Your Band Sucks: What I Saw at Indie Rock's Failed by Jon Fine

By Jon Fine

A memoir charting thirty years of the yank self reliant rock underground by means of a musician who is familiar with it intimately

Jon nice spent approximately thirty years acting and recording with bands that performed quite a few varieties of competitive and demanding underground rock song, and, as he writes during this memoir, at no aspect have been any of these bands "ever threatened, even distantly, via real fame." but whilst individuals of his first band, whinge Magnet, reunited after twenty-one years to journey Europe, Asia, and the US, diehard longtime fanatics traveled from in every single place to wait these exhibits, regardless of creeping middle-age tasks of parenthood and 9-to-5 jobs, testomony to the impressive endurance of the indie tradition that the bands predating the likes of complain Magnet—among them Black Flag, undertaking of Burma, and Sonic Youth—willed into lifestyles via sheer selection and a shared disdain for the mediocrity of latest renowned tune. In indie rock's pre-Internet glory days of the Eighties, such defiant bands attracted fanatics in simple terms via samizdat networks that encompassed note of mouth, university radio, tiny checklist shops and 'zines. Eschewing the superficiality of performers who received popularity via MTV, indie bands in its place discovered glory in all-night recording classes, shoestring van excursions and unending appearances in dirty golf equipment. a few bands with a foot during this scene, like REM and Nirvana, ultimately attained mainstream luck. Many others, like complain Magnet, have been liked in basic terms by means of the main obsessed enthusiasts of this time.

Like Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen Confidential, Your Band Sucks is an insider's examine a desirable and ferociously enjoyed culture. In it, high quality tracks how the indie-rock underground emerged and developed, the way it grappled with the mainstream and vice versa, and the way it led many bands to a wierd rebirth within the 21 st Century within which they reunited, in brief and bittersweetly, after being damaged up for many years. Like Patti Smith's Just Kids, Your Band Sucks is a distinct evocation of a specific aesthetic second. With behind the curtain entry to many key characters within the scene—and lots of wit and sharply-worded opinion—Fine can provide a memoir that affectionately but seriously portrays a massive, heady second in tune heritage.

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Your Band Sucks: What I Saw at Indie Rock's Failed Revolution (But Can No Longer Hear)

A memoir charting thirty years of the yank self sustaining rock underground by way of a musician who understands it intimately

Jon nice spent approximately thirty years acting and recording with bands that performed numerous varieties of competitive and hard underground rock tune, and, as he writes during this memoir, at no element have been any of these bands "ever threatened, even distantly, by way of genuine reputation. " but whilst individuals of his first band, whinge Magnet, reunited after twenty-one years to travel Europe, Asia, and the USA, diehard longtime lovers traveled from all over to wait these indicates, regardless of creeping middle-age responsibilities of parenthood and 9-to-5 jobs, testomony to the awesome endurance of the indie tradition that the bands predating the likes of complain Magnet—among them Black Flag, venture of Burma, and Sonic Youth—willed into lifestyles via sheer choice and a shared disdain for the mediocrity of latest renowned tune. In indie rock's pre-Internet glory days of the Eighties, such defiant bands attracted lovers in simple terms via samizdat networks that encompassed notice of mouth, collage radio, tiny list shops and 'zines. Eschewing the superficiality of performers who received status via MTV, indie bands as an alternative chanced on glory in all-night recording periods, shoestring van excursions and never-ending appearances in dirty golf equipment. a few bands with a foot during this scene, like REM and Nirvana, finally attained mainstream good fortune. Many others, like whinge Magnet, have been loved in basic terms by way of the main obsessed lovers of this time.

Like Anthony Bourdain's Kitchen personal, Your Band Sucks is an insider's examine a desirable and ferociously enjoyed tradition. In it, positive tracks how the indie-rock underground emerged and advanced, the way it grappled with the mainstream and vice versa, and the way it led many bands to a strange rebirth within the 21 st Century within which they reunited, in short and bittersweetly, after being damaged up for many years. Like Patti Smith's simply young children, Your Band Sucks is a distinct evocation of a selected aesthetic second. With behind the scenes entry to many key characters within the scene—and lots of wit and sharply-worded opinion—Fine provides a memoir that affectionately but seriously portrays an immense, heady second in track historical past.

Additional info for Your Band Sucks: What I Saw at Indie Rock's Failed Revolution (But Can No Longer Hear)

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You don’t have to come if you really don’t want to,” I said unwillingly. “But I really wish you would. I need your support. The idea of dinner in some snooty restaurant with my new boss and his aristocratic wife is not exactly my idea of a jolly evening. ” “Don’t worry,” said Michael, squeezing my hand. “I won’t abandon you. I’ll put on a tie. I’ll charm the countess. I’ll eat everything on my plate. ” W arren assured me that we’d be safe at Le Cirque; he had not, he said, been there in years.

This was undoubtedly because there had never been anything natural about her to begin with. Claudia’s hair was dyed, her teeth were fake, and her body had always been trussed up in corsets. Even her snooty accent was made up. “At one time,” my mother used to say, “Claudia was actually born in the Bronx. ” Now she came swirling dramatically toward me in a cloud of jasmine perfume. “Sit down,” she said, pressing a finger into my chest. ” For such a tiny woman she was astonishingly strong, and I tumbled onto the bed.

I think it’s time for your next appointment,” he replied, ushering me to the door. Next up was Al Siegal, the much-dreaded arbiter of linguistic style. He turned out to be a thoughtful man of considerable girth. “Mr. Five by Five” played in my head as he said, “You’ve been very successful at the Los Angeles Times. You run your own department. ” I was surprised by my answer. Looking him straight in the eye, I said, “My mother died a year ago. ” He looked utterly shocked and a thrill ran through me.

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