People used to say, back in my salad days of the 1990s, that Nirvana "saved rock music." I liked Nirvana and was as galvanized by anyone by the explosive guitar riff that scaffolds "Smells Like Teen Spirit" as anyone. (I'll risk widespread ire by saying I prefered Hole at the time. I literally wore out my "Live Through This" CD.)
Still, I didn't think rock music needed saving. My teenage playlist and concert-going excursions were replete with vibrant alt-rock, like Jane's Addiction, Siouxsie and the Banshees, Depeche Mode, The Stone Roses and early solo Morrissey. The Pixies alone were proof positive that alternative music had reached a zenith, and fine up-and-covers like The Smashing Pumpkins made me optimistic that said zenith could be maintained.
If you're ready for a strange, beautiful, screaming and cathartic tapestry, try The Pixies' "Monkey Gone to Heaven" (1989) on for size. It's my song of the day.
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