Every three to five years there seems to be one band that artists, intellectuals, and cultural critics gravitate toward as symptomatic of the moment and, on a higher level, as a symbiotically beneficial organism. A few years ago it was the expansive fucked-upness of the Butthole Surfers that entered/altered art-world consciousness; and now it’s Melvins. Nearly ten years after escaping the redneck logging town of Aberdeen, Washington, and spawning the so-called Seattle sound of Mudhoney, Nirvana, et al.—the current “loser’s revolution”Melvins seem to have arrived, and right on time.
The heaviest band in the world? The fathers of grunge rock? No, it’s not enough to label Melvins, or to acknowledge their influence. Where Pearl Jam is simply a band, Melvins are more like natural phenomena with mass and volume, something tangible and awesome at the same time. If they’re rock, they’re the
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