Picks Index Page

1994 Pazz & Jop Ballot

Albums

  1. (13) Willie Nelson, Healing Hands of Time

  2. (12) Liz Phair, Whip Smart

  3. (11) Hole, Live Through This

  4. (10) Pavement, Crooked Rain Crooked Rain

  5. (10) The Orb, Pomme Fritz

  6. (10) The Silos, Hasta La Victoria!

  7. (10) Tom Petty, Wildflowers

  8. (9) Warren G, Regulate … the G Funk Era

  9. (8) Counting Crows, August and Everything After

  10. (7) Mark Lanegan, Whiskey for the Holy Ghost

Singles

  1. Beck, “Loser”

  2. Pride & Glory, “Losin’ Your Mind”

  3. Madonna, “Secret”

  4. Warren G and Nate Dog, “Regulate”

  5. Gabrielle, “Dreams”

  6. Corona, “The Rhythm of the Night”

  7. Gloria Estefan, “Turn the Beat Around”

  8. Bruce Springsteen, “Streets of Philadelphia”

  9. Lisa Loeb, “Stay”

  10. Reba McIntyre, “His Name Was John”

Videos

  1. Beastie Boys, “Sabotage”

  2. Beck, “Loser”

  3. Pavement, “Gold Sounds”

  4. Aerosmith, “Crazy”

  5. Alice in Chains, “I Fade Away”

Reissues

  1. The Silos, Cuba

  2. Vangelis, Blade Runner

  3. Various Artists, Pulp Fiction

  4. Marvin Gaye, Here My Dear

  5. Various Artists, Black Box: 13 Years of Wax Trax

EPs

  1. Alice in Chains, Jar of Flies

Comments

I think I had the quintessential Woodstock ‘94 experience: I watched it on Pay-Per-View at my parents’ house, my mom poking into the living room to ask about Trent Reznor, “what is he so upset about?” I can’t say I had a great answer for her. Actually, getting the Pay-Per-View wasn’t even my idea, but my folks’ - they were honestly curious to see what all the fuss was about. And I guess I was too; certainly, watching the mud-divers from my couch, I felt just as much the voyeur.

1994 was the year a generation gap opened up behind me, as a twentysomething looking over my shoulder at the Teenage Riot. Green Day, Offspring - I can approve of these bands, but am I supposed to care about them? I mean, I’m glad they’re giving the current crop of high schoolers the infrastructure of mass rebellion that my crowd never had. But I can’t pretend that Woodstock or Lollapalooza has much to do with me - or with most people old enough to get Pazz & Jop ballots, I’d guess. The fans of these bands are hearing for the first time sounds I just go too far back with. It doesn’t make them shallow or naive; it just makes me old at 25.

I know as a card-carrying rock critic, what I’m supposed to care about instead are the Elvis Costellos of this New New Wave (and hey, Green Day even wear skinny ties): Hole, Liz Phair, Pavement. And yes, I do care. But, perhaps appropriately, just as all three bands’ brief Buzz Bin stays were upstaged by Billie Joe and Co., all three records were triumphs overshadowed by inevitable, unfair disappointment: with Phair for not recapturing her exile’s arrogance, with Pavement for sliding further away from their cult with no clear goal in sight, with Hole for … well, we know what overshadowed the brilliant Live Through This.

Kurt Cobain’s death hit me harder than I would’ve thought possible. I guess I’m not so jaded after all, although I’m already finding it hard to remember why I cared so much last April. As we all immediately feared, he’s already on his way to becoming just another dead rock god; maybe they’ll waive the Rock’n’Roll Hall of Fame eligibility rules for him, like baseball did for Roberto Clemente. I guess what upset me so much - and what pissed me off so much - is that Kurt never figured out a way not to feel like a sell-out; there was no model of punk-rock authenticity that could make him actually proud of having the opportunity to communicate with millions of fans. If that was the case, then to some extent we, as rock critics, failed him. For if we have any job, it’s to make that kind of model available; to help fans and musicians think past the dead ends of indie anonymity and superstar self-hate. Because if we never thought there was some way for rock stars to change the world, why’d we get into this line of work?

        *          *          *

Maybe it’s just me, but I’d always stop myself halfway through singing along with Beck, “I’m a loser baby/So why don’t you kill me.” Joke or not, I like my slacker resignation a little less self-destructive. I preferred Dante’s mantra from Clerks: “I’m not even supposed to be here today!”

In 1994, in fact, I found more resonance in film than music. While Hole or whoever will be worthy Pazz & Jop winners, to me the hands down rock’n’roll event of the year was Pulp Fiction. The Woodstock youth had Green Day and Offspring; Tarantino, Travolta, Jackson and Thurman were the icons who bound the twentysomethings together.

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