It’s time to get grunge-y. (Grungerrific? Grungeous? Who cares, dude, it’s time to rock in a socially responsible, environmentally correct, politically conscious manner while simultaneously caring deeply and not caring at all! Yeah!)
Despite some excellent albums, Screaming Trees never garnered as much attention as their Seattle peers. They rocked just as hard. They wore just as much flannel. But Nirvana, Pearl Jam, and Soundgarden took all the laurels, leaving the four members of Screaming Trees . . . laurel-less.
Maybe it’s because they never smiled. Not once. Or they weren’t quite edgy enough musically—a little too classicist. Or maybe it’s because they wrote the occasional break-up song and referred to their estranged lover with the 70s appellation “Mama.” (Other bands wrote about teenage deodorants and dudes named Jeremy—and sold millions of albums as a result.)
What Screaming Trees did share with their contemporaries was an inability to survive past 1997. (Excepting Pearl Jam, who managed to stay together by being totally uncool. Only one member went to rehab? Nobody died? You all love each other? Not very rock ‘n’ roll, guys.) ST’s lead singer, Mark Lanegan, went on to have a critically acclaimed, cult following kind of career. As for the other three members, I would have to google what happened to them, but since I’m a part of the Slacker Generation … meh. Whatever.
Despite my snarky tone, I love this song. And Screaming Trees are a great, and underrated, band.