Scalawags

FACELIFT
8/21/90

So Alice In Chains might be a bad band name, but Alice N' Chains is a worse one. Still, even that was big step up from Sleze, the original handle of Layne Staley's first band.

Jerry Cantrell was a homeless musician when he met Staley at a party in Seattle. Soon the pair were sharing space at the warehouse/rehearsal studio Music Bank. When the original AIC broke up, Jerry and Layne began playing together. With the additions of bassist Mike Starr and drummer Sean Kinney, the rebooted Alice In Chains recorded a demo that caught the attention of Soundgarden managers Susan Silver and Kelly Curtis, who passed it along to the Columbia Records A&R department.

Of the Big 4, AIC are the outlier, not just in sound but in look. They worshipped at the altar of Sabbath and Zeppelin, but the band members also drew inspiration from the resolutely uncool likes of Guns 'N Roses and Queensryche. Nobody in Alice was digging on the Raincoats, yearning to emulate the Sonic Youth model, or having their lives changed by Fugazi. They are, like Soundgarden, more of a metal band than an alternative one. They are, unlike Soundgarden, awful damn proud of that fact.

The release of Facelift cause grumblings within the local scene, chiefly from those who remembered AIC as a glam act piggybacking on the hot new sound. Opinions are opinions, and facts are facts, and the fact is: Facelift was the first grunge album to earn platinum certification in the U.S., boasted considerably by massive MTV presence.

"We Die Young"--Out of the gates, into the gutter. "Scary's on the wall/Scary's on his way" would be terminally corny if Staley didn't sound so, well, scary.

"Man in the Box"--The breakthrough, remembered for the talkbox and holy shit what happened to that guy's eyes? The rancorous riffage left me ill-prepared for AIC's trademark: the unconventional harmonizing of Layne and Jerry. "MITB" is hardly the finest representation of this quality, what with Layne sounding like an old man's clammy hand feels for most of the song. Both 120 Minutes and Headbanger's Ball played the burning syphilitic piss out of the video, by the way.

"Sea Of Sorrow"--A bit of a swing, if that's your thing. White boys bruise easier, or at least it looks that way. My favorite single from Facelift.

"Bleed the Freak"--Here we go, godless harmonies in full bloom. Too often, people associate AIC with chemicals when really chemistry was much more key. Arrows bisecting the air, gutted boar oppressors roaring, the word "thine," come on guys let's stop taking rawk mzk so so srs.

"I Can't Remember"--For the best, really, that we forget most of what we dream. We'd have even less productive days and nights, caught in the snare of recollection and dissection.

First glimpse of brooding Layne Staley. His complaints are hoary, but heartfelt. It's not as if someone's troubles are only worthwhile if packaged in an unorthodox container.

"Love, Hate, Love"--Six murky, meandering minutes that feel even longer to my older ears. This is the sequel to "Jet City Woman," probably. (I wonder how many hours Jerry Cantrell spent "studying" Operation: Mindcrime.)

"It Ain't Like That"--I won't hear word one of slander against this semi-masterpiece of chromatic death. Fried veins cure fried brains. Pass it on.

"Feel as though/A tooth were rotten."

Aw man.

"Sunshine"--The chorus is excessively pretty, despite a horribly forced rhyme. Well-constructed and (almost) embarrassingly effective.

"Put You Down"--The brevity of the verses sticks out. That's pretty much all.

"Confusion"--Ever been so drunk at the bar you nod off and wake up when the tip of your nose hits the rim of whatever's containing your beverage of choice? 'Cause I haven't.

That's Mike Starr looming in the chorus, he has a Kerry King thing happening. Layne's blood is poisoned and poised. He's not yet a pro at replenishment, but he's a fast learner. And the way he sings "crawl" is indecent.

"I Know Somethin' ('Bout You)"--Fake funk filler.

"Real Thing"--Tries to kick shit and flubs worse than Romo. Does salvage itself somewhat with a reference to the greatest comedy film ever at the end.



Facelift was the first of all the albums in this series to make a serious impact on me. I was nearing adolescence, listening to it, Goo and Rust In Peace over and over, thinking about everyone I despised at my middle school (which meant everyone at my middle school). Time has treated the record fairly, with all the kindness and meanness it deserves. The last third of the album has always plodded, just as the first two-thirds still inspire fantasies of bashing that Christine bitch upside the head with a lunch tray in the cafeteria.