90s Pop Rock: The Ultimate Comfort Trash
Let’s say you got really into my last post, about the best autumnal albums. Let’s say you went even further, delving into records like Deep Blood by City Hunter or REM’s Fables of the Reconstruction. You listen to these albums while reading your choice of horror literature (a la Grady Hendrix, Stephen Graham Jones, Kathe Koja, etc) or in the background while you blaze through some Alan Wake Remastered and the 2002 remake of Resident Evil or in between rounds of Subspecies or Wishmaster sequels— however you get your rocks off during the Halloween season.
But let’s say that sometimes, all the gloominess, however pleasant, starts to wear on you. Or let’s say you’re going through some real melancholy, or some difficulties in your life. Sometimes, you don’t want to disappear into the darkness and anxiety, however cathartic it can be. Sometimes, you just want pure comfort. Sometimes, that comfort is trash.
Comfort Trash is an interesting concept in that it can encompass everything from your favorite corny webcomic that you know isn’t good or watching season after season of the same reality show long after it’s outstayed its welcome. Sometimes, you need something that you know is trash, but it feels replenishing to your soul.
Reader, for me, that Comfort Trash is 90s pop rock. I was born in 1996, which means that for me, the 90s pop rock songs that I heard on the radio as a child during the early-00s hangover of 90s pop culture speak to me on a primal level, as something more than nostalgia— it’s almost akin to a security blanket.
I’m gonna head you off at the pass and say that, yes, of course, many of the songs I’m about to mention here are good, and they’re performed by good bands. They’re not trash because they’re bad— they’re trash because when I listen, I’m not getting anything new in terms of substance or value. I’m just scratching a primordial itch, something that speaks to me in a way that is fundamentally disposable and yet evergreen. 90s pop rock is phenomenal, and 90s pop rock is ephemeral. This is its curse and its blessing.
The great thing about 90s pop rock is that it all basically sounds the same, and I mean that sincerely. You hear that chord progression, and you hear those nasally vocals, and it just transports you immediately to sitting under a tree or on the bus and hearing those songs beamed into your brain from the radio or from a mixtape that you burned to play on your shitty little Discman and it reminds you that everything is gonna be alright.
This is Comfort Trash.
“Closing Time” - Semisonic. This song gained something of a second life after it was prominently featured in the Mila Kunis/Justin Timberlake romcom Friends with Benefits (which weirdly came out at the exact same time as the Natalie Portman/Ashton Kutcher film No Strings Attached, a much more melancholic take on the same subject). The reason it was referenced in that movie and still holds so much staying power is because it is a perfect little song. It knows its chorus is unbearably huge— a kaiju-sized earworm that will never leave your skull for as long as you live— and it hammers it in over and over, forcing you to soak up the inherently-slightly-depressing nature of the lyrics and somehow in your brain free-energy-convert it into comfort. It’s pop brilliance.
“Little Black Backpack” - Stroke 9. This band’s name might make you assume, wrongly, that they were part of the post-Eve 6/post-blink-182 wave of vaguely-catchy soundalikes that felt just as factory-made as the numerical additions to their name implied. (blink and Eve 6 get obvious passes on the name front, even if the latter’s pass mostly comes from the fact that it is an X-Files reference, as do Sum 41.) But in fact, Stroke 9 was formed all the way back in 1989, and this song was first released in 1995, long before said wave was even a twinkle in the eyes of major labels. However, you can see why someone may think that— in between the downbeat, sensitively-crooned verses, we are treated to one of the most transcendently soaring choruses ever written, a gorgeously stupid yet melodically clever hook that claws its way into your very soul and refuses to let go.
“Hey Leonardo (She Likes Me for Me)” - Blessid Union of Souls. I honestly feel like this band gets short shrift as one-hit wonders, primarily because some of the jazzy noodling that they splice into this track is so clearly a cut above what so many of their peers were even technically capable of, but on a pure songwriting level, this song is just bliss. From the hyperactive pop-culture references layered throughout (which introduce the concept of someone being attracted to Steve Buscemi, surely a brave statement to make in 1996 or whatever) to the confectionery-cruise-control of the chorus to the simple lovable zeal of the vocals, this song is a stone-cold-stunner from front to back.
“Little Bastard” - Ass Ponys. I know this song mainly due to the Empire Records soundtrack (a veritable goldmine of 90s pop rock and a Comfort Trash movie in and of itself), but it must be said how deeply weird this song is, especially in the context in which it arose. It forgoes a lot of grunge-adjacent conventions in favor of being swirly and warbly, with almost-aggressively-obnoxious vocals, but I just can’t help but love it. That insane high note in “belly whiiiite” just makes my day like a punk making Dirty Harry’s.
“Two Princes” - Spin Doctors. I have a confession to make. For all the hundreds of times in my life that I have listened to this song front-to-back (which is saying something because this song is also surprisingly long, like almost 5 whole minutes???), I still don’t think that I actually know any of the lyrics. Not that it matters. The lyrics might be the most depressing in the history of recorded music and this song would still put a twinkle in my eye. And half the fun comes from half-mumbling, half-vibing the song’s muted chorus. It’s kind of like if Ween had tried to be pop. (No, “Push th’ Lil Daisies” doesn’t count.)
“Bound for the Floor” - Local H. On the other hand, it sounds like this song is deliberately trying to be as depressing as possible, which is why it’s so oddly triumphant that it still makes me crack a smile. “And you just don’t get it, keep it copacetic” is repeated ad nauseam, the repetition hitting a point of almost being genuinely unnerving, but the way it all explodes into the hook is so propulsive that it still feels fun. 90s pop rock was all about making depressing music fun, and this song understands that perfectly.
“Better Days (and the Bottom Drops Out)” - Citizen King. This lazy summer song might not even technically be a 90s track but it earns its slot here for scoring the end of both the pilot and series finale of one of my all-time favorite songs, Malcolm In the Middle. It is almost impossible to make me feel bad when I’m thinking about Malcolm In the Middle.
“My Own Worst Enemy” - Lit. Come on. You could literally shit on my shoes and tell me it’s chocolate fudge transported from a magical unicorn dimension where nothing bad ever happens and as long as this song is playing it’ll be downright impossible to disagree.
“Flagpole Sitta” - Harvey Danger. Harvey Danger is one of those bands that will always be hurt by the inescapable nature of their big hit. The album that this song comes from, Where Have All the Merrymakers Gone?, is low-key a power-pop/90s-emo-adjacent gem of sardonic lyricism and A+ pop songwriting. This song, for as much as it is a standard-bearer for those strengths, might be forever remembered as the theme song to Peep Show and little else, which is a damn shame because nothing feels as good as screaming along with “the agony and the irony, it’s killin’ me!”
“Absolutely (Story of a Girl)” - Nine Days. It is insane how front-to-back perfect this song is. That simple-but-effective guitar solo neatly complemented by the frenzied-yet-controlled organ solo. The power of the drop in those opening moments. The way that the chorus just feels like… more every time it hits. It really is a goddamn American tragedy that this feels like the only song these guys ever wrote. The music video is a work of genius too. For what it’s worth, I downloaded this off Limewire and it was labeled as a Three Doors Down song, which is pretty hilarious because “Kryptonite” is kinda like this song’s Waluigi.
“December” - Collective Soul. I confused this band with Soul Coughing for the longest time, which doesn’t even make sense because they sound nothing alike, but this song is one of those that made me realize I don’t believe in guilty pleasures. In theory, it is the ultimate apotheosis of lazy post-grunge songwriting, but in practice, it’s haunting and gorgeous and somehow inspiring? all in equal measure. That lilting guitar riff and the whisper-yarl of the vocals just feel like a warm blanket in the best way possible.
“Counting Blue Cars (Tell Me Your Thoughts On God)” - Dishwalla. This is, again, one of those songs that should just fall into the interchangeable garbage heap of “oh, yeah, this song,” but somehow transcends that status on the yearning strength of that chorus. Listen, I know that loud-quiet-loud was a cheap fucking trick that everyone and their grandma mercilessly beat to screaming death with thrift-store guitar pedals in 1995, but when it works, like it does here, it fuckin’ works.
“Possum Kingdom” - Toadies. Apparently this song is about a serial killer, or else it’s actually about a vampire? I don’t really know either way (and also, living in Texas, I’m fully aware that this band has a whole cult following who are sick of people talking about this song), but much like the Local H track, I feel like this song is so special for being able to take such a gloomy sound (that “Do you wanna die?” build-up is so vicious it almost hurts) and somehow turning it into something comforting.
“King of Wishful Thinking” - Go West. David Anthony reminded me about this song from the Pretty Woman soundtrack, which is great because it also neatly represents the moment that the pop landscape began to fully subsume the new jack swing scene. Keith Sweat this ain’t, but its obviously-processed yet deliriously-catchy tone feels like a perfect time capsule of the moment where the 80s began to fade, kicking and screaming, into the 90s.
“She’s So High” - Tal Bachman. In a lot of ways, kind of the pinnacle of Comfort Trash. Everything about this song is bad— the lyrics are dreadful, the song structure is so predictable as to be rote, the energy feels like it’s being sucked out of the room with each new measure— and yet, somehow, I can never bring myself to turn this song off when it comes on. On the level of conventional pop songwriting, it would get perfect scores on its rubric, which is perhaps what makes it so compelling even though it is also so very obviously Not Good. It’s hypnotic in its badness, and yet it has this intrinsically-listenable quality that’s both infuriating and comforting in equal measure. Not so bad it’s good— maybe so good it’s bad? Whatever it is, it feels like an appropriate note to end on.
What’s your favorite Comfort Trash song of the 90s pop rock boom? Better Than Ezra’s “Good”? “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” by Deep Blue Something? God forbid, is it “I’ll Be There for You” by the Rembrandts??? Sound off below.
-xoxo, Ellie
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