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Green
Day: International Superhits
Reprise, 2001
Rating: 4.3
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Green Day: Shenanigans
Reprise, 2002
Rating: 3.9
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Posted: July 15,
2002
By
Kevin Forest Moreau
When Green Day's bratty pop-punk manifesto Dookie began making
waves back in 1994, few could have predicted that the band would become
one of alternative rock's most bankable hitmakers. But that's just what
happened. Future releases never did match Dookie's phenomenal
sales, but the San Francisco trio nonetheless emerged as one of the most
influential bands of the '90s. Not in terms of a single, identifiable
sound, per se (overlooking the obvious debt owed by Blink-182 and Sum 41),
but definitely in terms of paving the way for many bands with more overt
punk-rock influences to make their mark upon the mainstream. Just as Green
Day's initial success wouldn't have been possible without the doors that
Nirvana opened, neither would steadily-touring bands huddled under punk's
ever-expanding big tent enjoy radio play today without Green Day's
trailblazing. That influence is still felt, at least on the fringes of
"modern rock" radio, even today, as bands like Unwritten Law and Newfound
Glory begin to generate singles and buzz.
But the more success Green Day enjoyed on radio and MTV, the easier it
became to question the band's punk-rock credentials. We don't have nearly
enough space here to open the whole can of worms about just what
constitutes punk music, what classifies as "selling out," and where the
twain can (or should) meet. Like religion (and for some, punk rock
certainly is a religion), it's a topic that incites all manner of
chest-beating from the rank and file. Still, when a band filters the
reckless enthusiasm and sloppy artistry of classic '70s and '80s punk
through the prism of power-pop, and when that band garners enough hit
singles to release a greatest hits record with a cheeky (but not entirely
inaccurate) title like International Superhits, it's natural to
wonder whether punk has won its battle against the mainstream by
infiltrating it, or has been corrupted by it.
Enough philosophizing. Listening to Green Day's two most recent
releases back to back (or head to head, as it were) proves instructive,
especially given the nature of those releases. International Superhits,
as the name implies, is a collection of all of the band's identifiable
hits to date, as well as, to be honest, some recent singles that probably
don't quite qualify as "superhits."
Shenanigans, meanwhile, is a collection of B-sides and other
rarities. It's amusing to contemplate the notion that a band so rooted in
the up-yours ethos of punk rock should get to release such compilations,
both of which forms have often been regarded as cheap and cynical
moneymaking ploys more suited to the musical heirs of, say, the Eagles
rather than those of the Ramones. It's also amusing to contemplate such a
band releasing two such compilations back to back, a move that would
usually portend creative and economic bankruptcy.
But based on the evidence of the two albums, taken both separately and
together, rumors of Green Day's creative demise would appear to be greatly
exaggerated. The track listing for International Superhits speaks
for itself. It's likely that the casual listener, hearing these songs
grouped together for the first time, will be struck by their familiarity:
"Oh, yeah, I know that song! Oh, and that one, too!" The bored,
fuck-it-all masturbatory loping of "Longview" gives way to the intricate
middle passage of "Welcome to Paradise," the unabashedly joyous
power-chord abuse of the incessantly catchy "Basket Case" and the spare,
ever-building snot-nosed menace of the choppy "Brain Stew."
Those indelible singles prove that Green Day mastered the deceptively
simple art of power-pop punk rock early on, marrying nagging singalong
choruses with punk's toss-it-off attitude and Billie Joe Armstrong's
(quintessentially punk) nasal, garage-band vocals. But that same listener
will then also be struck by just how fertile this familiar territory is.
First, of course, there's the populist power-balladry of the string-laden
"Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)," a melancholy kiss-off that, like the
Police's "Every Breath You Take," has since been misappropriated by a
populace completely missing the song's darker core. But there's also the
subdued rockabilly foundation beneath "Hitchin' A Ride," the stirring
Romantics-meet-Kinks stomp of "Walking Contradiction" and the minor-key
Damned-Pixies collision of "Redundant." Green Day's best-known songs might
have been born of a formula that was showing wear when the Knack got a
hold of it, but the incisive lyricism and confident expansion of the
band's core sound display a depth and (dare we say it?) maturity that the
meaty melodies often camouflage.
It is, of course, grossly unfair to compare a leftovers collection like
Shenanigans to a platter of proven hit singles, but the
surprising thing is just how much
Shenanigans sounds like a regular Green Day album. Such
castoffs as "Suffocate," "You Lied" and "Scumbag" might stick pretty close
to formula conventions, but they're sturdy pieces of punk songcraft
nonetheless, and would easily fit in nestled amongst the songs on, say,
Nimrod. The precise stop-start dynamic of "Desensitized" adds a layer
of punchy garage-rock fury to a patented Armstrong singalong, while the
aforementioned "You Lied" shambles on a slow-burning riff spawned from
Brownsville Station's "Smoking in the Boys' Room." "Rotting" drapes a
languorous vocal and lyric over a chugging rhythm that's nicely
understated, shorn of the bottom-heavy crunch one expects to hear girding
the track. And a shotgun-scattered cover of the Ramones' "Outsider"
acknowledges Green Day's most obvious stylistic debt.
But the disc's envelope-stretching moment, its "Good Riddance," doesn't
come in the form of a poignantly snarled ballad like "Rotting."
"Espionage," easily the album's standout track, channels Dick Dale and
Junior Brown in a "Peter Gunn" surf-spy guitar instrumental braced with
ingeniously placed horns. (A slightly shopworn cover of the Kinks' "Tired
of Waiting for You" doesn't quite offer any surprises, except that it's
surprisingly more listenable than one expects.) It's during such moments
that one realizes just why the whole punk-versus-hit-singles argument
becomes irrelevant: By releasing an album of hand-me-downs that are for
the most part every bit as vital (and often as experimental) as its most
well-known hits, the band manages to outmaneuver expectations and dispel
assumptions about its creative talents -- which is, after all, a very
"punk" thing to do.
Ultimately, of course, Superhits stands taller because, well,
it's got the hits, and
Shenanigans -- laudable as it is -- does come with its share
of filler. But both compilations are strong works, indicators of an
often-undervalued band flexing its creative muscles. That both have been
released within less than a year might, for all this writer knows, be a
move to clear the decks of contractually-obligated product before, say,
jumping to another label. But the one-two punch feels like an
uncharacteristically cocky move from a band indulging in a rare moment of
"I told you so" to those who've written it off. And that's the most "punk"
act of all, isn't it?


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