In some respects, the most difficult time I had keeping up with and discovering new music correlated with my occupational era working in commercial radio. This wasn’t because I was working at some oldies station or some other crypt on the dial devoted solely to the music of the past. Quite the contrary, in fact. While I did my time with a couple different stations simultaneously, most of my hours were claimed by a “new rock alternative” station, ostensibly focused on the cutting edge of music. This was in the aftermath of the shock success of Nirvana, and their Seattle brethren that became wealthy in their wake. The wide-ranging music philosophy of college radio stations had been co-opted. “Alternative rock” was the fastest growing format on commercial radio stations. Many of the artists that had been college radio mainstays were tugged along for the ride–the music library needed to be built somehow–but new bands were another matter. The first two Sleater-Kinney albums came out while I worked at the station, but you’d never know it by tuning in to us. The likes of Bush and Silverchair, on the other hand, were pegged by major labels as the most likely contenders to earn Pearl Jam level dollars, so that’s what we played.

Lacking the robust Interweb culture that can help illuminate vital emerging artists now, I pursued every other avenue I could think of for someone with funds limited enough that I could sample from from the downtown record stores’ new releases sections indiscriminately. I poured through magazines, I sought advice from friends who still regular access to my alma mater airwaves, I eavesdropped on conversations at local shows. Most of all, though, I became rigidly devoted to the musicians that I found intriguing. Buying and liking one album from an artist was effectively making a commitment to collect all their successive efforts. This habit has long been in my make-up, an enduring remnant of my comic book collecting, where the purchase of the sensational first issue (“Because YOU Demanded It!”) was a promise to keep buying those four-color adventures as they hit the rack anew every month.

When Tanya Donelly’s full-length solo debut, Lovesongs for Underdogs was released, it was an automatic purchase. She had quite a history already, with stints in Throwing Muses and The Breeders and as the primary creative force behind Belly on their two strong albums. After that band experienced a hype-abetted implosion, Donelly had nothing left to do but strike out on her own. The music she made was bright, arch, literate pop, songs that fairly glistened with spirit and intelligence. There was no place for them on the radio amidst the grinding engine of the descendants of Seattle grunge. For those of us desperate to escape the monotony of that broadcast sound, the songs were like a splendid, surprising gift.

Tanya Donelly, “Mysteries of the Unexplained”

(Disclaimer: Lovesongs for Underdogs is apparently out of print, though it is available for purchase in MP3 format. We know how well major labels honor their moral commitments to provide compensation under those circumstances. Still, if anyone with due authority to do so asks me to remove the song, I will gladly comply. Donelly is also apparently studying to be a doula, so if you’re in the market for one of those…)