This is a relic from the college days, and more specifically, the college radio days, and even more to the point, the music director of the college radio station days. Back then, in those college days, I was a real dick...who am I kidding...I am still a fairly immense dick, and have been my whole life. College or not, I am a judgemental prick most of the time, so I shouldn't try and frame this particular blog entry as, "oh, back in old days, before I matured...".
I'll try again.
I distinctly remember this record coming up for review at the radio station I alluded to before, and it was my job to listen to everything, evaluate it, and decide if it should be included in regular radio airplay rotation. Pretty good job for an asshole, huh?
Anyway, I specifically remember thinking, "m'eh". As in, it wasn't offensive, but it wasn't doing much for me either. It had some elements of Seaweed, who I really liked. It had elements of aMiniature, who I sorta liked. It had elements of Tanner, Garden Variety, Sensefield...a lot of stuff that I either liked, or thought was okay. I put it aside for a second listen and went about my day.
Then, some dude from "Seed Records" calls (as was his job to do) to ask if I had the album, what I thought, would it be an "add" that week, how many "spins" would it get, you know, annoying shit. He was especially amped to tell me that the band had actually hand screened some stickers, and that he would send me some. Neat? But, who cares? He's telling this to a dude who probably had no less than 6 different patches sewn onto his gas station jacket that had been "hand screened by the band". No big deal.
It also came to pass that he slipped up and admitted that Seed Records was actually a boutique label of some major label (that I know forget) set up to give younger bands more credibility or something. Until they were ready for 120 Minutes I suppose. Whatever the reasoning, it really rubbed me the wrong way (please remember, you're dealing with a self-proclaimed dick here), and I ended up telling the guy to forget it, Inch would never be played on that radio station, and neither would any of his other shitty fake-indie bands (Madder Rose [ugh], Ivy [who?], Fuzzy [huh?], or Daniel Johnston [wait, what? what was he doing there...oh well, if you're gonna be a dick, you gotta be willing to draw a hard line...sorry Daniel Johnston]). And that was that. Inch never was played, and rather than ever giving it a second listen, I promptly took it, along with whatever else was never getting played on the station, down to the record store (ha ha, remember those old dinosaurs?) to sell for a couple bucks. Enough for my fifth or sixth burrito of the week I'm sure.
Good night Inch.
Fast forward 16 years and lo and behold, look at what album I stumbled across on the internet? Maybe I was too brash? Maybe this has aged like a fine wine? Maybe it was really good all along, and I should have pulled my head out of my ass?
You tell me.