Acetone – I’m Still Waiting

It’s always nice to offer up hope on a reissue and to not only have that hope fulfilled but exceeded in every possible way. A few years back I expressed the need for a reissue of Acetone’s wounded masterpiece I Guess I Would. The album finds the band in the middle of an arc that saw them go from post-grunge-boom bidding wars through the firelight shadows of slowcore (though they’d argue against that tag) and into becoming something of legend for those who sought a deeper well within the bounds of ‘90s album rock fodder. The band wound up signed to Vernon Yard, both a blessing and a curse to their career. As the race to fill the ranks of labels’ stables post-Nirvana’s rise netted deals for everyone from Helmet, to Melvins, to Screaming Trees and Mudhoney, Acetone found themselves with a $400K advance off of their demo. With it came the expectations that they’d help launch the fledgling vanity label with Virgin’s money in its pockets.

The label never quite made household names of Acetone, but the band would lay down an indispensable run from ’93-’95 starting with an EP that gives a good glimpse at how the band came to be tussled over. Earlier Acetone works find the band balancing patient, snaking guitars with a flash of teeth and amplifier growl — the kind of tension and catharsis that made for good fodder the angst mill in the early ‘90s. Acetone, though, would diverge from many of their contemporaries, especially on the menthol-cooled vocals of Lightcap and Lee. Where all to often their peers were scratching their larynx with rage and rancor, Acetone floated above it in a kind cool that vacillated between damaged and aloof. The band flashed an underbelly of vulnerability, not in losing their cool, but in letting the sigh consume them.

Cindy finishes what the EP starts, letting the guitars boil while the band stews. It’s as auspicious a debut as any in the era, and truthfully, one that should have gotten them the attention that was expected of them. For a band that’s often associated with stillness, their debut is a resounding rebuff of that legacy. It’s as brittle and burnt as anything that was happening in ’93, but the band wouldn’t see fit to rest on their rumpled reputation. It would have been easy to simply keep mining that muse, to remake versions of Cindy for years to come. Personally I love the next couple of years on Acetone, though I’m sure in hindsight they’re not as rosy for those in the ranks. With relapse and rehab marking the creation of the I Guess I Would EP and their masterpiece, If You Only Knew. The former finds the band covering country deep cuts from the Burritos, Prine, Jones, and Kristofferson. The latter finds the band digging in deep to a kind of burned psych-country on “Border Lord” that seems as prescient as ever these days, spiraling Kris’ original into a tin-foil on teeth sweat box stomper.

If You Only Knew is a downer gem that’s still just barely getting its due. Hopefully this set of reissues will bring it the peace it sorely needs. The album is largely inspired by Big Star’s Third, and it carries a similar kind of morose comfort. The album offers none of Cindy’s turbulence, instead seeking to soak in the exhaustion and ennui that descended on the band after years fraught with substance abuse and soured expectations. The album is a self-aware study in decay — half apologies and self-deprecation wrapped in the countenance of Chilton and Cale. It should have resonated rightfully with a generation born burnt out, but instead it seemed to take them further from fame than ever. It warranted some critical praise, but few radio stations or large-scale soapboxes were interested in what the band was selling. In hindsight, they were all way off base, and the album remains one of the best out of the ‘90s.

The band would shake out of their Vernon Yard deal and into a bit of destitution, but what didn’t kill them made two very solid records. There are plenty who hold the eponymous exit from their major label woes as their best, though I rather prefer the un-moored wander of the previous two records to Acetone. Probably heresy in some parts, but as the record retains the pacing of If You Only Knew, but not the frustration, it loses a bit of its bite for me. However, their swan-song in York Blvd, ranks up there as one of the band’s best for me. The band had spent a lot of time with Spiritualized (whose J. Spaceman provides quite a bit of insight in the liners) and his ragged opulence seeps into the band’s sound here, albeit without quite hitting “hiring a choir and string section” heights. York has its detractors, especially around the production, but it feels like the halfway needle between the ambitions and crunch of Cindy and the spun-out sounds of their last gasps at Vernon Yard. The album both nods to the band’s legacy and throws it out the studio window. Its charms were lost on quite a few fans at the time, but I think with a bit of space and time to lick the wounds of expectation, it stands as an excellent introduction to aughts indie.

The box set offers up all you could ask for from a completist standpoint. The records are beautifully presented as both audio and visual components, and the accompanying notes by Spaceman and Drew Daniel (Matmos/The Soft Pink Truth) offer a nice counterpoint to the collection of archival photos. Throw in a disc of rarities and its a done deal. The label is also selling some of the set individually, but has chosen to omit the EPs as standalone offerings. I’m hoping that might just be a tactic to shuttle folks towards the complete set and as the box runs through its pressing they’ll offer up the debut EP and I Guess I Would as standalone versions. The latter may not be favored by the band, but it’s an interesting piece that only shows the shadow of its impact as the the current wave of country psych continues to crest. The band was absolutely in need of a spotlight, and this set is more than any fan could ask for, and a necessary primer for those who missed out in the first run around. Hell, if Duster can captivate a new generation looking for quiet desperation, then wait ’til they get a load of Acetone.

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