This article originally appeared in the November 1992 issue of SPIN. Glasgow, Scotland. It’s cold outside. I’m thinking about a problem. One group of people trying to force their beliefs on others, based on religion. And it seems as though we’re regressing. Above, a helicopter flies by. If it continues on its course, it will shortly be over Ireland, where as of this writing, the powers that be are deciding if a 14-year-old girl who was raped by the father of one of her friends should be allowed to leave for Britain to obtain an abortion. She’s been ordered not to leave the country for nine months. Fourteen years old. Raped. The issue of an unborn fetus takes on more importance than the fact that the rapist walks free. Extreme, but this is a place where the church influences the government....
This article originally appeared in the August 1996 edition of SPIN. With Biography: KISStory airing tonight, we’re republishing the story here. Whoo-hoo, it’s a firehouse inside Gold’s Gym, a Hollywood sweatbox packed with waiters looking to be actors, actors looking to be bodybuilders, and bodybuilders looking at their reflection in the mirrored walls. In one corner, Paul Stanley, singer and rhythm guitarist in Kiss, and at 44 its youngest member, strains against the forces of nature as he hangs from the Gravitron. The man usually seen with a huge star across his face is, this Saturday afternoon, seeing stars. He may be masked for a living, but momentarily, dangling from the Gravitron, Stanley’s face contorts into a mask of pain. “All right, let’s do it!” barks Anton, the offi...
This article originally appeared in the October 1989 issue of SPIN. He looks a lot more like his mother. He’s got Rita’s apple cheeks and dimples, and a flirtatious, almost girlish smile. No intimidating stares, no tough ras sass, no prophetic, heavy-lidded ganja nods. Still, you can’t help playing the Famous Son game, studying his face for traces of the father whose brooding, angular, saint-like portrait graces West Indian dwellings from Kingston to the United Kingdom. Meanwhile, this bright-eyed Jamaican 20-year-old dressed in sweats and snazzy athletic boots, a graduate of one of his country’s most rigorous preparatory schools, keeps a soccer ball bobbing at his feet. “Me is Ziggy,” he shrugs offhandedly when asked the question he’s probably sick of answering. “Me is my own self. Not me...
This article originally appeared in the April 1996 issue of SPIN. In hip-hop’s cosmology, “hardcore” rap means a cantankerous MC kicking rhymes like bodies over harsh, skeletal beats. “Alternative,” on the other hand—singing, melodies, instrumentation, any sort of peace-and-love attitude—translates as “no skills.” So hip-hop trio the Fugees—Wyclef “Clef” Jean, Lauryn “L” Hill, and Prakazrel “Pras” Michel—aren’t at all pleased to be in this section. “We are a hip-hop group, point blank,” says 20-year-old Hill, a doe-eyed gamine of startling beauty and as brawny and nimble a rapper as she is a rapturous soul singer. “‘Alternative’ is like saying ‘she’s attractive for a dark-skinned girl,’ a backhanded compliment. Just because we can play instruments, we can’t be real hip-hop? The reaso...
This article originally appeared in the April 1996 issue of SPIN. In honor of the release of Garbage’s seventh studio album No Gods No Masters, we’re republishing the story here. Garbage are standing on a pier looking out at the ocean. Suddenly Butch Vig spots something and points. “What’s that?” he wonders. Steve Marker squints. “Three seals?” he guesses. “I don’t think so,” says Duke Erikson. Shirley Manson pulls out her binoculars and checks. “Oh my God,” she pants. They realize it’s the sopping heads and flailing arms of Courtney Love, Kim Deal, and Alanis Morissette. They’re sinking fast. There’s only time to rescue one of them. Which alternative-rock superstar does Garbage decide to save? “Courtney Love,” says Manson. “Definitely. Undoubtedly.” “I have to say Courtney or ...
This article originally appeared in the April 1996 issue of SPIN. “Los Angeles is my favorite city in the world!” declares super foxy Red Hot Chili Peppers guitarist Dave Navarro, offering as proof of his conviction the city’s name tattooed on the back of his neck. “I would never live anywhere else.” Navarro, drummer Chad Smith, and I are wedged into Newsroom, a trendy Beverly Hills restaurant/coffee house/media mill where omnipresent TV monitors serve up the latest from the E! network with your rice-milk cappuccinos. “But I feel like the bad is taking over,” says Smith, an unadulterated rock dude and Detroit native who, Navarro says, wrote the book on that city’s infamous evening of arson known as Devil’s Night. “I wouldn’t want my kids growing up here,” admits Smith, who at age 33 s...
This article was originally published in the December 1991 issue of SPIN. Smashing Pumpkins were one of our Artist of the Year runner-ups. In honor of Gish turning 30, we’re republishing this article. With its simultaneously childlike and ferocious debut album, gish (Caroline Records), the Chicago-based hard-soft psychedelia foursome Smashing Pumpkins exploded onto the 1991 indie-rock landscape with all the messy orange furor of its namesake. Even though the group disavowed any overt connections to Halloween or related vandalisms, the trick-or-treat dichotomy has proven to be a recurring theme during the Pumpkins’ short but illustrious career. Singer-guitarist-mastermind Billy Corgan, guitarist James lha, bassist D’Arcy Wretzky, and drummer Jimmy Chamberlin thrive on co...
A version of this story originally appeared in the December 1991 issue of SPIN. We’ve republished it on what would have been Miles Davis’ 95th birthday. I loved watching Harry Reasoner’s expression on 60 Minutes when Miles told him he felt there was nothing wrong with being a pimp: “Women liked me,” rasped the controversial, iconoclastic, horn-playing genius. Oh, Miles! I could hear women gasping from coast to coast! This man did speak his mind. I decided I finally had to get in touch with this gravelly-voiced musical messenger and get him to talk to me, even though the word was he wasn’t talking to anybody (not even to promote his just-released autobiography, Miles, for Simon and Schuster). And he is oh so difficult—authentic and stubborn. Good enough for me; I had to try. Mile...
<span class="localtime" data-ltformat="F j, Y | g:ia" data-lttime="2021-05-25T19:41:14+00:00“>May 25, 2021 | 3:41pm ET We don’t want Robert Plant taking a stairway to heaven anytime soon, but the Golden God will leave fans with a whole lotta music once he leaves this world. The Led Zeppelin legend has instructed his children to unleash his entire archive of unreleased material for free once his time is gonna come. On the latest episode of his Digging Deep podcast, the iconic singer told co-host Matt Everitt that he spent a good portion of the pandemic archiving his unreleased material from over the years. The music dates from his pre-Zeppelin days in 1966 through the present day. “All the adventures that I’ve ever had with music and tours, album release...
A version of this article originally appeared in the January 1997 issue of SPIN. On the 25th anniversary of Bradley Nowell’s death, we’re republishing the story here. The smog blows east from the coast and there’s nothing to obscure this rooftop Long Beach vantage. You can see the endless strip of sandy shoreline—which established Long Beach as a tourist mecca—and the nearby oil refineries—which helped foot the tab. Facing away from the beach, there’s a hint of LBC, the ghettosphere where gangstas plot revenge and their next hard-core hit. Look straight down in all directions, though, and you spot patches of backyard green, little plots punctuated by sprinklers, crabgrass, hibachis, and Evinrudes. This is the flagstone cradle that rocked Sublime into early prominence. “We were, like,...
A version of this article originally appeared in the March 1994 issue of SPIN. In honor of Juliana Hatfield’s latest album, Blood, being released on May 14, 2021, we’re republishing this story. It takes a lot of hard work to keep an enigma in motion. Juliana Hatfield has never been afraid of the fierce work ethic of enigma maintenance. “I get pleasure in being misrepresented,” she says casually, shredding a toothpick into a pile of splinters on the table, “because it proves that people can’t figure me out. It’s good that people don’t know the real me. I wouldn’t want people to really know me. That would be creepy.” Hatfield has certainly given her listeners a lot of personality crises to puzzle through. Her six albums—two solo, four with the Blake Babies—bristle with lush melod...
A lot of what’s been written about Olympia, Washington’s finest-ever rock trio, Beat Happening, refers to its purported immaturity. The band has been pegged as “wide-eyed,” “naive,” and “childlike,” which would, I guess, be charming If it weren’t so wrongheaded. “I don’t mind when we get called childlike, but I don’t understand it,” says Beat Happening’s Lurch-throated singer-guitarist Calvin Johnson. “What’s childlike about ‘Revolution Come and Gone,’ or ‘Black Candy’?” Or for that matter, any number of Beat Happening’s heavy gems, such as “Red Head Walking,” or, from its wholly fab new LP, You Turn Me On, “Tiger Trap” and “Bury the Hammer”? For his part, Johnson prefers to think of the trio’s music as classic rock—not Classic Rock, mind you, like the Doors or Led Zeppelin or Bad Company,...