by Christopher Lee
Lou Barlow may be the most underrated songwriter of his generation. This may seem like either hyperbole or a head-scratching assertion given the range of influential bands and projects he has been involved in – Dinosaur Jr., Sebadoh, and the Folk Implosion, in addition to his occasional solo releases. The man has experienced success on numerous fronts, whether the unexpected hit single “Natural One” from the Kids soundtrack in 1995 or, more recently, the late career acclaim Dinosaur Jr. has received since reuniting the original lineup of J Mascis, Murph, and Barlow in 2005.
That said, Barlow remains a background figure, one assumes by self-effacing choice. Still, he deserves more credit for the space he created for other musicians during his exile from Dino during the 1990s. Before John Darnielle and Elliott Smith, Barlow’s cruddy, lo-fi jam box recordings foreshadowed the freak folk scene of the early aughts. Furthermore, despite his awkward glasses and serial killer vibe, Barlow channeled a vulnerability through willfully confessional lyrics and haunted, Nick Drake-inspired vocals that similarly prefigured the arrival of alt-emo acts like Bright Eyes and Mount Eerie.
In a different vein, Barlow’s messy garage rock band Sebadoh carried the gritty psych-rock torch that Wooden Shjips and Ty Segall would assume. Not least, Barlow’s attention to trip-hop with John Davis made the Folk Implosion unlikely innovators of an underground conciliation between rap and indie rock that more prominent acts had failed to do.
Really Insane: A Lou Barlow Compendium gets back to Barlow’s origins of bedroom dirt and stoner experimentation. Hovering in the speaker grot somewhere between Royal Trux’s Twin Infinitives and Pavement’s Slay Tracks: 1933-1969, you can practically feel the shag carpeting and smell the spliff ash that assisted in the making of these late 80s/early 90s recordings. Consisting of 21 songs lasting 36 minutes, the ambition here is low but not without value. Under the flag of his early moniker of Sentridoh, Barlow appears intent on testing how far guitar minimalism can go before any semblance of beauty is lost. Or, stated differently, Really Insane demonstrates the immeasurable potential of a thrift store guitar tuned into one’s emotional state of mind with the instrumental opener “Untitled” amounting to a mission statement in this regard. Lasting just under 90 seconds, it’s a lovely and rough-shod chord sequence of ennui and despair, sounding like someone translating and condensing the mid-career LPs of the Cure into a single melodic line.
It's not all pretty, though. There is a kitchen sink quality to Really Insane which reflects Barlow’s innate vagabond aesthetic. With his minor key approach and painfully sincere lyrics, some tracks resemble teenage suicide notes set to music. “High School” and “Losercore” are emblematic of this aspect. Yet, in the same breath, Barlow is quick to offer songs like “Really Insane” and “No Matter What” that display slant-wise senses of wit and sarcasm that temper this image of self-defeatism.
Amidst these contrasts, demos are also present. There is an early version of his classic “Brand New Love” that later appeared in electrified form on Sebadoh’s Smash Your Head on the Punk Rock (1992). More distantly, the track “Strange Love” has a chord progression that sounds like a nascent iteration of Sebadoh’s “Together or Alone” off 1994’s Bakesale. A standout track is Barlow’s sardonic cover of Bryan Adams’s 1984 hit “Run to You.” His delivery overly articulates every word, and his caustic condescension toward the rock mainstream can be felt at every turn. Yet Barlow’s attention to detail also implies a respect for songcraft, regardless of the artist involved.
All the tracks on Really Insane have been released earlier as either singles or on EPs, which have long been out of print. But this isn’t a zombie compilation. It has been lovingly curated by Steve Shelley and Emil Amos with the ostensible motivation of reintroducing Barlow’s early catalog to a new cohort of listeners. As touched upon earlier, there is an uncanny psychological quality to Barlow’s best work with no superego blocking the ideas and emotions surfacing from his id. These minimalist, genre-defining lo-fi recordings can subsequently convey a liberatory feeling, imparting the idea that anyone can do this. However, this impression is ultimately false; Really Insane highlights a rare musician whose insouciance and approachability conceal something much deeper and entirely unique.