There was a lot that I didn’t know about music when I arrived at my college radio station. Without knowing that a microphone with a broadcast capabilities was my destination, I’d spend the prior year or two cramming. I subscribed to Rolling Stone (in part, because Paul Schaffer told me to), I listened to the one local radio station that treated the release of a new R.E.M. record as an event, I stayed up late on Sunday nights to watch MTV’s 120 Minutes. Without really knowing it, I was researching, trying to understand the secret life of music that scooted along in the shadows behind the songs that managed to top the pop charts. When I made it to the air chair, I had a reasonable working knowledge of the music that belonged to college radio, but I was also acutely aware that I still had a lot to learn.

As a result, I didn’t really differentiate between artists in terms of importance. There was no hierarchy among the bands I didn’t know. At that time, there was precious little information to guide my progress–no Pitchfork or other online source placing albums on a highly delineated scale–there were just a few walls of records in the radio studio, the level of wear on their respective jackets the only guide to their value. (The jacket for London Calling was in tatters.) Everything was on equal footing, so I wasn’t aware that I should devote my time primarily to getting up to speed with the likes of Magazine or The Fall. A band like Scruffy the Cat seemed just as important.

Maybe they don’t linger in the collective music consciousness, and maybe they don’t get invoked all that often these days as one of the great bygone bands, but I was always plenty pleased when I filled out my playlist with a Scruffy the Cat song. They were one of those bands that didn’t strike me as particularly flashy. They just strapped on their guitars and played music, tight, smart songs with a hint of R.E.M. chime to it, as was practically required on college radio in the late eighties. It always sounded good, and, no matter what passing time has determined, they were just as important as any other band whose record I slipped over that station spindle.

Scruffy the Cat, “My Baby She’s Alright”

(Disclaimer: Tiny Days, the home for this album, appears to be out of print. Well out of print, I’d wager. The song is presented here with that understanding. If anyone with due authority to do so asks me to remove it, I will gladly and promptly comply.)