photos by Aaron Farley

When Nirvana Hit It Big In 1991, The Melvins‘ fate, for better or for worse, was up with their suddenly world-famous neighbors. But laboring ever since as “the other band from Aberdeen” doesn’t seem to have engendered much bitterness in the band. Rockstar status, stadium shows, big money—

they’ll admit that it all sounds good. “I’d like to get a blow job from Raquel Welch, too, but it’s not going to happen,” says singer/guitarist Buzz Osborne.

“We’re ugly, weird-looking guys. Cobain had that wounded junkie look, which, for some unknown reason, women and MTV think is really cool. All those guys do. Bowie. Jagger. Skinny, wounded junkie look. We were too weird, too big. If Kurt Cobain had been the size of Rose Greer, and the same color, nobody would have given a shit.”

So the Melvins—who don’t look much like either Cobain or Greer, but who are, true enough, unlikely poster boys—have traveled rock’s other road, flirting occasionally with wider recognition, pulling briefly into the peripheral limelight of Cobain’s stardom and flameout, playing to small but fervent crowds, and touring Econo, to borrow their spiritual brother Mike Watt’s phrase.

“When you decide that you’re going to do this, and you know that the powers that be—MTV, TV in general, or radio—are not going to be there for you, you have figure out plan B,” Buzz says, adding as he laughs, “whatever that is.” The Melvins earn their rent on tour, gain their popularity by word of mouth, and live a more common but no less appreciated version of the rock and roll dream. And they have survived. They are, if we insist on setting them up in opposition to the Men Who Made Aberdeen Famous, the tortoise to Nirvana’s strung-out and deeply conflicted hare. They were around before Nirvana—Cobain in fact was a big fan and an occasional roadie—and they’re still here, long after Nirvana has gone.

“Guys I talk to say, ‘Aren’t you tired of doing the rock thing? Don’t you ever want to do something else?’” says Buzz. “Well, no. And do what? A&R? No thanks. I’ll keep going.”

When the dust settles, as it rarely does for the Melvins, they come into focus as a duo: drummer Dale Crover and Buzz have become the steady core of the band, anchoring the weirdness since Dale joined in the mid-eighties. Songwriting falls almost exclusively to Buzz, but Dale has enjoyed, over the years, critical praise bordering on worship for his drumming—his “astonishing,” “daring,” “pick your positive adjective” drumming.

We’re ugly, weird-looking guys. Cobain had that wounded junkie look, which, for some unknown reason, women and MTV think is really cool. All those guys do. Bowie. Jagger. Skinny, wounded junkie look. We were too weird, too big. If Kurt Cobain had been the size of Rose Greer, and the same color, nobody would have given a shit.

They’re no-nonsense guys; they’ve been around the block and around the world; they’ve played your town. They like playing the Birminghams and the Pocatellos of the circuit. “No one plays those places, so when you come to town, the people get so hyped,” says Dale. “Things get weird.”

They’re from the grassroots side of rock: don’t ask for handouts, don’t whine, and don’t sell out. Buzz can sound almost libertarian, showing his roots as an old-school, get-in-the-van artist. “Socialism is fascism,” he says. “Somebody’s taking your money and giving it to someone else. You would never stand for that in any other area of your life. I’m not into it. I’m into true liberalism, which means you mind your own goddamn business; you take care of yourself.” (It occurs to me at this point that my father might really like Buzz Osborne.) There’s a pragmatism that shows through in most of their opinions. “The internet downloading—people need to get over it,” says Buzz. “Is it stealing? Sure, yeah—but it doesn’t matter. It’s over. Things have changed. We have to move on.”

When something comes their way—like a recording contract from Atlantic during the who’s-the-next-Nirvana sweepstakes of 1991/1992—they’ll grab hold and enjoy, but they won’t forget who they are. “That was a great contract,” says Buzz. “I’d sign that contract again today.” Atlantic didn’t seem to know quite what they had on their hands. They didn’t try to force anything out of the Melvins that was against their nature, but they seemed baffled by what they received—the albums Houdini, Stoner Witch, and Stag—and they refused to release one of the Melvins’ more idiosyncratic offerings, Prick. (Prick was released on Amphetamine Reptile.) All of the Melvins’ suggestions for marketing were ignored. “You can’t market us like you would the Foo Fighters—it won’t work,” says Dale. “We had plenty of ideas, but…”

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Posted to Music Features on Friday, August 1st, 2008 by michael.