Posts Tagged ‘Redd Kross’

Lost in the ’90s: Redd Kross, “Show World”

lit90s

Punk legends in Los Angeles before they could legally drink, Jeff and Steve McDonald spent most of the ’80s as a cult sensation, loved as much for their pop culture references (name-checking everyone from Linda Blair to the Brady Bunch to Charles Manson) as they were for their thrashy brand of bubblegum-laced power-pop.  As the ’90s dawned, the band entered a new phase, signing to Atlantic Records for their major-label debut, Third Eye.  You may recognize the title, since, despite being a killer album, it filled cutout bins nationwide almost immediately after its release, and Atlantic dumped the boys.  It was a matter of bad timing, since two short years later, a little trio from Seattle named Nirvana would take that same Knack-goes-to-a-Black-Flag-show concept and change alternative music forever.

After Nevermind opened commercial radio and MTV up to what we old people called “college rock,” the time was ripe for Redd Kross to finally get its due.  With a new line-up, the McDonalds scored a new deal with Mercury Records which released Phaseshifter, Redd Kross’s most accessible set yet.  While the video for “Jimmy’s Fantasy” got a few spins on MTV’s “120 Minutes,” Modern Rock radio wasn’t biting and despite being the best-reviewed album of their career, Phaseshifter failed to shift any units. (more…)

Random-onium: Redd Kross, Chris Isaak, and the “Miami Vice” Soundtrack

This is the first in a series that I call Random-onium!, for lack of a better term. The premise is that I go to a friend’s house and pick a few CDs out of their collection — completely at random– and review them for your reading and listening pleasure.This week, my buddy John was kind enough to allow me access to his collection, making sure to point out in advance that the Natalie Merchant and Bangles CDs belonged to his lady, who thought it would be cool to merge their respective collections soon after she moved in.

“What?” he exclaimed defensively, noticing the expression on my face. I could have said any number of things and laid him out like a punch drunk boxer decades past his prime, but my sly grin and silence said it all. Of course, my insatiable adoration for “the obvious joke” overpowered my restraint and I let loose with a “whip crack” that would have made Michael Winslow proud, for which I paid the ultimate price as John thumped me in the shoulder. Not just my shoulder, though, but the exact spot on my shoulder that hurts like a mother when you knuckle punch it.

After “walking it off,” I promptly closed my eyes and blindly reached into his stack of tracks, pulling out… (more…)