Bring It On

GomezBring It On (Expanded)In 1998, at the time a college freshman who thought every new discovery was very likely the greatest thing in the history of sound, I found myself sprung on a dozen or so albums most easily classified as “college rock.” A few of these albums still matter to me, but none so much as Gomez’ debut, Bring It On. Before I go further I should mention that in some far gone desperate moment, years ago, I traded in my initial copy of Bring It On - probably for gas money. Then, just recently while picking up some new releases, I saw it: a just-released two-disc, 10-year anniversary edition of the album I used to listen to front-to-back, Sunday-Saturday. B-sides galore. Sound quality supposedly slightly better. Penniless again a decade later, I decided to skip the gas and again purchase the album I never should’ve sold off. Smarter with age.

Born in the pre-blog era of English buzz bands (yes, buzz did exist before blog sites), Gomez were initially celebrated as somewhat of an “underground” up-and-comer in the late 90s, mostly for this album - which won the prestigious Mercury Music Prize in 1998 - and their follow up, Liquid Skin. Early on the band played an unusual brand of pop music that mixed indie rock, blues, Brit-pop and sample-laden experimental music. Also of note to this day is the band’s unusual hierarchy, noted foremost for having two strong front men with very dissimilar styles: Ian Ball, a soft-voiced indie- and Brit-rocker through and through; and Ben Ottewell, a blues-loving bombastic howler with classic rock blood. Today, 10 years, four proper studio albums, a live record and a hits package since their debut, the band is still kicking, now known less for their initial reputation as “albums artists” and more so as a live band lost in the overpopulated Blogosphere. Bring It On, however, lives on, ranking as one of the best debuts of the 90s, a decade known for sturdy debuts and sophomore slumps.

There are only two bummers here, “78 Stone Wobble” and “Rie’s Wagon,” both of which sound like the kind of underdeveloped efforts expected on debut records. (There’s also “The Comeback,” a brief encore that closes out the album, but whose counting?) The remaining nine tracks included on the core tracklist do more for me now, at 28 and jaded, than they even did at 18 and clueless. My ears work better, and thus Gomez’ adventurous Brit-pop/classic rock sound registers at deeper levels. I assume there also is a dash of nostalgia aiding my responsiveness to this reissue - no shame. Listening to these songs since buying the two-disc blow-out version a week or so ago, I’m in love all over again, hearing Ben’s epic growl and Ian’s friendly hum in ways I never did in my Days of Wine and Books.

Though at the time often lumped in with other British bands of the time, Gomez were initially a very strange crew who weren’t afraid to take chances. Imagine a grizzly bear howling one second and skinny kid from across the street bouncing around the very next. Old blues riffs or subtle folk strumming topped by, what else, blown-out samples and layers of overground feedback. The production here is a major key to the success. At once experimental and conventional when working on this album, the sound of Gomez’ first record could’ve easily been spoiled at the studio level. Not the case. Bring It On sounds as good today as it did 10 years ago - proving an experiment gone right. I won’t go into too much detail about the individual songs aside from offering a few quick notes: if you’ve seen American Beauty you’ll surely know “Here Comes the Breeze,” one of the standouts here; “Get Miles” is a balls-y, still chilling opening that is grand in every way; no one else has ever made a song anything like the over-produced-yet-still-organic “Whippin’ Piccadilly”; “Tijuana Lady” is a classic with universal appeal that even you’re dad will love; and “Get Myself Arrested” was the best song of 1998. The rest - and there’s much there to love and learn - is left for your discovery.

The 16-track bonus disc offers eight proper era-specific studio B-sides, an alternate studio take on “Whippin’ Picadilly” and two BBC Radio One sessions that offer three stellar studio-quality covers. Counting the covers and the eight mostly excellent B-sides, this reissue offers a second album’s worth of great Gomez studio tunes, making this a must-own even for folks who already have and love the record. If you’re not familiar but love indie-rock, blues, classic rock, Brit-pop or just plain ‘ol adventurous alt-rock, this five-piece band from England have never sounded nearly as good as they do on this Mercury Prize-winning classic. Maybe the best already forgotten album of the late 90s.   9/10

Written by G. William Locke