Mad Season
Above

For those who had seen the birth and growth of the Seattle sound, 1994 represents a moment of extreme difficulty, of extreme uncertainty about the outcomes of bands to which, more or less, they were deeply attached for that mix of life experiences in many ways comparable to the biographies of the leading figures of that scene, for the approach to music (so different from the previous decade), for the wealth of impressions, sensations, and moods that those few and very noisy chords unleashed: Cobain's death, the crisis that seemed to have hit Pearl Jam immediately after Vitalogy, Alice in Chains grappling with Layne Staley's dramatic health issues. Even Soundgarden, drunk with the success finally achieved with Superunknown, were quite close to collapse.

In this situation emerges what is, in my opinion and for many others, the band that perhaps more than others represented Grunge and its soul with a single, surprising album.

Mad Season consists of some members from the major groups of the entire movement: Layne Staley, Mike McCready, Barrett Martin, joined by bassist John Baker Saunders, unrelated to the scene but a well-regarded session musician with a purely blues background: the various personal vicissitudes of the four (3/4 undergoing treatment at specialized clinics for alcohol and/or drug detox) and the camaraderie developed over years of sharing stages and experiences soon led to passionate and very long jam sessions in late 1994, appearing on the schedule of Seattle's historic Crocodile Café on October 16, under the name Gacy Bunch, immediately changed to what we know (an English expression referring to the period when hallucinogenic mushrooms are in full growth). Taking advantage of the breaks from their main bands, the four began to take it seriously, and on March 14, 1995, Above was released, on the Sony/Columbia label. Special participation on two tracks ("I'm above" and "November hotel") by Martin's comrade-in-arms, that long-haired Mark Lanegan, who would decisively and skillfully embark on a solo path in subsequent years, appearing in major productions at the end of the century and the beginning of the millennium.

Listening to it for the first time (from my old cassette stereo, with a tape that was beyond bad), left me speechless: "what's this bass intro!?", "where have the decibels gone?" and "what happened to that sonic dirt I adore so much?". At that moment, I couldn't have known it, but at almost 18 years old, I was crossing the door that would lead me to growth in terms of listening, in search of music, and not just noise. Putting aside my life story, let's talk about the album, with a necessary and obligatory premise: as I have said elsewhere, only those who write an album can speak of it in terms of objectivity. Those who try to review it can only rely on the sensations, emotions, the wonder that four chords evoke.

Mike McCready is a great guitarist, and I fear no contrary opinion: in Pearl Jam, he is naturally restrained by the unchallenged genius of Stone Gossard (especially in the pre-Yield period), and his contribution is limited to the most unrelenting spleen. This album, however, is his guitar masterpiece: electric outbursts and sweetness on six strings, psychedelia and rock, Jimmy Page and Jimi Hendrix, Fender and Gibson, coexist in a miraculous balance: "River of Deceit" is his contribution to rock of all time. John Baker Saunders's bass does its job: he is the most experienced of the three, has vast experience, and it shows: he keeps the fort with feet firmly planted on the ground, not allowing either the drums or guitars to stray too far and calling them to order. Barrett Martin's drums are more versatile than ever: his experience with Screaming Trees had accustomed him to alternating more bluesy registers with decidedly faster ones. On vocals, the most underrated in media terms of the entire grunge scene: Layne Staley once again confirms the extraordinary talent bestowed upon him by nature, which is a voice capable of stirring emotions, transmitting forebodings, vibrating, and dreaming: his harmonizations have made history, a challenge and delight for anyone attempting to interpret his piece. Moreover, the artwork for the entire project is entrusted to some of his drawings: a note due to the artist Staley.

The album alternates between rock and blues arrangements, reaching truly significant artistic levels: the first register includes the schizophrenic "X-ray Mind", the sweet yet simultaneously bitter "River of Deceit", the powerful "I'm Above", while "I Don't Know Anything" is the only concession to grunge; comparable to blues standards are the majestic "Wake Up", the hypnotic "Artificial Red", the sickly "Lifeless Dead", while "Long Gone Day", "November Hotel", and "All Alone" are less classifiable. Nevertheless, the album is compact and without any dispersion, with a lineup constructed in an exemplary manner. The music seems to go hand in hand with the lyrics, as always, imbued with Staley's biographical elements: particularly, ?River of Deceit? paints a picture in dark tones, perfectly colored (in black and white, paradoxically) by McCready's notes. The album, which will remain the only one produced by the group (which can be admired live in a spectacular concert held at the Moore Theater in Seattle), ideally closes the grunge epic, exactly four years after "Temple of the Dog": an album not easy, not accessible to everyone; an album which represents an unrepeatable moment for those who were there, and for those who are here now, it ought to be rediscovered. Unfortunately, or fortunately depending on the points of view, very soon the parent groups will get back on track: unfortunately, and here there is no alternative, those problems that had united these musicians will never completely disappear. McCready will only resolve his issues post-Binaural (and we are already in the new millennium), seemingly for good; John Baker Saunders will die from an overdose in '99; Layne Staley, after a self-imposed exile lasting years (interrupted only by a few moments of light) will be found dead on April 5, 2002.

"We all meet from time to time
Isn't it strange
How far we've come now
Am I the only one who remembers that summer
Oh, I remember
Every day, every moment that place was safe
The music we made
The wind carried it all away"

("Long Gone Day")

Ps: I decided to write this review because, though they are appreciable, the ones already present seemed to lack something, and given the importance this album has for me, I wanted to share my thoughts.