One might be forgiven for passing on an album of 90s indie rock covers launched by a 90s indie rock icon, the act feeling too recursively throwback to many. But not for your humble correspondent as Quarter Century Classix (New West) nails its mission.
While Ben Lee, the aforementioned icon, is under-appreciated, and perhaps best known for his collaborations with actor Josh “guy from How I Met Your Mother” Radnor, he was too much of a 1990s legend for me to ignore. Grandpaw Would, Lee’s solo debut, made when he was just 16, was a pop masterpiece. Lee and I grew apart as we both aged, but I was curious to hear how such a strong songwriter handled the work of others.
The clearest example of Lee’s complete mastery of these songs is on his cover of Dinosaur Jr.’s “Get Me.” The original is a loping country-rock power ballad, sung in the always distinctive whine of singer J. Mascis. Lee reimagines the song as fairy-created folk music, removing the drums and using a harp to give the song a dreamy, surreal quality. But Lee not only sticks to the song’s melody, he finds a way to recreate Mascis’ trademark comatose singing style, while also giving the vocals a beauty that Mascis never could. Even if you were unfamiliar with that particular Dinsosaur Jr. song, but knew the band’s work, you might recognize this as a Dinosaur Jr. song. One can’t think of many artists who could translate the essence of a song like Lee does so often on this album.
He similarly transforms Sonic Youth’s “Sugar Kane” in a pretty acoustic number. Here he sings with Julianna Barwick, their voices wrapping around each other like ivy climbing a wall, the mirror image of the same way Sonic Youth’s guitars noisily fight each other. “In the Mouth a Desert” becomes delicate country-rock in Lee’s hands, but he perfectly preserves the slack of the Pavement original.
This album came together when Lee was snowed in on the road. Stuck in a hotel room, he started thinking about his past influences and began to re-record these songs. That perspective makes all the difference, as the album began as a fan reconnecting with beloved bands. That love and respect is evident in every song and is what allows him to take a Superchunk song (“My Noise”), give it a tropical sway that the original never hinted at, but then also put in a noise break because that’s what the original had. And while Lee’s noise is nowhere near as noisy as Superchunk’s, it’s nothing less than pure love that compelled him to keep it in his version.
Going back and listening to the originals (Lee covers everyone from Fugazi to Guided by Voices to Daniel Johnston, an indie rock reckoning that has all but guaranteed YouTube will never again show me anything recorded after 1998) some artists and songs have aged better than others. But what’s amazing about Lee is how he’s figured out how to take the best of each song and artist, while also excising the chaff. It would be heresy to say Lee’s improved upon these classic songs, but if you find yourself talking to some late 20th-century college radio enthusiasts, you can safely tell them Lee has given these tunes a contemporary and loving coat of paint.
