Dogstar
Quattro Formaggi [E.P.]

I know there are still many nostalgists of those American bands that dominated the music scene in the early '90s and that, for commercialization purposes even before philosophical or strictly musical ones, were incorporated into the "grunge" cauldron. Thus, there are those who rediscover side projects, those who dig into what the seminal bands had planted, those who bring home the millionth review of the milestone of the moment... Everything revolves around this word: grunge... Who were the dead of grunge? Who was (or were) the king of grunge? Who were the freaks, who were the great fakes of grunge? And who were the purest, destined from the start to not conquer the masses? Which, among all the bands that managed to tour the world, were mother-MTV's real darlings? Which were the super bands of grunge? What music did grunge musicians play before grunge even existed? Who was grunge without knowing it? Who was proto-grunge?

And what about post-grunge? What about post-grunge? Why does no one or almost no one tinker, delve, or dig deeper into what was post-grunge? It was clear why James Iha and Billy Corgan mocked Gavin Rossdale and his Bush at the time, but how much was truly deserving of being mocked or swept away "just" because it was post-grunge?

In 1996, while Corgan was poised to succeed Cobain, while Pearl Jam distanced themselves from their debut sound with "No Code," and while the lovely Evan Dando was dancing to Oasis' britpop, while this generational carnival was reaching its last confetti, bands like Bush, Silverchair, and the more honest but equally derivative Creed emerged, but also infinitely more appreciable bands such as Everclear, Live, the fun Presidents Of The United States Of America, Filter, or the Foo Fighters themselves.

Even these guys, the subject of my review, would be, for style and space-time placement, post-grunge, yet if you look for them under such a label, you won't find them. That's because they released very few works, they quickly disbanded, and because their vocalist and leader, Bret Domrose, a sort of more rock and less self-aware/interested Dando, did not continue his musical career, in fact, disappearing almost into thin air. And then for another reason: the name of their bassist.

After films like "Point Break," "My Own Private Idaho," "Bram Stoker's Dracula," "Even Cowgirls Get the Blues," "Little Buddha," "Speed," and "Johnny Mnemonic," it was impossible not to think that Keanu Reeves wouldn't get into music. The late River Phoenix did, Johnny Depp his fellow actor-emblems of those times, and others still, each in their generation, from Kevin Bacon to Jared Leto. Could Reeves be missing? And indeed, Dogstar, a solid alternative rock power trio (not just grunge), was Keanu Reeves' band. Unfortunately for them, though, that's all they were.

The result was instant overexposure, world tours, frenzied adolescents, MTV interviews, unlimited credit, disproportionate attention, and... zero consideration for the music, zero interest in how good Domrose was as a songwriter, handsome as a frontman, capable as a performer. People wanted Keanu, they wanted to see the tormented surfer Johnny Utah on stage, they wanted to photograph the little Buddha while he played the bass.

In this debut e.p., for the record, Domrose works hard with two ballad-like songs rich in accelerations, with a no-compromise rock worthy of being on the tracklist of Eddie Vedder and company's latest album; the finale is a delicate ballad with strings and guitar of good quality. But who cared? Keanu Reeves was the fetish to chase, the sole reason to get this e.p. And, unfortunately, to repeat the same thing with all the rest of the future output...

Now that Reeves is in his forties, anyone who, assuming there is someone, wants to listen to authentic alternative rock produced after grunge can get their hands on and enjoy these "Quattro Formaggi" and this band called Dogstar. A credible group. Finally.