It wasn't exactly fashionable to be a Ride fan in the early '90s. In certain nooks of the universe, wearing a Ride T-shirt meant you had to walk with your fists clenched, ready to defend your decrepit taste in music and do the pouncing before you got pounced upon. Often, you had to endure the taunts of your peers and the remainder of those who agreed with or were influenced by the majority of the British press who decided -- shortly after praising the band for their genius -- that they were ultimately a crap band. When it came to shoegaze, they weren't My Bloody Valentine, were they? As their tastes and influences changed and they began playing more "proper" rock & roll, they failed to write anything as anthemic as "Live Forever," right? Well to hell with all of that. In the nooks of the universe where it is okay to wear a Ride shirt, Nowhere is on par with Loveless for its own peculiar rush of swirling psychedelics and more prominent vocal hooks; Going Blank Again trumps Teenage Fanclub's Bandwagonesque because it exudes more power and focus; and 1994's Carnival of Light, with its roots in the Byrds and their ilk, is viewed more as prophecy than heresy. A copy of OX4: The Best of Ride is all you need for your defense now. Boasting a solid representation of each of Ride's albums, the band-selected compilation proves once and for all that Ride was one of the finest of the early '90s; they were capable of crafting brilliant melodies just as easily as their influences and competitors; and they never repeated themselves. So wear your Mark Gardener fringe with pride, blare "Unfamiliar" as loudly as possible, and keep Tarantula forever blocked from your memory.
Credit Ride for using only their own creative radar, completely ignoring all outside expectations for their third LP. One could tell they had a love for the likes of the Byrds and Buffalo Springfield, but admiring the Black Crowes was practically out of the question for the scene that birthed them. Even Crowes producer George Drakoulias was called in to produce, but John Leckie ended up working on the majority. Fans generally didn't dig the classic vibe, and the lazy-daisy, pastoral record fared poorly. Carnival's first side largely consists of Mark Gardener's songs, while the latter is mainly Andy Bell's affair. Gardener's contributions are solid. "1000 Miles" lifts '60s jangle convincingly. "From Time to Time" is a "Vapour Trail" part two of sorts, lyrically, introduced with tasteful Rhodes tones from Andy Bell. Bell's songs, however, tend to falter. While he wrote the bulk of the band's prior top material, he's trumped here; in fact, Loz Colbert's "Natural Grace" wipes the mat with Bell's work. Perhaps Bell's ego was too big to recognize the lyrical shortcomings of "Crown of Creation," the poor Al Green-ism of "Endless Road," and the outright flimsiness of "I Don't Know Where It Comes From," which features a kiddie choir. Despite the gaps in song quality and that hackneyed Creation cover, Carnival of Light creates a pleasant, freewheeling feeling throughout. The LP might have run better with extraction of some of the duff, which is all the more frustrating when considering the quality of the B-sides from this period. Album number three, despite its troubles, remains a pleasant listen and was unlike anything released at the time in the U.K. [Ignition U.K. remastered and reissued the record in 2001, adding three of the several B-sides from the singles released in support of the LP.]
From the sounds of cloistered, chaotic opener "Leave Them All Behind," Going Blank Again sounds like it could be headed down the same Nowhere path. Guitars as far as the ear can hear -- not much different from the effect gained after riding a sit-and-spin for eight straight minutes -- are just as dizzying as the prior record's opener. But rather than sink into a thick underbelly of melancholy, Going Blank Again offers sunshiney melodies and gleaming, bold production. All the band's elements are more pliable, and overall it's pretty cheery. In fact, some of the album could be loosely classified as power pop. Bouncy tunes like "Twisterella," "Not Fazed," "Mouse Trap," and "Time of Her Time" each share more than a thing or two in common with the likes of Teenage Fanclub, but with more layered vocals and less-cutting guitars. Though Ride's guitars don't bite as much, there are loads of them everywhere; the band doesn't completely sacrifice their love of reverberating noise, but it's more done in the name of pop than to merely cause a blistering racket. Though the lyrics often read as overtly simple or obtuse (a common Ride foible), Mark Gardener and Andy Bell's voices are too pretty to let this shortcoming mar things. They create enough of a mood with their proper instruments, and their sighing and random vocal intonations are undeniably lovely. No longer do they hide shortcomings with sheets of distortion, and there's a lot more focus and confidence on display throughout. Listeners shouldn't let a Ride fan tell them otherwise; Going Blank Again is anything but empty. [Going Blank Again was remastered and reissued by Ignition U.K. in 2001. Four B-sides are added; the only B-side from this era not included is an alternate version of "Chrome Waves."]
Nowhere seems to hold consensus as the second-best record of the shoegaze era, and with very good reason. All of the common words, phrases, and adjectives commonly used with the short-lived subgenre fit properly here, and they're all positive, every one of them. Whir, whoosh, haze, swirl, ad nauseum -- this record holds all of these elements at their most exciting and mastered. But in the end, great pop records necessitate quality songs, which Nowhere delivers throughout. Undeniably, it's Ride's zenith -- dense, tight, and hypnotic. "Seagull" serves as a dynamic opener; after a couple seconds of light feedback, bassist Steve Queralt kicks in with a rubbery, elliptical line (reminiscent of a certain Beatles song), which is soon followed by Andy Bell and Mark Gardener's guitar twists and Loz Colbert's alternately gentle and punishing drumming. After the upbeat "Kaleidoscope," the record falls into a tempo lull that initially seems impenetrable and meandering. However, patience reveals a five-song suite of sorts, full of lovely instrumental passages that are punctuated with violent jabs of manic guitars. The endlessly escalating "Polar Bear" is a high point, featuring expertly placed tom rolls from Colbert. The tempo picks up for the closing "Vapour Trail," a wistful pop song with chiming background guitars galore and mournful strings to close it out. The U.S. version was bolstered significantly with the remainder of the Fall EP ("Dreams Burn Down" having reappeared earlier in the record). "Taste" is one of their finest pure pop numbers; the moody/driving "Here and Now" rates well, and the five-minute "Nowhere" is a nasty distorto-freakout. [Nowhere was remastered and reissued by Ignition U.K. in 2001. Added to the 11 tracks featured on Sire's U.S. edition are the four selections from the equally wondrous Today Forever.]
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