There are probably more deserving candidates for the title of the most unfairly maligned, unjustly ignored, and criminally underrated band of the ’90s, but for my money, no one tops Oxford, UK’s Swervedriver. The group’s list of misfortunes and just plain bad luck borders on comic, from their drummer leaving the tour bus at Niagara Falls to “go get a sandwich” and never returning, to being dropped from their longtime label a mere week after releasing their most anticipated record. Swervedriver were one of those bands who were almost universally acclaimed during their decade of exposure (roughly ’89 through ’99), yet paradoxically suffered from piss-poor record sales while their imitators were topping the charts. Recent news of a reunion tour this summer has not only quickened my heartbeat in anticipation, but prompted a thorough reevaluation of the band’s catalogue, which bears the shocking distinction of being entirely out of print (save a two-disc retrospective). The following guide is for the curious “Swerve who?” readers who, once converted, will join me in demanding reissues of all Swervedriver material – CDs, LPs, singles, everything – with the frenzy of a full-scale riot when our peaceful protests are ignored (end Perfect World scenario).

The nutshell presentation: Swervedriver was officially formed in 1987 by vocalist/guitarist Adam Franklin, second guitarist Jimmy Hartridge, bassist Adi Vines, and drummer Graham Bonnar. The group secured a deal with Alan McGee’s Creation Records in 1990 when Ride’s Mark Gardener slipped the label head a demo of “Son of Mustang Ford.” Debut Raise (1991) garnered widespread acclaim from the UK music press, unimaginatively (and incorrectly, really) lumping Swervedriver’s roaring, guitar-driven rock with the then-popular ‘shoegaze’ movement. After Bonnar’s abrupt departure on their first U.S. tour, the remaining members recruited Jez Hindmarsh to occupy the drum throne and constructed their masterpiece, 1993’s Mezcal Head. Battling the onslaught of clones from the mid-‘90s Britpop trifecta (Blur, Oasis, Suede), Swervedriver released Ejector Seat Reservation (1995), which received next to zero promotion from their Oasis-crazed Creation label, who severed ties with the band shortly after the record’s street date. A brief but fruitless stint with Geffen brought nothing but legal woes over the release of their fourth full-length 99th Dream (1998), which eventually saw release on the near-bankrupt Zero Hour Records. Following tours of the UK, US, and Australia, Swervedriver announced their break-up later the next year.

Raise Creation 1991

Raise’s opening salvo, the blistering “Sci-Flyer,” must have confounded curiosity-seekers who picked up the record because the band’s name happened to be mentioned in the same blurb as My Bloody Valentine and Slowdive. Quizzically, the musical traits that defined shoegaze – dreamy textures, androgynous vocals, the ubiquitious “wall of sound” – are nowhere to be found here, just 45 minutes of high-octane guitar rock punctuated by Franklin’s drugged ruminations on, well, cars. Fast, loud, flames-on-asphalt cars. The entire album is propelled by its own kinetic energy, and the titles only hint at the kind of movement contained within: “Son of Mustang Ford,” “Sandblasted,” “Pile-Up.” To be sure, few songs sound better at 140 decibels while cruising down an empty highway at 90 mph than “Rave Down.” While the production of the record would likely qualify as “dry” by today’s standards, Swervedriver proved themselves masters of a multi-tracking technique pioneered by J Mascis in the ’80s, what a friend of mine refers to as “secret weapon guitar.” You’ll know it as soon as you hear it: just when it seems like the mix couldn’t possibly handle another layer of sound, in swarms a scorching guitar lead that sends a rush of electricity throughout every nerve of your body. Raise’s somewhat flattened mix causes the pacing to meander near the end, but as far as debuts go one could hardly do worse, and many fans adhere to the belief that this was Swervedriver’s finest moment. It’s certainly tough to argue with that assessment.

“Rave Down” – Swervedriver 5:08 (Raise, Creation 1991)

Mezcal Head Creation 1993

I’ll sheepishly confess that I’ve never spent more on a compact disc than the $50 I shelled out for an out-of-print Mezcal Head after my dubbed cassette had worn itself down to a fine magnetic dust. Keep in mind that this was long before the days of file sharing – hell, CD burning – and the only thing that kept me from financial shame at the end of the transaction was the fact that it was worth every last cent. Simply put, Mezcal Head is how electric guitars are meant to be played: amplified beyond distortion, strings walloping the fretboard, ripping through the mix like it was tissue paper. Lead single “Duel” meticulously collected all of the best features of Raise, honed them to a science, and condensed the formula into six minutes of perfection. “Last Train to Satansville,” is a hot rod chase through a scorching white desert set to a classic surf rhythm. “Girl on a Motorbike” and “Blowin’ Cool” radiate with a blue-flamed ferocity that belie their nature as gorgeously constructed pop songs. Honestly, there are too many stellar moments to mention, though a tip of the hat must be given to drummer Jez Hindmarsh, who deftly navigates through one dense layer of multi-tracked guitar after another with aplomb and determination. Absolutely, inexcusably essential, and a pinnacle of ’90s guitar rock.

“Blowin’ Cool” – Swervedriver 3:55 (Mezcal Head, Creation 1993)

Ejector Seat Reservation Creation 1995

Coming off Mezcal Head’s heralded reception and following a successful world tour of Japan, Europe, and the U.S., Ejector Seat Reservation should have taken the planet by storm. Sadly, two obstacles stood in the way – in the forms of labelmates Noel and Liam Gallagher. Creation needed to expend more of its resources coddling, er, promoting Oasis and Swervedriver’s less-accessible brand of edgy rock appeared to be a cog in the machine. Other than the complete absence of label enthusiasm and resulting fade-out from the popular radar (the record wasn’t even released in the States until Sony reissued it briefly in 2003), Ejector Seat’s only flaw lies in its presentation, a disgusting, overcompressed mess of frequencies that requires the utmost amount of patience to sort through. (Given that Alan Moulder was behind the boards for both this outing and Mezcal Head, this tragedy seems inexplicable.) Which is a shame, because underneath the steamrolled detritus lies a respectable pop album, more immediate than Swervedriver’s past work and finding the band experimenting with acoustic textures, strings and horns, and general psychedelic weirdness. Cuts like “How Does It Feel to Look Like Candy?” and “The Other Jesus” are marvelous pop gems, yet remain firmly grounded in the group’s guitar-based aesthetic. But records don’t sell when they’re not easily available to the public, and Ejector Seat was collectively forgotten in a matter of weeks.

“How Does It Feel to Look Like Candy?” – Swervedriver 3:40 (Ejector Seat Reservation, Creation 1995)

99th Dream Zero Hour 1998

99th Dream was Swervedriver’s make-or-break record, and although circumstances eventually sided with the latter, time has aged the band’s swan song remarkably well. Following the Creation fiasco the group was picked up by Geffen, only to find themselves in label limbo when their A&R rep got canned in a bout of corporate streamlining. A few legal headaches later and Swervedriver retained the rights to their record, which found release on the troubled Zero Hour Records. While distribution was spotty at best, those who were lucky enough to get their hands on 99th Dream were treated to the band’s most adventurous album to date, an expansive tapestry of sound that incorporated acid-tinged experimentation with the sugary pop structures established on Ejector Seat Reservation. The opening title track is as gripping as anything off Mezcal Head, fueled by a muscular surf guitar lead. Album centerpiece “Electric 77″ is notable for creatively utilizing each note of the 12-tone Western scale in its root progression without sinking into an academic exercise in technicality, and closer “Behind the Scenes of the Sounds & the Times” recalls the intricately intertwining guitars that dominated Raise. When Swervedriver finally threw in the towel shortly before the turn of the millennium, few could complain that they went out on a low note; 99th Dream beautifully summarizes what made the band so exciting since their inception ten years earlier.

“Electric 77” – Swervedriver 7:34 (99th Dream, Zero Hour 1998)

Sanctuary Records affiliate Castle Music released Juggernaut Rides ‘89–’98 (2005) a few years ago, a two-disc compilation of Swervedriver’s singles, notable album cuts, B-sides, and other treasures, and while I’m usually hesitant to recommend ‘greatest hits’ collections, it’s one of the finest of its kind and is the ideal place to start for those who’d like to explore this phenomenal band’s music. Unfortunately, with the rest of the catalogue currently in deletion, it might also be the place to end; here’s hoping the upcoming reunion tour will spark a renewed thirst for Swervedriver material.