Grenadine - Don't Forget The Halo

(TeenBeat/Simple Machines, 1993)

Unable to get myself worked up about the Grenadine catalog, I’ve been avoiding thinking and writing about this single since Sunday. It’s been a while since I’ve cared so little, pro or con, about a band, and such ambivalence makes reviewing – even lazy, poorly-written reviewing like mine – a real drag. But now, after a nap, some “Best Show on WFMU,” some World Baseball Classic, a series of push-ups, and a heavy sigh, it’s time for me to quit crying and get it over with. Because enough, as they say, is enough. Gotta forge ahead. So here goes. Grenadine. Without passion.

As on previous single “Triology,” Toomey’s vocal showcase – “Don’t Forget the Halo” – is a gentle and sparsely-arranged snooze; this otherwise dull, meandering song has several sections during which Rob Christiansen appears on shuffling drums, and these bits at least generate mild indie-genealogical interest for me in how much they have in common with early American Analog Set, both in terms of the metronomic percussion and the chiming guitars. Non-historians can pass, however… overall, nuttin too splendid to dig here. On the B, “777” is noteworthy as the best of the four – count ’em! – Grenadine tracks I’ve heard, a multi-part, tempo-shifting instrumental that builds to a furious finish thanks to some intense, brush-wielding drumming by group MVP Christiansen. And, again, the guitar sonics impress. So yes, if the band’s two albums are filled with weird, codeine-laced pop-prog like “777” rather than the A-side’s bargain-bin background music, I’ll confess that I can actually imagine a world in which I find myself giving a shit about these kooks. Otherwise, I’ll just go ahead and live out my days in blissful ignorance of the remainder of Grenadine’s output. How should I play this one?

Grenadine - Triology

(TeenBeat/Simple Machines, 1992)

Grenadine is Mark Robinson from Unrest and Jenny Toomey from Tsunami, an early-’90s, DC-area super-team-up of a coupla the biggest names in a scene that I’ll freely admit I have never been all that into. Which means I can’t do too much as far as contexualizing, no professorial and informative relating of this material back to what Robinson and Toomey were up to in their respective “day job” groups – I’m a DC-dummy by choice, sorry. What I can do, however, is cheerfully and uselessly report the fact that both members get equal time on this drum-free single, with Toomey helming “Fillings” and Robinson taking the lead on “Gillan.” The latter is the better song, as Robinson layers rich guitar strumming and multiple, intricate vocal tracks atop each other to hypnotic, vaguely Eastern effect. Outstandin’! Far less interesting is “Fillings,” a skeletal weepy that does nothing for me until the final minute or so, when the pace quickens and another guitar joins the party; still, I can do pretty well without it in my life. Sure. OK. Fine. Ha. But forget all this. Let’s switch gears and focus on the ever-sexy present, as in: have you heard the spectactularly awful new Chris Cornell record? Because you oughta! It’s a mindblower! Pure money-grab lunacy from the truest of hacks! Yikes!