The Fast Way
by Billy
If you weren’t aware, you’re welcome for what should be inarguable: The Melrose Place soundtrack from 1994 was a far better song mix than any reasonable person could have expected or predicted. Given the show it represented, it was surprisingly well-populated with kickass alternative artists and was, as samplers go, an impressive dive into quality ’90s alt pop. (Seriously, check it out sometime.)
The album included James, Dinosaur Jr., and Paul Westerburg — kids, you’re gonna have to trust me that these were fairly big names in 1994 — and it also introduced me to several new names and rekindled my interest in Aimee Mann. One of the bands that rode a surprise wave of success from the soundtrack was Letters to Cleo, a Boston alt band fronted by Kay Hanley.
Random side note: Kay Hanley always came across to me as a sunnier and more aggressive Juliana Hatfield. I could never in a million years imagine Hatfield writing songs for a fictional cartoon character unless it was for “Josie & the Pussy Hats.”
“Here and Now” landed LTC in the MTV play loop, which impressed my college roommate enough to go out and buy Aurora Gory Alice, but I was a bit underwhelmed with the album as a whole, so I thought my love of this band would never go beyond that one song, but then they emerged crunching some rock on their second album.
Rock ’n’ roll is like breakfast. I have no interest in rock being my only musical food group anymore than I want to eat waffles and bacon, or sausage and egg sandwiches on an endless loop, but I can’t go too long in my musical diet without a big heaping plate full of rock. It’s the most important musical meal of my sonic day — the protein and energy provider — and often, the crunchier and more aggressive the better.
A crunchy rock song need not be crafted by a heavy metal or hard rock band. “Angels of the Silences” by Counting Crows is a crunchy rock song; no one will ever confuse Counting Crows for The Scorpions. Crunchy rock is rarely very deep, either, far more often a fast food burger than a porterhouse.
LTC’s “Fast Way” is a beautifully cynical look at the mating/dating ritual/cycle where things always seem to move faster than anyone plans because the id is an impatient little bugger, and the black snake does moan. There’s an amused fatalism to the song. Why the hell not move quickly if the outcomes — screwing him, dumping him — are inevitable? Ripping the Band-Aid is always easier than pulling slowly, right?
This song is what I used to imagine life as a sexually alive, independent, hip 20something woman was like. The kind of young woman plenty of dudes wanted to connect to, but the kind who could never quite find the guy she wanted to love nearly as easily as finding the ones she wanted to see, y’know, on their knees. (Or maybe I’m just guilty of the same kind of unhealthy sexual projection that speaks to what’s wrong with so many young men.)
It’s also a reminder that our “single use” society is nothing new to 2018. Twenty years ago, people worried about discarding friendships and romances too quickly to be healthy. Our culture has long built itself around ketchup packets and straws, disposable razors and 6-oz water bottles. Millennials didn’t invent relational dysfunction; they inherited it.
But who am I kidding? Mostly I just love the song because it rocks. Hard. BONUS: Lincoln Blake, the autistic boy from “A Visit from the Goon Squad” obsessed with moments of silence in rock songs, would have a favorite moment on this one.
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