True Alternative: The Top 100 Songs of the ’90s Underground

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10. Built to Spill – “Car
from There’s Nothing Wrong With Love (1994; Up)

“I need a car, you need a guide, who needs a map? / If I don’t die or worse, I’m gonna need a nap,” explains Doug Martsch in “Car.” In just three minutes, Built to Spill takes off their armor and shows their pure emotions. “Car” is like a drive down your own memory lane, full of nostalgia and angst and all that comes with heartache. A gripping cello line accompanies Martsch’s woes and adds the perfect touch of dark roots. As the song progresses, the connection to an influence by Dinosaur Jr.’s J. Mascis becomes clear, with shredding crucial to the Northwest Sound, by way of a Northeast passage. Built to Spill continued to hone in on their irresistible indie sound, mixing the right amount of haunting, distinct vocals and rough instrumentals, and their impact on future rockers was beyond significant, as their roots sprouted and grew into a whole series of innovative bands. – VC


9. Nas – “N.Y. State of Mind
from Illmatic (1994; Columbia)

“I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death” may be the most chilling line in rap. Because in the Queens neighborhood where Nas grew up, someone who lacked vigilance could be an easy target for bullets. But there’s an easy double meaning, there, as New York City is the city that never sleeps. The Talmud says that sleep is 1/60th of death, and the Iliad described sleep and death as brothers. But Nas is just surviving. As one of Nas’ personal favorites, “N.Y. State of Mind” landed at No. 10 on the Village Voice 60 Best Songs Ever Written About New York City list published last November, and it’s really no surprise. This piano-laced passage of intimidating wisdom sticks out like a sore thumb in a decade overloaded with rock music. As the first take on his first album, Nas doesn’t know how to start this shit, but drops arguably the best rap song of the 1990s. Soon after “N.Y. State of Mind,” Nas didn’t have to worry about sleeping with one eye open; he was on his way to a better place. – JJM


8. Elliott Smith – “Angeles
from Either/Or (1997; Kill Rock Stars)

Jesus Christ on wheels, I dare you to write me a more gut-wrenching ballad than this one. It’s no mystery that Elliott Smith was housing a flurry of conflicting emotions throughout his career, and the fine line between artistic perfection and emotional instability is well documented enough on this list alone. But I’d argue that no artist brought that pain into their art more effectively and powerfully than Smith.

“Angeles” is perhaps the subtlest track on Smith’s last lo-fi effort (he’d go on to make a greater use of strings and expensive production methods on 1998’s XO), and it’s almost as if he knew the changes he was planning for his sound and wished to put his lo-fi methods to bed by taking them a perfect extreme. Accompanied by nothing but his own guitar playing and a shimmering sound in the background (to me, it’s always sounded a bit like a ray of light in a cartoon), Smith strips away his usual metaphors for a confessional, personal track about his own struggle in terms of artistic vs. financial success. Ironically, it was after this record that the titular Angeles would take a greater interest in Smith, both in his signing to DreamWorks records and the use of his music in successful films. Isolated on its own, “Angeles” is a striking statement of artistic and ethical values. Paired with the narrative of Smith’s career, it’s more of a foreboding tale; L.A. also proved the backdrop for his untimely passing. Either way, this crushing beauty is guaranteed to bring you to tears.  – ATB


7. Guided By Voices – “I Am A Scientist
from Bee Thousand (1994; Scat)

If we are to believe GBVDB— the online Guided by Voices Database, a fan resource on all things related to the band— as I type these words frontman Robert Pollard has written and released almost 2,100 songs across the GBV spectrum, from proper band albums to spin-off and solo projects. In Marc Woodworth’s dissertation on GBV’s seventh album Bee Thousand for the 33⅓ book series, Pollard claims this one song was the tipping point where his songwriting began to rise above merely messy, low-fidelity explorations of (and piss-takes on) folk and power-pop. It’s a two-and-a-half-minute curriculum vitae using the band’s tools—an anti-The Jam bassline, Pollard’s vocal track drenched in reverb and tape hiss, detuned lead guitar—to describe his creative life. “I am a journalist, I write to you to show you.” Pollard’s purpose is to experiment with thousands of combinations of word and sound; he’s asking us to hang around and watch the shitshow, because something has to stick. “I am an incurable, and nothing else behaves like me.” This is Guided by Voices’ Pink Floyd moment: a resonant and uncomfortable biography, quietly yet succinctly addressing all that is now, all that is gone, and all that’s to come. – AB


6. My Bloody Valentine – “Soon
from Glider EP (1990; Creation)

The ’90s were a weird musical decade to assess for this list. On one hand, there were some “alternative” songs and albums that clearly achieved too much financial success on their release to be considered truly underground, “Smells Like Teen Spirit” and Nevermind being the most obvious examples. My Bloody Valentine’s Loveless was a harder case. It’s a visceral, experimental record—far ahead of its time—but, outside of the U.S., its songs actually performed pretty well and it’s influence on modern music was probably just as drastic as Nevermind, even if shoegaze never quite permeated mainstream rock radio in the same way. So, to play it safe, we stuck with an early version of “Soon.”

Re-purposed as a closer for Loveless, “Soon” originally served as the opener for the band’s Glider EP one year earlier. And, with very little changes, the track works beautifully in both roles. Its heightened, ecstatic feel was the perfect example of a dream-pop master peice, but with the added bonus of Kevin Shields’ mad-scientist guitar work. And, in both roles, it serves as a gateway in or out of another realm; “Soon” has a habit of making the listener feel like they’ve been up way too long but aren’t yet grasping the sleep they long for, momentarily stuck in a stasis before passing on to the next thing. That feeling of immobility fits the lyrics perfectly (and frighteningly) as well, as the band depicts two lovers: One who is trying to walk away and another who is not yet willing to let go. – ATB


5. Sunny Day Real Estate – “Seven
from Diary (1994; Sub Pop)

If you don’t believe that Sunny Day are the only “emo” band that matters then you haven’t listened to Diary. When this album came out there was nothing else like it. “Seven” has both more feeling and kick to it than bands who later sprung up on Myspace paying homage to them. Jeremy Enigk said they were a hardcore band who were trying to play slow songs, and that struggle to do so comes across on this song. The band’s first act lasted less than a decade, withstanding both their rhythm section’s part-time leap to Foo Fighters and Jeremy Enigk’s born-again Christianity, but the power of “Seven” endures. – WL


4. Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds – “Red Right Hand
from Let Love In (1994; Mute)

Several organ riffs fuel the nightmare engine that is “Red Right Hand,” the centerpiece of Nick Cave & the Bad Seeds’ 1994 masterwork Let Love In. First comes the tripled note in the verses, then the more distinctive twelve-note solo showing up originally after the second chorus. And finally some hammering on the high keys, signaling the final horrific left turn within the narrative of Cave’s lyrics. Which is fitting, because “Red Right Hand” describes the devil. Not the 200-foot-tall fucker from Paradise Lost (in spite of the title’s Milton reference), but a seductive, well-disguised version, cloaking his doings in the appearance of benevolence: “stacks of green paper in his red right hand.”

As with all Bad Seeds songs, every contributor matters on this track, not just Conway Savage’s excellent keys. Blixa Bargeld’s (or maybe it’s Mick Harvey, they alternate) borderline atonal guitar picking lurks around the edges as drummer Thomas Wydler and bassist Martyn P. Casey coax you gently along to your doom. And in one of his finest vocal performances, Cave warns you to stay away while also ensuring that you’ll follow him down. While never a hit, the cultural reverberations of “Red Right Hand”—as theme song for the Scream films and now the Netflix series Peaky Blinders—are ample evidence of its potency and staying power. – LG


3. DJ Shadow – “Midnight In a Perfect World
from Endtroducing… (1996; Mo’ Wax)

Endtroducing… was a confessional singer-songwriter album that just happened to be composed using samples of other people’s work. It’s not quite the pristine, flawless sonic experience digital is supposed to deliver without question, but it’s the strongest instrumental opus of the decade. Josh Davis (aka DJ Shadow) allegedly was fielding feelings of artistic self-doubt at the time of making Endtroducing…, and though he had nothing to worry about in the art department, the album’s replete with melancholia and poignancy. It wasn’t easy to find hip-hop-ready source material that would necessarily convey those unsealed emotions, so in “Midnight With a Perfect World” Davis took mentholated samples from jazz fusion and prog rock (David Axelrod and Pekka Pohjola, if you’re Googling) and created a track of singular solitude, finding just the slightest bit of consolation in the pulsing rhythm track and the weightless voice from avant-soul artist Baraka. It’s the most fully realized track on Endtroducing…: In narrative terms, it’s absolute heart, and the key to understanding its dueling strains of melancholy and disconnection, even if the composer manages to find one last cypher before closing time to work up his spirits. – PP


2. Neutral Milk Hotel – “In the Aeroplane over the Sea
from In the Aeroplane over the Sea (1998; Merge)

At the time of its release, few if any forecasted what was in store for this album over the next 17 years. Least among them was probably Jeff Mangum, primary architect of Neutral Milk Hotel, the oddball indie experimentalists from Ruston, Louisiana. After a debut album that caused barely a ripple in 1996, Mangum relocated to Denver to record a set of bizarre songs seemingly inspired by Anne Frank. The surrealist imagery, the uncharacteristic instrumentation, the almost ridiculously strained vocals, the overly earnest emotion—these are not ingredients that obviously work on their own, let alone together. And so it is no surprise that contemporary reviews were perplexed. And yet, over time, this record has grown to be one of the most adulated indie releases of the ’90s. Hundreds of thousands of copies have now been sold, and they even reformed for a global lap of honor in 2013. This title track is perhaps the most straightforward of the songs, a disarmingly beautiful evocation of falling in love, but still it is not like any other falling in love song around. The peculiar mannerisms will always be a turnoff for some, but for the initiated, they make this a very special record indeed. – MP


1. PJ Harvey – “Rid of Me
from Rid of Me (1993; Island)

Hell hath no fury like Polly Jean Harvey. In recent years, the British singer/songwriter has taken the more conceptual route, exploring the uncensored violence of World War I on Let England Shake, and recording her yet-to-be released new album in an observable studio space, so as to bring everyone else (at least everyone in proximity) in on the process of creating art. With 1993’s Rid of Me, however, it was all about raw power—visceral, seething, ass-kicking and abrasively beautiful power. Recorded with prolific engineer (and noted proponent of abrasion) Steve Albini, the album’s title track is engineered to fuck shit up. Its first two minutes are so hushed as to be nearly inaudible. Harvey’s strums and low-key croon feel startlingly intimate, and her faint moan of “lick my legs, I’m on fire” feels almost like her deepest fears, passions and insecurities desperately clawing their way to the surface, doomed to be buried in a mix that, on first listen, makes almost no sense whatsoever.

Then the explosion comes, the volume rises to munitions-grade, and if you’re lucky, you come away from it with only a mild bout of tinnitus. In the ’90s, the loud-quiet-loud thing was done to death, cremation, afterlife and reunion comeback, but Harvey took it to its least logical conclusion, making every power chord and low-end thrum reverberate right in the chest cavity. Harvey chants, “Don’t you wish you never/ Never met her!“, not with manic abandon but with fierce determination. Where most of the liberal-arts-college boys of indie rock dabbled in dadaism or irony, and grunge wallowed in miserablist self-loathing, Harvey said “Fuck that” in not so many words, and focused her energy into a sound that couldn’t be ignored, and aimed it straight for the viscera.

PJ Harvey had more famous songs (“Down by the Water”), or songs that spoke more directly to ideas about sexuality (“Dry”) or objectification (“Dress”), that could each warrant their own argument for why they’re her most important. “Rid of Me” is here for reasons both simpler and more ephemeral. It embodies a ’90s aesthetic without being held hostage by it, and ultimately transcends it. It’s the perfect expression of guitar, bass, drums and voice turning two chords into a radical statement. It’s pure catharsis in lethal doses. It’s angst. It’s fury. It’s menace. It’s art. It’s on fire. – JT

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View Comments (10)
  • Perhaps it’s a perversion on my part but I read a lot of these lists. I say perversion because I often hate this kind of list yet read every one. Most are pretty obvious with just enough off the beaten path selections to make the reader sense a larger depth. This by far is the most thoughtful list I’ve ever read. I know fewer of the track than on any other list I’ve read but the ones I know I love. It makes me want to explore so much music that is new to me, which should be the purpose of every such list. All I can say is Thank You.

  • The fact that this list is spread out among 10 pages, and not even to flood me with stupid ads like many spam sites do, is absolutely baffling. Excellent list, shame on you for making me click 9 times for nothing. (and by “you” i more mean the admins for this website. I’m sure KC Mars wouldn’t do that to the world)

  • The most seamless integration of Bob Mould’s Huskers-era merciless guitar attack with his Sugar-era sense of accessibility, with one of his best lyrics to boot. Should’ve been about 50x bigger a hit than it was, but you could say the same about how many dozens of other songs Mould released in his first decade-and-a-half?

  • This list seems to willfully omit any act that was once considered a darling of alternative music but then for shame attained any level of broader success….

      • It’s all there in the opening paragraphs. We wanted to highlight some lesser known stuff. No disrespect to any bigger artists of the ’90s, which we certainly enjoy, we just tried something different this time, and ended up with 100 songs that look a little different than your usual ’90s tracks list. Hope you can enjoy it anyway!

  • I don’t understand the hate – this is an awesome list! An eclectic sample platter of underground 90’s jams – with well-thought out commentary. “Leave it to Kurt Cobain to include mash potato in a song and sound angry doing so” – hilarious.

  • I grew up in the 90s first learning how to navigate music and find what I loved. This list brought me right back to intravenous childhood. Thanks.

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