For indispensable reporting on the coronavirus crisis, the election, and more, subscribe to the Mother Jones Daily 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.
