LOUDER THAN YOU THINK: A LO-FI HISTORY OF GARY YOUNG AND PAVEMENT (B+) - We'll eventually get to see Alex Ross Perry's experimental history of the '90s indie darlings Pavement, but until then, it's good to have this straightforward mainstream tick-tock of the Stockton, Calif., good guys, even if it's done here through the filter of the band's bonkers original drummer, Gary Young.
In the headline to Richard Brody's review of Perry's "Pavements," the group is referred to as "big in the nineties and bigger in memory." One of the joys of "Louder Than You Think" is seeing all the band members participate and placing into perspective (and the historical record) the brilliance of "Slanted and Enchanted," the band's buzzy 1992 debut album that helped put the boutique label Matador Records on the map. Sometimes with a documentary, like a good song, all you have to do is to hit all your spots and have a catchy hook. Young (below, center), an unrepentant alcoholic and drug abuser up until his 2023 death at 70, makes for a fascinating character study while we celebrate a truly innovative indie band.
Young was of a different generation than the youngsters who knocked on his door wanting to record their first songs -- Scott Kannberg (above left) and Stephen Malkmus (right). Young was a Boomer, born in the early '50s, while the band members were born in the mid-'60s. In fact, Malkmus, the laconic songwriter and lead singer, just might be the quintessential Gen X person. His interviews alternate between ironic detachment and exasperation in recalling how Young's antics -- insisting on doing headstands during song and sometimes showing up in no condition to perform -- earned the drummer a following of his own.
Malkmus and Kannberg (along with Bob Nastanovich, who would arrive later and serve as Young's backup and baby-sitter) had a near-phobia about being popular rock stars, while Young wanted to be Buddy Rich, Ringo Starr and Ginger Baker rolled into one. One great story from the road highlights Young's showmanship -- he was partial to tossing a drumstick in the air and catching it (ta-da!) -- while the normie front men cringe with hipster embarrassment. As Malkmus put it, Young favored "prog-rock extravagance" while surrounded by "unconfident dudes who are worried about being cool or something." A classic generation gap.
That tension would lead to Young's exit after their first big tour opening for Sonic Youth. By the end of 1993, about a year into their popularity, Young made crazy financial demands and parted ways with the band. Young seems to have few regrets about flaming out -- though you certainly can detect a catch in the voice of his long-suffering wife, Geri, as she recounts those days with a sigh. Young made some solo recordings, which have an outsider-artist feel (to be charitable) and went back to relative obscurity as a recording engineer. Pavement would release a solid sophomore effort (1994's "Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain") and a collection of their early recordings before the magic wore off; by 1996's "Wowee Zowee" (which I panned in the Chicago Sun-Times) Malkmus' lyrical well would run dry, and after two more tepid releases the band broke up in 1999, a perfect capstone to a decade. (An academic article could be considered comparing Pavement's drop-off in quality following the loss of Young to the Replacements' slide after firing alcoholic guitarist Bob Stinson. Discuss.)
Young, hunched over from scoliosis and slurring his words because of his booze-soaked brain, sits for hours of interviews, recounting the band's early days and never hiding his ongoing drinking problem (he boasts of ingesting "a quart of whiskey" a day). When asked about Young out-drinking the other band members, the band's tour engineer says, "He usually outdrank himself." Young apparently was hyperactive his whole life; his brother observes that it must have been "energetically demanding to be him," which helps explain the self-medicating. He claims to have dropped acid more than 300 times when he was 16 years old.
Debut director Jed Rosenberg, with co-writer Greg King, balances a light-hearted approach with a, er, sober analysis of the band's early years leading up to the "Slanted and Enchanted" success. They use jangly marionettes (in the style of "Team America: World Police" and "Pee-wee's Playhouse") to re-enact some of Young's antics. Talking heads include Young's brother, other band members, and Chris Lombardi, who founded Matador in his New York apartment in 1989.
It was around that time that Kannberg and Malkmus reconnected in their hometown of Stockton, found Young at his Louder Than You Think home studio and put out a series of raw EPs and singles (most on Chicago's Drag City label), culminating in 1991 with their signature tune "Summer Babe." The recordings were fairly crude, in the mode of the era, though Young here bristles at the labeling of "lo-fi" -- he insists he was making quality recordings. He became their drummer by default, in the recordings leading up to "Slanted" and on tour
There is a nostalgic rush in the telling of the band's emergence in 1992. Tapes of "Slanted" circulated, and Spin magazine, the mainstream taste-maker of the day, reviewed the album from a cassette copy, giving it a five-star rave and launching a phenomenon. I still remember spinning the CD for the first time and feeling like a new genre had opened up. It was obtuse and clever and fresh.
Kannberg is listed as an executive producer, and you can appreciate his input, which must have helped the filmmakers walk the line between presenting Young as a clown vs. as a serious influence on '90s independent music. It's an admirable study of art and addiction. And it's a valentine to the Heyday of the Planet of Sound, when possibilities seemed endless across many genres of music. Young was a key contributor, and he gets his due here.
BONUS TRACKS
From "Slanted," the propulsive anthem "Two States":
Here is the Wedding Present's more hi-fi cover of "Box Elder," from Pavement's first EP:
And Young's memorable drumming on the timeless pop masterpiece, "Summer Babe":
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