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In 1993, alternative rock was still ruled by the brooding sounds of what we once called grunge: Nirvana, Pearl Jam, Stone Temple Pilot, et cetera. Released in February 1994, Green Day’s third album—and first for a major label—was like a glass of cold water in the face. First off, it was catchy. Not in an oblique, theoretical way, but in a way that was vibrant, sweet, immediate—it <i>wanted</i> to please. Second, it understood the special process of combustion by which angst becomes humor. Here were songs about panic attacks (“Basket Case”), poverty (“Welcome to Paradise”), and mind-destroying boredom (“Longview”) that felt not just familiar, but funny. If it was punk, it was punk not in the style of Sex Pistols but Ramones: guys whose anger was neutered by their own hilarious incompetence, whose smarts were evident in how effortlessly they played dumb. Even the album’s sober moments (“She,” “When I Come Around”) had a directness that made them feel ordinary, routine: These weren’t tortured artists mapping the rim of existential despair; they were regular dude, walking around, hoping to burn off a little nervous energy. .

via Apple Music

The Clerk says

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