Rise To Your Knees

Membership Ticker

You come to Mother Jones for unique journalism, and we love doing it for you—especially at a moment like this. That's really it. That's the upshot of our fall fundraising drive, and we're hoping to raise $250,000 in a much shorter than normal three-week window, by November 5, so we can keep right on doing it. Please pitch in early to help us get there.

$250,000

You come to Mother Jones for unique journalism, and we love doing it for you. That's it. That's the upshot of our fall fundraising drive, and we're hoping to raise $250,000 in a shorter than normal three-week window so we can keep right on doing it.

Fight disinformation. Get a daily recap of the facts that matter. Sign up for the free Mother Jones newsletter.

A favorite of Nirvana’s Kurt Cobain, the Meat Puppets were always a genre unto themselves, fusing introspective psychedelia, sing-along pop, and sagebrush country into a freaky whole. The Arizona band splintered in the ’90s, but pick up where they left off, evoking an atmosphere of creeping dread that’s oddly alluring. Curt Kirkwood’s concise guitar solos veer off in unexpected directions, extracting startling melodies from raw noise, while his sleepy vocals and hazy lyrics suggest a lost soul only loosely tethered to reality.