Days of the New
Days of the New
Oh the agony. After three grey years under the influence of the evil combination
of Schlitz and grunge, I awoke one day and found that I could scan the entire FM
band without hearing Alice In Chains, Stone Temple Pilots, Candlebox or Pearl Jam.
I'm not ashamed to admit that I liked grunge and still listen to it on occasion,
favoring Pearl Jam's Ten or Alice In Chains' Unplugged performance
for my fix. Unfortunately, that doesn't make me an automatic fan of Days of the
New, perhaps the least appropriate name for our most recent addition to "post-
grunge," a genre title at least as pompous as Matt Dillon's performance in
Had it been released in 1992, Days of the New's self- titled debut would surely
have rolled all over our collective consciousness, and I would personally like to
thank them for holding off their release until the cloud of grunge had passed from
my judgement, allowing me the objectivity to criticize them without guilt.
Sadly, as modern stragglers to the sound, we must first spank them for being late
to the party, then we must spank them for their utter absence of originality, and
lastly, we must spank them again because we love to spank. Oh yes... we love to
Let's take a walk down memory lane for a moment. I recount the past because Days
of the New's peers were more than pseudo- artistic dinosaurs then. They were
powerful, intense, juiced- up rockers with heroin in their veins and a hotbag o'
love swingin' between their legs. What they were doing was a little risky back
in the day-- remember the first time you heard "Sex Type Thing" or "Rooster"?
My god, man! They were talking about fucking and shooting up and hate on
the radio! What could be better?
Well, eventually Kurt
blew his brains out, Eddie had the foresight to begin practicing impenetrable
crypticism, Soundgarden broke up, and heroin destroyed Alice In Chains and Stone
Temple Pilots. Now we have The Spice Girls, Puff Daddy, electronica and "12 Angry
Viewers." I can't say it's necessarily a better world, but the addition of Days
of the New's washed- out grunge-a-thon isn't a hopeful sign for the rebirth of
Although these guys seem unhappy, I'm not satisfied. They're not unhappy
enough, and the omnipresent acoustic picking (remember Chris Cornell's "Seasons"?)
wears thin a mite quick and gives the entire album the feel of a featureless
landscape stretching into the horizon. I say no my friends. No
to Days Of The New, no to this horrid post- grunge plague, no
to genital herpes, no to the revisitation of old trends by passionless
turds, and just finally, no.
-James P. Wisdom