When did the ’90s begin? When the clock struck midnight between December 1989 and January 1990? When the Gulf War started? Or perhaps when the movie “Back to the Future Part III” hit the screens? If you ask the young lad I used to be, the cornerstone of the ’90s was laid in March 1990, along with the colorful flag of MTV Europe that was placed on the moon in the unforgettable promo when the music channel had just begun its broadcasts in Israel. Even though it took a moment for its influences to reach me, the snowball started rolling and was bound to change my life without recognition.
Looking back at the decades that have passed, at least those we can recall from recent times, we can see that each one is much more than the sum of its parts and that their beginnings don’t always follow the previous decade linearly and contain elements and characteristics you wouldn’t necessarily associate with them — especially when it comes to cultural traits. For instance, the hippy movement delved deep into the ’70s, the pop that characterized the early 2000s began to emerge towards the end of the ’90s, while the metal music we knew at the beginning of the ’90s started in the latter half of the ’80s (some might argue – and quite rightfully – that its roots can be even found a decade earlier).
So, when we look back at the ’90s, we can wonder: when exactly did the ’80s end and pave the way for the next decade? The answer is highly subjective and could lead to arguments that would easily break many friendships over the years. But for me, the snowball that started with MTV’s Astronaut reached me, causing the ’90s to truly begin when I first heard Kurt Cobain’s opening guitar riff for “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” One of my friends got the album “Nevermind” from his cousin, and when we played the CD in his boombox, something stirred within my soul. It wasn’t the first time I heard gritty guitar sounds. After all, Pantera, Metallica, Exploited, and The Pixies were our anthem in those years, but there was something different and special here. A sound I didn’t know, yet it hinted at me, “Here – you’re home.” That strange feeling of belonging captured me again a few years later when I first heard “The Prodigy Experience,” realizing that electronic music could be more punk than punk itself, and I had only snubbed this music because I was a klutz.
The soundtrack of an era is much more than mere background music. One of the first things you learn in video editing is how a simple soundtrack choice can turn a mundane scene of someone drinking coffee into five different stories if you just change the song paired with it. Similarly, the vocal track of an era defines it and provides us with a different meaning and another perspective that helps us understand it. So even if we can’t come to a definitive conclusion about when the ’90s truly became what they were, we can understand very well the significant aspects of those years, or at least how they were reflected culturally and popularly in the songs that accompanied them. And that’s exactly what Rob Harvilla attempts to comprehend in his excellent book “60 Songs That Explain the ’90s.”
But I’m getting a bit ahead of myself (says I after rambling for 564 words). Once, not so long ago (in the year 2020, to be precise), Rob Harvilla – a music journalist and critic and a ’90s guy through and through, decided to record a podcast titled “60 Songs That Explain the ’90s.” The podcast succeeded greatly due to Harvilla’s excellent delivery, which manages to convey his personal connection to the songs he talks about in monologues full of emotion, humor, and rhythm (we’ll get back to the rhythm), while in the second half of each episode, he interviews a music journalist, critic, or musician somehow related to the song discussed in the episode (even if it’s just an emotional connection). Particularly memorable was the episode about “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” which included the best interview I’ve ever heard with Courtney Love. For an hour and a half, Love managed to break away from the havoc and destruction bringer and antagonizing persona she often portrayes whenever she passes next to an open mic and showed a side that was empathetic, sensitive, and human. In this interview, she merely reacted to Harvilla’s humanity, sensitivity, and the interviewer’s sophisticated and brilliant vision – traits that Harvilla successfully infuses into his monologues for the podcast. As we can see, he is keeping these traits when he decides at the end of the day to condense the 110 podcast episodes (because it was clear he wouldn’t stop at sixty episodes) into a book that distilled the vocal essence of the ’90s.
Unlike the podcast, where each episode focuses on a single song and delves into its soul, the book is divided into ten chapters that touch on subjects essential to the songs mentioned in the chapter. For example, one of my favorite chapters: “Sellouts (or Not) (or Maybe),” discusses the biggest sin a rock band could commit in the ’90s – at least from the perspective of their fans – being a sellout. Take, for instance, the appalling reactions by Metallica fans the first time they heard the Black Album (and that’s before we talk about the highly commercialized “Load”) or the industry’s backlash against Green Day when they dared to sign with a major label and (heaven forbid) profit from their music.
Another chapter that, aside from being fascinating, was by all means one of the funniest, talks about the villains in ’90s music. Those individuals who were talented enough to get someone’s attention, and what they did with that attention was to trample anyone within a mile radius. Did someone mention the Gallagher brothers? I’m pretty sure someone mentioned the Gallagher brothers. But Noel and Liam Gallagher weren’t the only loudmouths in the ’90s. Overall, according to the quotes Harvilla provides in this chapter, it seems like apart from football (soccer, for our American readers), England’s national sport during the ’90s was sensational quotes from Britpop stars.
Rob Harvilla, or at least the version of Rob Harvilla exposed in the book (and he’s well exposed in the book – because at the end of the day, you can’t write an entire book about music without laying a big chunk of your soul on the table), is one of those guys you grew up with. He’s that guy who discovered Nine Inch Nails in a friend’s car or Tool in another friend’s ride (if you listen to his podcast, you’ll find out that much of the music he knew came from friends with cars equipped with decent stereos). He tried to wear the right band shirts, fell for female rock singers because they “kicked ass,” and then realized that wasn’t the right reason to fall in love. In fact, he is me, or you, or her if you happened to grow up in the ’90s.
But as wonderfully written and impressive as this book looks on the shelf (in case you want to impress your guests), the proper way to consume this book is as an audiobook. Never mind that his voice is radio-phonic (most of the time) and flows on the fine line of baritone and light tenor axis. What truly matters is the rhythm with which Harvilla delivers his texts. Those who have followed his podcast know that Rob Harvilla is a talented presenter. The way he delivers texts moves along the seam between slam poetry and a presidential national speech. The rhythm at which he fires words, the pauses in the right places, the precise wordplay — all these will ensure that after listening to nine hours of this book (or close to the 150 hours of his podcast), you too will regret that he isn’t narrating your life. The only issue with listening to the audiobook is that from time to time, you’ll have to take a break because the urge to listen to the song he’s talking about at that moment will overpower you. That’s how, halfway to my office, I was forced, against my will, to stop my bike by the roadside to pause the book and search on Spotify for Panthera’s ‘Walk,’ or Fiona Apple’s ‘Criminal,’ or Wu-Tang Clan’s ‘C.R.E.A.M.,’ or DJ Shadow’s perfect ‘Building Steam With A Grain Of Salt’ (somehow it always happens when I’m on the bike).
In short, it’s a must-read (or listen) for music enthusiasts, for those who grew up in the nineties, and for anyone with a bit of soul.
Five and a half songs you absolutely must listen to right now. You know which songs I’m talking about.
60 Songs That Explain the ’90s / Rob Harvilla / Twelve Books
