchandise that was never sold to a customer and is still new in original packaging. Such merchandise may not be manufactured anymore, and the new old stock may represent the only current source of a particular item .... Another definition of NOS is new original stock, referring to aged original equipment parts that remained in unsold inventory. This inventory may sell at a premium in a vintage or collectables market, such as among antique vehicle collectors where enthusiasts seek to repair their vehicles with original parts."
Spotify served up "If You Don't Want Me To" by Joanna and I thought to myself, "Jeez, are these guys Stone Roses fans or what? They sound like a late 80's Manchester band."
It turns out they are a late 80s Manchester band! You never heard of them because the album they recorded in 1990, "Hello Flower," was never released. But now it is. NOS music! I dig it and most of you will too.
Sometimes it's simply lightning in a bottle, never before and never since replicated.
In late 1993, Capitol Records released an album by a relatively unknown Santa Monica act. Something called Mazzy Star. A few years prior, the band had put out a single record on Rough Trade -- the label best known for The Smiths. It was called She Hangs Brightly and was most famous for making Kurt Cobain's list of Nirvana's 50 favorite albums. AllMusic, my go-to review staple for two decades and counting, had this to say: "...the album quickly loses focus, and even the group's solid grasp of atmosphere and texture can't overcome the songs' distinctly unmemorable melodies."
Hope for all of us
I'm listening to it now on Spotify. A lilting VU-ish opening track, then a very alt-90's grit-guitar cover, and then . . . what he said.
There wasn't a lot of indication that anyone had excessive optimism for So Tonight That I Might See.
Well, surely there was some within the band, especially when the singer's name was Hope. Hope Sandoval, a slinky, breathy vocalist and lyricist from SoCal was 27. Her creative partner was David Roback, 35, and he handled the guitars, keys, and musical composition. From photographs taken of Roback around then, I'd say he was the uncomfortable, stay-in-the-background, musical brains of the operation. Circa '93, none of this exuded "chart-topping."
It's such a simple song, the album opener from that sophomore effort. The chords are so simple that I can play it.
Verse
A E Bm
A E Bm
A E Bm
A E Bm
Chorus
A E Bm
A E Bm
A E Bm D
A E Bm
Seriously. The drummer had to have nearly fallen asleep. Maybe the tambourine kept him awake. The bass is barely audible. The piano is... nice. But the slide guitar is actually pretty great.
And her voice . . . yes.
Anyway, "Fade Into You" was the first song on So Tonight That I Might See. It's now called a "fluke hit" or at the very least a "surprise hit." And I didn't even see it coming. But it's a damn fine song. And a whole lotta people thought so.
I first heard it on 99.1 WHFS, thanks to DJ's like Rob Timm and Aq and Kath. Good days of radio in DC. I bought it on CD -- no, not the album, but on a compilation I found in a used bin in CD Cellar or somewhere in Arlington. It was a Spin Magazine promo item called Spin This V (as in 5), and it had a handful of unsung gems. I wore it out.
"Fade Into You" was everywhere on MTV, VH-1, and all the channels that used to exist and play videos and now don't exist or don't play videos. It was on HFS and DC101. Its chill-very-chill nature landed it on some "adult contemporary" stations. Rob's and my roommate The Spoid bought the whole album, and nestled it neatly between his copies of Eat a Peach and "Macarena." It seemed to be everywhere.
It was a full-fledged hit.
As it turns out, the rest of the album was not exactly head and shoulders above its predecessor. There are what sounds like some throwaway stabs at PJ Harvey and My Bloody Valentine, as well as some proto-Courtney Love. Alrighty then. Beyond Track 1 on So Tonight That I Might See, you likely never heard it.
A subsequent album appeared in 1996 for a tepid minute. It had a "Fade Into You" soundalike. You likely never heard it.
20 years after So Tonight That I Might See, Sandoval and Roback released one final Mazzy Star record. You likely never heard it. The arc of Hope Sandoval, the bright light of 1994, faded like that of her cousin Pablo 20 years later.
David Roback died yesterday at age 61. No cause has been announced.
Mazzy Star inexorably finds itself in the oft-maligned category of "One-Hit Wonders." I'd love to argue differently about their inclusion . . . hell, I'm such a music dork that have a contrarian Spotify playlist entitled Not One-Hit Wonders. But Mazzy Star isn't in it.
I do contend that such a label shouldn't be a derogatory epithet. The difference between no hits and one hit is way, way, way more than one (1). It's a bazillion. I'm writing and recording songs on my 3rd floor (Les Coole Studios). None will ever be hits and that's not why I'm doing it, but I marvel at the notion that a few folks sat down in some studio somewhere and cranked out something that became as pleasing to the ears of a million or more people as "Fade Into You."
J Mascis was one of those million.
So if an artist can't come back for a second helping of that caliber of success, that's no sin. Sometimes it was simply lightning in a bottle.
And if any of you out there never knew this song, I guess I'd just say . . .
I was rooting around in my basement yesterday, making space for the detritus of another stuff-centric Christmas, when I came across several boxes of old CDs. While it pales in comparison to Clarence's library - hell, Alexandria's fabled stacks are a quaint little compilation compared to Clarence's - I once had a decent little collection of tunes.
Flipping through offerings from bands I hadn't thought about in years (The Sidewinders! Urge Overkill! Arrested Development! The Housemartins!), I paused when I came to a pair of Midnight Oil discs. I loved that band in its heyday. Whether it was frontman Peter Garrett's frenetic charisma, or the Oils' naked liberalism (which appealed to my uber-idealistic teen self), or simply the fact that the band kicked ass, I wore out Diesel and Dust (1987) and Blue Sky Mining (1990). 1992's Scream in Blue (Live) is one of the great concert records I've ever heard.
So in another recurring feature destined not to recur, here's a little musical memory lane:
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