Grunge Grinds To An End

It happened slowly, almost imperceptibly.

First, record sales leveled out. Then the bands began to come apart.

Soon the nightclubs were disappearing, and before long the city that launched one of the most influential musical movements since the 1960s British Invasion had become just another footnote in pop-culture history.

Grunge, the minimalistic rock that reinvigorated the industry in the early 1990s, was dead.

“It had to happen. Of course it had to happen,” says Jonathan Poneman, co-founder of Sub Pop Records, which introduced Nirvana, Soundgarden and several other bands.

“If you’re going to be blessed with good times in this business, the not-so-good times are right behind them.”

But Poneman, who rose from record store clerk to the man in charge of one of the nation’s most influential music labels, harbors no resentment.

“That’s what keeps indie (independent) music vital,” he said. “It’s the idea that this is not somebody’s fiefdom. Nobody has a guaranteed lock on the public’s ear. It’s about the outsiders wanting in.”

Poneman and partner Bruce Pavitt were responsible for crafting Sub Pop’s original stripped-down sound. Then they instigated a highly successful marketing plan that included importing foreign journalists who quickly declared the Emerald City “the next Liverpool.”

“It was pretty amazing,” Poneman says. “We invented the whole thing.”

The company’s low-key breakthrough came with Mudhoney’s 1988 release, “Touch Me I’m Sick,” which many consider the first grunge record.

Then Nirvana, a group of post-punk disciples from Washington state’s rural southwest coast, transformed the musical landscape.

Sub Pop released their debut album, “Bleach,” in 1989. Their smash “Nevermind” came two years later.

Kurt Cobain’s tortured lyrics and Nirvana’s merciless rhythms tore to shreds the bloated heavy-metal and pop scene of the 1980s.

Pearl Jam released the multiplatinum “Ten” on Epic Records in 1991. Soundgarden followed with “Badmotorfinger.” Then came hits from Alice In Chains, Hole and the Screaming Trees.

The Seattle music scene reigned supreme.

It provided the backdrop for the hit movie “Singles,” Cameron Crowe’s homage to slacker love. The trademark flannel shirts, knit caps and torn jeans found their way to New York’s high-fashion runways. Goatees and body piercings seemed ubiquitous.

“It was such a strange time,” says Barrett Martin, drummer for the now-defunct Screaming Trees.

“Suddenly, Seattle was the coolest place to be. Everybody was dressing the same. I had been playing music here all my life and then everybody wanted in.”

The beginning of the end came on a drizzly April day in 1994, when Cobain’s body was found at his Seattle home. The 27-year-old rocker’s suicide by shotgun came shortly after “In Utero” hit record-store shelves.

That night, the city’s white-bread establishment opened the downtown Seattle Center to agonized young mourners. Cobain’s widow, Courtney Love - lead singer for Hole before her 1996 performance in the movie “The People vs. Larry Flynt” shifted her career path - led the impromptu wake via a cassette tape.

“The whole city was in shock,” says Ryan O’Toole, a Seattle musician who attended the memorial. “You just knew what a huge tragedy it was. On so many levels.”

Drugs were part of the disintegration.

Alice In Chains was forced to cancel a 1994 tour after singer Lane Staley admitted his battle with heroin addiction, a drug that had taken a toll on other Seattle musicians, including Cobain.

Hole bassist Kristen Pfaff was found dead in the tub of her Seattle apartment, victim of an overdose, less than three months after Cobain’s body was found.

Pearl Jam’s second and third albums - “Vs” in 1993 and “Vitalogy” in ‘95 - sold millions of copies, despite the group’s unpredictable touring schedule and disdain for music videos.

The perpetually vexed Eddie Vedder often said he would welcome the day when extraordinary sales faltered and the band was freed from the pressures of stardom.

He got his wish last year, when Pearl Jam released “No Code.” The album broke into the charts, but sales were thousands less than their previous efforts.

Since then, some of the city’s most influential music clubs - the Off Ramp, RCKCNDY and Moe’s - have closed their doors or changed formats.

“Not everyone is going to make it through, daddy,” says Hamish Todd, manager of the still-thriving Crocodile Cafe. “There’s still a lot of wonderful music here, but fewer places to play it. The strong survive. The truth will out.”

As the spotlight on Seattle waned, there were sporadic flickers elsewhere, like summer heat lightning.

Music magazines flirted with Chicago, which gave rise to the Smashing Pumpkins and Veruca Salt. San Diego, which produced the commercially successful Stone Temple Pilots, got mentions.

“But everything became derivative. Everyone was sounding exactly the same,” says Sean Tessier, a purchaser for Orpheum Records, an influential retailer in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood.

“People started to groom their bands to sound like Seattle. To look like Seattle,” Tessier says. “Things that lacked integrity crept into our scene.”

Some musicians claim the Seattle scene has become jaded and lost its niche as a place for beginnings.

“There are still a lot of people running the clubs that were around since it was real hot, and I think they’re still clinging to that even though it’s not that anymore,” says Scott Bickham, guitarist for The Cunninghams.

“I think the scene’s pretty calm right now and there are still some old-schoolers around trying to make it some big hoopla and it’s not,” says Bickham, whose group signed with the Los Angeles-based Revolution Records.

Another grunge bulwark toppled in late 1994, when Poneman and Pavitt sold 49 percent of Sub Pop Records to Warner Bros. for $20 million.

Then in April of this year, despite continued success, Soundgarden shocked fans by calling it quits amid rumors of infighting. The Screaming Trees had folded in March. Alice In Chains has not released an album in two years.

“I think it all represents a life cycle, including the death part,” says Clay Sparks, a senior director of artists relations with New York-based Caroline Records, now enjoying the mega-success of the Chemical Brothers’ second album “Dig Your Own Hole,” a favorite at dance clubs around the world.

“Alternative rock had a good run, but it’s over,” Sparks says. “People want to dance. They want to move. The days of standing around moshing are long gone.”

Poneman, who still oversees Sub Pop’s day-to-day operations, says the label has battled the backlash against grunge by evolving and seeking talent in other cities.

Sub Pop embraced the Cocktail Culture by signing such acts as Combustible Edison and Friends of Dean Martinez. The campy cocktail scene, enjoying popularity in several major cities, counters dress-down grunge with retro glamour, cigars and martini glasses.

The label has also gone on to sign Thornetta Davis, a rhythm-and-blues diva from Detroit, and the poignant Scud Mountain Boys from Massachusetts.

“We still adhere to our original principle of regionalism,” says Poneman, who concedes some Sub Pop personnel have resisted his plans to sign bands from other parts of the country. “Regionalism is the idea that certain regions have indigenous sounds that find their way into pop music.”

Poneman says Sub Pop has stayed vital by branching out of the Northwest while remaining true to its roots.

“There are still a lot of great bands in town,” Poneman says. “But there are a lot of great bands everywhere. And we’re still working with a lot of them.”