Sonic Malcontents

BUZZ DRAINPIPE in the pages of SONIC MALCONTENTS #37 (June 1999) —

THE QUIET COOL OF VH1 ROCK

or “How I Learned to Stop Moshing and Love the Mid-Tempo” by Buzz Drainpipe

I was halfway through a bottle of bargain-bin chardonnay (don’t ask), the time was two thirty in the AM, and I was lying on a milk crate couch in a converted Somerville attic while an old Sanyo TV, the kind with the faux-wood trim, hummed in the corner. The rabbit ears were bent from too many beer-sodden house parties, but they still caught VH1 in full spectral fuzz.

And that’s when it happened. Goo Goo Dolls’ Iris came on, that opening plink of an acoustic guitar swirling in a sea of strings and pseudo-orchestral swell. I’d heard it before, of course — it was inescapable that year, soundtracking every suburban heartbreak from Maine to Monterey — but this time, bleary-eyed and a little fried, it hit different.

It wasn’t “rock” in the sense I’d spent the ’80s and early ’90s chasing: no snarl, no blood on the strings, no stage-diving menace. It wasn’t grunge’s self-immolation or industrial’s steel-tipped sneer. No — this was something gentler. Not weak, mind you — restrained, adult, weathered. It was what I’m calling now, after much record-store-floor debate and a pile of late bills: The Quiet Cool of VH1 Rock.

The Soundtrack of the Too-Tired-to-Rage Generation

If MTV was the afterschool rebellion, and the underground zine circuit was the midnight oil, VH1 in ’97–’99 was where your cooler older cousin, the one who still wore his flannel but also worked at a coffee shop and had an actual 401(k), tuned in.

You wanted a song to walk through drizzle to? You wanted a chorus to hum driving home from your night shift, headlights slicing through fog? You wanted a bit of longing without the theatricality of a power ballad or the wallowing of shoegaze?

There it was: 🎵 Push by Matchbox 20 — Rob Thomas channeling the aching croak of a million chain-smokers. 🎵 The Freshmen by The Verve Pipe — a track that somehow turned collegiate guilt into late-night philosophy. 🎵 Everything You Want by Vertical Horizon — like a hooky diary entry set to shimmering guitar jangle. 🎵 If You Could Only See by Tonic — raw-throated real talk in the key of bourbon. 🎵 Counting Blue Cars by Dishwalla — “Tell me all your thoughts on God…” in the age before Reddit threads did the same thing worse.

These weren’t songs of revolution. These were songs of reflection. Rock music for the morning after the revolution.

Why It Mattered (Even If You Didn’t Want to Admit It)

Here’s the thing, fellow misfits and amp-burners: Every scene reaches a saturation point. By the late ’90s, grunge had eaten itself, nu-metal was still in the gym bulking up, and techno hadn’t quite figured out how to soundtrack your hangover.

Enter the VH1 Cool Brigade. These bands — Goo Goo Dolls, Matchbox 20, Vertical Horizon, et al. — embraced melody without shame. They sang to and for a demographic that was quietly aging out of the moshpit but wasn’t ready for classic rock station rot.

They didn’t sell you rebellion. They sold you bittersweet acceptance, small victories, big regrets. And sometimes, late at night in that attic with the busted TV and the rain making Morse code on the roof, that’s exactly what I needed.

Buzz’s Top 5 Late ’90s VH1 Quiet Cool Anthems:

Iris — Goo Goo Dolls

Push — Matchbox 20

The Freshmen — The Verve Pipe

Everything You Want — Vertical Horizon

If You Could Only See — Tonic

So there you have it. Sometimes the amps don’t need to roar. Sometimes the coolest thing you can do is play it clean, mid-tempo, and true. Don’t fight it. Let the Quiet Cool wash over you.

Now if you’ll excuse me — I’ve got a half-scratched Storytellers VHS to rewind.

—Buzz D.

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📼 BUZZ DRAINPIPE PRESENTS:

“15 ALBUMS THAT SHOOK BASEMENTS”

(A list compiled during a blackout, under blacklight, somewhere between 1981 and forever)

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1. Black Flag – Damaged
   "Not an album. A punching bag filled with razors. Played it so loud my neighbor called the priest."

2. The Stooges – Fun House
   "This album didn’t ‘drop.’ It fell from a third-story window, high on its own fumes."

3. Throbbing Gristle – 20 Jazz Funk Greats
   "Jazz, funk, and nothing great — just total psychological dismemberment. I lost two friends to this one. They came back changed."

4. Suicide – Suicide
   "Played it at 1am. Fridge started humming in sync. I no longer trust electronics."

5. Pere Ubu – The Modern Dance
   "It's like hearing a city panic in real-time. Even the rats in my ceiling stopped to listen."

6. Crass – Stations of the Crass
   "A manifesto pressed to vinyl. Played side B backwards and found instructions for overthrowing your landlord."

7. Captain Beefheart – Trout Mask Replica
   "It’s not an album. It’s a broken aquarium narrated by a howling blues demon with a bent saxophone."

8. Bad Brains – ROIR Cassette
   "Pure nitroglycerin. Played in the basement, burned a hole through the upstairs floor."

9. Big Black – Songs About Fucking
   "Steve Albini screaming through a lawnmower. Made my microwave short-circuit."

10. Rudimentary Peni – Death Church
    "Scratchy, nasty, finger-painted in ink and blood. Basement shook. Basement approved."

11. Teenage Jesus and the Jerks – Everything
    "It’s like being slapped with a live wire. 8 minutes of pure emotional aneurysm."

12. The Fall – Hex Enduction Hour
    "Mark E. Smith rants while falling down a flight of stairs holding a typewriter. My kind of noise."

13. Flipper – Album: Generic Flipper
    "Every time I played it, the party ended. Every time I played it again, the party got real."

14. Public Image Ltd. – Metal Box
    "Rolled it into the basement like a depth charge. Took days to clear the smoke."

15. Chrome – Alien Soundtracks
    "Sci-fi swamp dive. Made the spiders dance. I felt my fillings vibrate."

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📚 THE STATE OF ZINES & LIMITED PRESSING ENCYCLOPEDIAS

Buzz Drainpipe’s Rant from the Inner Margins of Print Culture

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Listen, before the internet melted our brains into clickbait chowder, we had ZINES.
Zines were pocket-sized manifestos. Xeroxed battle cries. Smeared ink psalms of discontent.
And now? They’re being hunted, hoarded, fetishized — not read.

We made zines to vanish.
To rot gracefully in milk crates.
To warp in glove compartments.

But now there are encyclopedias — limited-run, gold-embossed, linen-bound collector’s editions of zines that were never meant to be bound.

And sure, they’re beautiful.
Sure, I want one.

But let me tell you:

A real zine is a paper cut that still stings twenty years later.
A zine is a rumor you can hold.
A zine is how we shouted when the radio wouldn’t listen.

So to the archivists out there:

Keep your encyclopedias.
But save room on the shelf for the crooked, jammed, stained originals.
That’s where the real ghosts live.
That’s where the basement still shakes.

— Buzz D.

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