Alice in Chains endures beyond teenage angst

If you’ve been following this blog, you might be seeing a trend by now: I really like the ’90s. And who can blame me? The ’90s were awesome — hair metal faded in favor of grunge, and bands started playing real instruments again. My personal favorite group from that era (and really one of my favorites of all time) is Alice in Chains.

Alice in Chains is a Seattle-based band who rose to prominence in 1990 with their bone-crunching hit, “Man in the Box,” which was featured on their debut album, Facelift. They quickly became associated with the grunge scene in Seattle, and in 1992, solidified themselves as grunge legends with the release of their sophomore effort, Dirt.

Dirt is certainly AIC’s magnum opus. It squashed any notion that Alice was nothing more than a band riding a popular trend, and established them as a bold and unique player in the changing landscape of alternative rock/metal. And so it is undoubtedly their most important work. However, in my humble opinion, it is not their best (as great as it is). That distinction falls upon Alice in Chains (a self-titled album), their third and final LP with late lead singer Layne Staley. Alice in Chains — affectionately called Tripod because of the three-legged dog featured on the album cover — is the band’s most brooding, complex and ultimately satisfying piece of work.

To give the album some context, in 1995, Layne Staley was battling a drug addiction that had turned from bad to worse. That same year, he formed a super-group, Mad Season, with other grunge stars who were also trying to get sober, in an effort to kick his heroin habit (That band went on to release one fantastic album, Above). His sobriety was short lived, and, despite an upwards of 13 visits to rehab, Layne only sunk further into addiction. In 1996, a year after Alice in Chains was released, Layne told Rolling Stone: “Drugs worked for me for years, and now they’re turning against me. I’m walking through hell.” (Staley would finally succumb to his addiction in 2002.)

Alice’s three other members were relatively clean, but were growing increasingly worried about Layne’s condition. These circumstances, in a tale of tragic irony, became the breeding ground for what would become a grunge masterpiece. Staley’s lyrics on Dirt were by no means cheery or pedestrian, but on Alice in Chains, his lyrics became even more personal and precise, and his poetic prowess grew. But it is important to understand that Staley’s lyrical themes on Alice in Chains are different than the themes on Dirt. Dirt shows us a man who is fighting desperately to gain control of himself over his demons. Alice in Chains delivers to us a man in resignation, someone not as much fighting as wading in guilt and frustration.

Along with this updated lyrical style comes strange, brooding harmonies featured on almost every song. Vocal harmony between Layne and guitarist Jerry Cantrell had been a staple of the band’s sound since its inception. But Layne provides us with something more ominous on Alice in Chains; each track seems to have at least seven vocal parts singing at once. Staley’s voice, though amazing as always, does not possess the raw and gritty power he displayed on past AIC efforts. But that’s not the vocal style Alice in Chains calls for. Instead, Staley delivers contorted, yet beautiful layers upon layers of piercing harmonies. It’s a vocal style I’ve yet to encounter in anything else.  

Guitarist Jerry Cantrell, chief songwriter of AIC, also altered his style, laying down heavier, sludgier and often gorgeously twisted melodies. For example, the strange, wailing lead heard with a wall of crunchy rhythm guitar on the chorus of “God Am” helps convey the anguish Layne expresses as he makes a sarcastic plea to the divine. The chorus gives you an overwhelming swelling in your gut — not many songs can do that.

Another notable sonic change is the abandoning of heavy reverb applied to Sean Kinney’s drum parts. Kinney’s drums are more poppy and precise than on past efforts, and they help make the record sound more intimate and inward-focused. Kinney also reminds us that he’s one of rock’s most underrated drummers with songs like “Shame in You,” where he keeps a steady, almost Jamaican-inspired groove that really rounds out the song’s instrumental nicely. “Shame in You” also features some of Staley’s most poignant lyrics and heartbreaking melodies. With lines like, “When I’m waking, and I’m aching/time for sleep in, yeah,” Staley puts us in his dope-sick world without being melodramatic or self-indulgent about his condition.

“Frogs” is the album’s best track, and perhaps the best song AIC has ever made. It is an eight-minute long epic about the loss of friendship, propelled as always by Staley’s unique lyrics and Cantrell’s muddied, brooding guitar work. Songs like “Frogs” are great reminders of why Alice in Chains (the band) is a cut above the rest. They are masters at turning pain into beauty. And they are able to do so without sounding whiny, overly dramatic or outright disturbing for the sake of being disturbing. This is not a balance many bands were able to strike (especially with the eventual rise of genres like Nu Metal at the end of the decade).

Alice in Chains is near the top of my all-time favorite albums list. I discovered it at the right time, when I was brimming with teenage angst. But even though that angst has gone, the album remains relevant and enjoyable, a testament to its enduring quality.  

Nima Aminian is a junior majoring in economics. His column, Classics’ Corner, runs every other Thursday.