by Greg Prato
CHRIS HANZSEK: [The Melvins’ 1986 debut Six Songs] was done initially just to make a seven-inch. It was later on, when Daniel House was running C/Z Records, that he decided to reissue it as a twelve-inch record. And that’s when I got called up to edit together some of those missing songs. I really liked that record — that was all recorded live to two-track. That’s what 200 bucks would buy me — to get the band into the studio, set up really fast, throw microphones up, and record to tape. Mixing it live, no overdubs. After I recorded it, I listened to it, and kept hearing some awful sound on the bass. So I had them come back two weeks later and record the whole thing again. Put that record out, and called it quits on being a record label after that.
DALE CROVER: For our first few records, it was “blast through things as fast as you possibly could,” because you’ve only got a limited amount of time. Not like live at all — it definitely took quite a few years to get comfortable with being in a recording studio.
SLIM MOON: [1987’s] Gluey Porch Treatments came out, and my best friend, Dylan [Carlson], got so depressed. The process that went on in his head is that that record was so good that there was no reason to be in bands, because he could never be as good as them. So he had this crazy freak-out where he destroyed his guitar and amp, and moved back to Seattle.
TINUVIEL: The thing with the Melvins — especially in Olympia — you’ve got the little Olympia scenester kids, skinny punk boys, Riot Grrrls, and artsy kids. And then you’ve got all these people crawling out of the woods that you’ve never seen in Olympia most of the time. They only show up when the Melvins are playing — these huge, scary guys, who are probably the off spring of loggers. It is a little bit intimidating. Every Melvins show has that extreme audience.
XANA LA FUENTE: [Malfunkshun] went to do a show in Tacoma with the Melvins, and there was this cheesy metal band there. We kept telling them, “You guys are way over your amount of people you can have free at the door.” Somehow the way it worked at the end, not only were they not making money, but they owed us money for the sound system. I remember grabbing all of the cash and stuffing it down my bra! The Melvins were living in their van at the time — the guys from Malfunkshun said, “Just give it to the Melvins.” So I handed the Melvins $500, which in ’88 was a lot of money. They were like, “Xana, you saved our lives!”
MARK IVERSON: I thought they were gods, [but] they were assholes to interview. This was on the Ozma tour, and I thought Gluey Porch Treatments was one of the best albums ever. Dale answered nearly every question with the word “Satan!” so loudly that the meters would peak into the red. Buzz didn’t want to give a straight answer, he kind of did, “Mememememe!” — baby talk. I was easily intimidated at that young age on the air.
KIM THAYIL: They were working a lot harder than the other bands. They were doing tours before the rest of us had really acclimated to the national punk rock tour network.
JOE KEITHLEY: We played with them down in Atlanta, at this real shit hole place — the Metropolis. There was this burned up building across the street that was occupied by Nazi skinheads, and they had all these slogans spray painted — all this racist crap. Every time you pulled up, you’d go, “Who booked us here again?” We got there around seven in the morning, didn’t have any place to crash, so we banged on the door [of the Metropolis]. We thought, “Well, let’s sleep on the stage — at least we won’t have to sleep on the ground.” It turns out the fucking Melvins were sleeping on the stage — they beat us by a couple of hours.
DALE CROVER: We had played as much in Seattle as we could. The band broke up for a short time, and Buzz was moving to San Francisco. He had a girlfriend there that ended up playing in our band for a while, Lori Black, and he was thinking of starting something with her. I’m like, “Do you need a drummer? I’d like to get the hell out of this place.” And he’s like, “Sure, move down!” It was really hard to get shows, because nobody knew who we were. We didn’t move there thinking, “Oh, the music scene is great here!” It was more like, “Let’s get out of this piss hole that we live in, and move somewhere nice.” Eventually, we built up a pretty good following.
NILS BERNSTEIN: [1991’s] Bullhead really floored me, it was this already really extreme band going even more extreme, and it was at least ten years ahead of its time. On three occasions I got free beers after Melvins shows ’cause the bartender thought I was Buzz, which I don’t see. But I’m still thankful.
DALE CROVER: I don’t think it was until Bullhead where we were starting to feel comfortable [in the studio], and starting to understand how the whole thing worked.
KATHLEEN HANNA: We went to see Screaming Trees, Dinosaur Jr., and Mudhoney — stuff like that. I was too young though — I had to sneak in. The guy was like, “Tell me the truth — how old are you?” I said, “I’m nineteen.” He’s like, “OK … go in.” I was so psyched.
MARK PICKEREL: [1985’s] Other Worlds was born out of Lee’s home demos. I was really excited when Lee handed these demo cassettes to all of us. I was amazed to find out he had this talent, and until then, hadn’t really shown its face before. Since I had just befriended Steve Fisk, it was only natural that we book some time in this studio, Albright Productions, and record these songs. This was maybe a few months after Lanegan started singing with us, so he was still figuring out his strengths and weaknesses.
I remember that there’s this song — I believe “Pictures in My Mind” — he was self-conscious about his voice, so we ended up speeding up the tape, to give his voice a different edge. It’s funny considering most people, including myself, think of Mark as being one of the best singers of our generation. The Other Worlds EP gained some interest outside of little old Ellensburg. The next thing we knew, The Rocket was writing about us, and we were getting added to a few playlists — little college stations. To us, this was absolute validation. Clairvoyance was also on Velvetone, which was a label that was really just an extension of the recording studio — Albright Productions. The opening track, “Orange Airplane,” was a really great introduction for us nationally. It had the best elements of your paisley underground bands, but it had the intensity and urgency of Hüsker Dü. I wish more of the record had been as strong — we rushed everything.
VAN CONNER: After [1986’s Clairvoyance] was done, then we played a show — because there was no place to play in Ellensburg. Our first-ever show was at a group home for the mentally handicapped in Ellensburg. There was an old video of the Cramps playing at a mental institution [released on dvd in 2004 as Live at Napa State Mental Hospital] — and we thought, “Hey, we can do that!” We couldn’t get a gig at the mental institution, so we went to a group home [laughs]. Played a show there and videotaped. That videotape is somewhere — it’s lost. It was totally crazy — people jumping all over the place. Then our next show — our first show at a normal club — was an all-ages show with Beat Happening, I think. I remember going up onstage, and being scared and nervous. I looked over, and Lee was going totally crazy. As soon as he walked onstage, he started doing that “odd behavior” that he always did when we played — jumped all over the stage and rolled around. He’d never done that at practice. I was just standing there like a statue.
CHAD CHANNING: Lanegan — that guy always had long hair! With the punk rock thing evolving into what they coined “grunge,” the Screaming Trees were different from all that. Seeing something like that in the mix, it opened things up. Nothing has to be totally hardcore all the time or whatever. Mark’s just got that eerie, melancholy type of voice.
TAD DOYLE: Mark — an incredible singer. That voice of his is really low, warm, and full of pain.
TRACY MARANDER: [Lanegan] would usually stand with his eyes closed — reminded me of Jim Morrison.
DAWN ANDERSON: Mark Lanegan was one of the shyest guys I’ve ever met. When I interviewed them, it was really difficult, because they were afraid to talk to a girl [laughs]. Later on, they loosened up.
HIRO YAMAMOTO: I remember those two big guys — Van and Lee �
� shaking their hair. Those guys were so big and had so much energy. An awesome band — Lanegan is something else. Pickerel was just a kid — he was, like, a sixteen-year-old back then. A lot of big bodies and hair flying.
MARK PICKEREL: I was in awe of [the Conner brothers’ relationship] — it was so much fun. That was the most entertaining aspect of the band — watching those guys try and function together. I think they really loved each other, but they sure didn’t like to show it. Like most brothers, they fight and talk a lot of shit, but at the end of the day, they end up eating or watching a movie together. The next morning, it starts all over again [laughs]. I witnessed maybe four or five physical confrontations onstage. It usually was the result of Lee borrowing Van’s guitar. Lee would lose his mind at these shows, and start swinging Van’s guitar — smashing it about. So Van would throw his bass down, and start punching Lee, and kicking him — and Lee would fall over! The crowd loved it, but it wasn’t staged. I don’t think Van ever threw a punch at Lee that he didn’t mean.
MARK IVERSON: The Screaming Trees at the Central Tavern were always fun. But Mark Lanegan would be a bit … he would take his time showing. So the whole band would be onstage, and it’s like, “Where’s Mark?” One time, it was probably midnight, and all of a sudden, he comes tearing through the crowd. His hair is flying, his flannel is flying, he jumps onstage, and they just launch into their thing. Who knows what he was doing outside.
MARK PICKEREL: Van, Lee, and I came to see Black Flag play — about ’84 or ’85 — in Seattle. I timidly approached the stage as Greg Ginn was plugging in his amplifier, and tossed him our demo cassette, at his feet. He picked it up, and put it on his amp, and nodded his head in acknowledgement. That, combined with Steve Fisk being friends with this guy named Ray Farrell at SST, who he had also sent some music to, had ultimately led to us getting signed to SST. This is around my senior year in high school, or right after I graduated.
By the time we went on to record [1987’s] Even If and Especially When, we had a couple of major tours under our belts — a tour with fIREHOSE, and we shared the stage with Sonic Youth, the Meat Puppets, and Dinosaur Jr. In doing that, we gained a lot of confidence, because we went over really well with their audiences. It gave us some confidence to follow our own instincts, and worry a little bit less about what some of the “professional people” were suggesting we do. By the time we recorded Even If, even though it was in the same studio, we’d all become more proficient with our instruments, and I had a clearer idea of what to do as a drummer to make the songs more meaningful, and further the best aspects of each song.
I think a lot of people have the misconception that the Screaming Trees were always in turmoil, fighting, unhappy, and miserable. There were days when that was true. However, we laughed together constantly. The self-deprecating humor was always in the house. We were always making jokes at each other’s expense. For the most part, we were all there in support of each other, and encouraging to each other. We were all big fans of each other — I loved every individual in the band. So, that was a very prolific period for us — we were recording at least one record a year, sometimes more. Most of that was due to Lee being such a hermit — locking himself in his room and writing a song every day. I would guess he wrote at least three quality songs a week. At least a few really amazing songs a month. I must have another thirty to fifty great, classic Screaming Trees songs on cassette — that Lee recorded at home — that really should have come out. That were as good as anything else available. I regret that we didn’t record more records.
VAN CONNER: When we did [1988’s] Invisible Lantern, we were probably ready to call it quits. We all had crap jobs, and had no future. You weren’t making any money in a band like that — we were supporting our “band habit” by having a job. You had to take it really seriously to keep it going, and sacrifice everything. And you had to be willing to drop everything at the spur of the moment — like quit your job. I did quit at one point. I left before [1989’s] Buzz Factory for a while — about half a year — when I had my first son. I freaked out, I was like, “I can’t do music anymore!” Of course, then I realized that life sucked even worse without music, so I started doing it again. At that point, we’d done a bunch of tours — we’d toured Europe and the States.
STU HALLERMAN: [After a Screaming Trees performance] we all went out to eat together, at the Rib Eye, this little greasy spoon place up the hill in Olympia. It’s the two Conner brothers, Mark Pickerel, and myself. It’s Pickerel and myself on one side, and the Conner brothers on the other. The waitress takes mine and Pickerel’s order first, then turns to the two other long-haired, baby-faced guys, and says, “What would you ladies like?”
MARK IVERSON: I saw them at Evergreen State College. They were playing, I think, a gay and lesbian benefit, and there was nobody there. The stage was one foot off the ground, and [Lee] rolled into the crowd while viciously playing his guitar. He’s at my feet. I remember still feeling that adrenaline the next day.
STEVE FISK: Gary Lee Conner doing lots of high volume air stuff — crazy Pete Townshend moves. Things you wouldn’t expect a big guy to do. Somersault stuff — crazy shit. Everything was always too fast and chaotic, and didn’t resemble the records remotely. Kind of got out of hand — a scary vibe. Even the pop songs were fast and crazy.
MARK PICKEREL: We had a common objective, and we wanted similar things. Where we differed was in our personality types. I’m a pacifist, I’m passive-aggressive — the type of person that when faced with confrontation, [my] instinct is to turn and walk away, hide, or just not deal with it. In hopes that it will dissolve and disappear. That’s the kind of household I was raised in. From what I understand, Lanegan had a troubled childhood. Mark was always reluctant to get into any details, but I seem to remember hearing that one of his parents had a problem with alcohol — this might have contributed to Mark’s own early use of drugs and drinking. Mark could put away booze faster than anyone I’ve ever met. There’s worse cases out there, but I get the impression that his childhood was not as rosy as my own. And therefore, Mark’s natural instinct is to put up his fists if things aren’t going the way he wants. Or if you’ve done something that doesn’t sit well with him, or pisses him off, his natural instinct is “to go to the mats.” Mine is to go sit and feel sorry for myself. It’s hard for such opposing personality types to exist together — day in, day out.
I felt that Lee was jealous of the attention Mark gained from the Screaming Trees. Lee, knowing he’d written so many of the songs, and that without his songs, the band wouldn’t exist, was jealous of the attention Mark was getting from the press, and from the females in the audience. So there was some resentment there, and like I said before, Lee was “socially challenged” back in those years. He really led a sheltered existence, that mostly consisted of being at home all the time, which is also what led to him to write so many great songs. So the Screaming Trees was really his first introduction to a larger social life, that was very active and put us into a lot of different situations. This created a really awkward environment for the band, to see the way Mark might react to something Lee might have said in a certain situation, that might have embarrassed Mark.
Van and Lee were incredibly competitive. It was easy for Van to become frustrated or impatient with Lee, and occasionally, would result in Van punching Lee, or at least getting into a verbally abusive fight with him, if not physically. This is just day in, day out — this started to take its toll on me. I was also seeing a girl at the time — it’s funny, she had a very similar personality type to Lanegan’s. She was very confrontational, very demanding of me mentally and emotionally — but it was also my first real live-in relationship, that I was also happy about. I discovered myself in a situation where I could really only be emotionally, physically, and mentally available to one person at a time. To try and appeal to Mark’s demands and to have to be mentally available to what was going on in the band all the time, and emotionally available — it was hard to do.
I was already trying to give so much to someone else, who was at least providing me with some of the other luxuries in life, and some of the other comforts that I wasn’t getting from my own band anymore. I really have such great love and respect for everybody in the band, but that’s just the reality of the situation — it was tough and dysfunctional. I was probably as much a part of that as anyone else.
KURT DANIELSON: Jack’s well known for a producer, but Skin Yard was an extremely important band. As important as Soundgarden or any of those other bands were at that time.
JACK ENDINO: I met Daniel House, who was playing bass in Ten Minute Warning at the time. Ten Minute Warning was falling apart, so he and the drummer, Greg Gilmore, got together and jammed — just the three of us. I had a demo tape of some songs I had recorded in my basement with myself playing all the instruments, and Daniel really liked it. He called and said, “Why don’t we start a band?” Greg played with us a couple of times, in January ’85 — we had three or four practices with him. Then he decided, “This isn’t going where I want to go with my music; I want to do something else.” So Daniel said, “There’s this other guy I was playing with in a band called Feedback, Matt Cameron.” He got Matt to come over, and Matt liked it. The three of us rehearsed for a few months, while we decided, “Let’s look for a singer.” And around May, we found Ben McMillan — I think we played our first show as Skin Yard in June.
The band as initially conceived was probably a bit too on the progy side. We gave Matt free rein to his Bill Bruford impulses, and I gave free rein to my Robert Fripp impulses, because we could [laughs]. There’s nothing you can conceive that Matt cannot play the drums to. So that was like a challenge to me — to come up with the weirdest shit I could. So Skin Yard was a really weird, arty band when we started. We were a little out of step with what was going on, but we got noisier and sludgier. And before we knew it, everybody else was doing that too — not because of us — it was just the direction the scene was going. We quickly realized, “It’s fun to play all this intricate stuff, but it gets old fast. We should be playing stuff that’s more of the body, and not so much of the head.” Once we got that out of our systems, we turned into a regular rock band. [Matt Cameron was in the band] about a year and a half, maybe a little less. I think he left the band in spring or summer of ’86. We got to open for a lot of interesting people. We played for a lot of empty rooms [laughs].
