1992: The year of my little brother. I awoke one September morning to find myself alone in my house with only my grandmother, while over in New Brunswick, my new brother laid in an incubator, placenta dreams still wafting in his thin skull.
Meanwhile, the world outside was swimming with great music, cultural change, and new possibilities and improbabilities for the "unemployed" and "depressed" members of generation X.
Nirvana was changing the day to day record singings on the major label front. Pavement's "Slanted and Enchanted" was white washing a new generation in fuzz pedal dreams of turning on, tuning in, and dropping out. Pixies were disintegrating as Kim Deal and her Breeders hit platinum record status with their album "Last Splash". Sonic Youth was pushing David Geffen around for a change, selling records and retaining the cred of Greil Marcus and Mr. Kurt Loder.
The floodgates were opening to a new frontier of musical experimentation once again in mainstream America. Bands powered by Ramen and Milwaukee's Best had a chance to pay their rent comfortably while still churning out critically viable and interesting records. All the while, C.C. Deville and that guy from Winger sunk into a well deserved depression as the record executives and hair teased van trash stopped sucking their cocks. Looking back it was quite an adventure. The year after punk broke, AGAIN, and the year it started to come apart, AGAIN.
With so much going on outside my window, I could have jump started my education early, becoming the coolest 7 year old in my class. However, this was not the case.
In '92, I was certain of a few, essential facts of life. Billy Joel was God. Fleetwood Mac were irrefutable legends. There was a Bad Moon Rising somewhere. The lyrics to "Material Girl" were so true when sung by Jesus' mother. Guns N Roses were cop killers. Bad words were not aloud in music. And Genesis' "Invisible Touch" could provide the perfect one song soundtrack for any car ride with your parents.
Don't think you already know the whole story however. I created my own haven of music that made 2nd grade worth living. I never left the house without that Walkman. Well, unless we were going on one of those "Invisible Touch" road trips. I got around the town. I was too hip, manning my own ship.
Without added rambling text, my TOP 5 cassettes of '92, release date irrelevant:
1) The Beach Boys "Made in the USA" (a terribly assembled greatest hits that featured more of their lame ass songs from the '80s than their masterpieces from the '60s)
2. WWF Theme Songs Vol. 2 (way more intense than Vol. 1. The Big Boss Man and Demolition's songs were on it for Christ's Sake).
3. Joe Public "Joe Public" (Positive rap with no cussing. Song, "Live and Learn" later featured on SNES' NBA Jam VHS soundtrack. Amazingly inspirational. Killa rhymes).
4. Kris Kross "Totally Krossed Out" (They made me wanna Jump. And believe me, I jumped!)
5. Michael Jackson "Mix Tape recored by holding my Fischer Price recorder up to the TV speaker during a VH1 marathon" (I wish he was molesting me in '92).
1992 was a pretty stupid year for me.
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