The phrase ‘the mother of them all’ was invented for records like this. Okay, no, it wasn’t, but hopefully you get the idea. Kyuss‘ third album, 1994’s Welcome to Sky Valley (previously discussed here, and also here), is more than a generational landmark. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime record, whether we’re talking about for listeners, for the genre of heavy rock and roll, or for the people who took part in making it. ‘Desert rock’ might exist as a microgenre without it — it might — but it wouldn’t be the same and I can’t imagine it’d be half as warm.

Humans the world over have heard this record for the last 31 years and started bands in its image. Reasonably so. It’s desert rock’s most anticipated album and it came out in 1994. No list of the greatest heavy rock albums of all time is complete without it, and when you’re listening, it feels like a list of the best desert rock albums could be complete with nothing else. And more than any grunge album of its era, it sounds utterly free.

Welcome to Sky Valley — officially self-titled, but more likely to have its title shortened just to Sky Valley than to be called Kyuss‘ Kyuss — was the Palm Desert four-piece’s first offering through Elektra Records, and their second LP in a row behind 1992’s Blues for the Red Sun (discussed here) to be produced by Chris Goss of Masters of Reality.

I don’t know who first had the idea to pair the band and producer, but whoever was able to connect the dots of ‘weird and riffy like Sabbath‘ and be the first to draw a line from Goss to Kyuss — in 1994, the lineup of vocalist John Garcia, guitarist Joshua Homme, drummer Brant Bjork and bassist Scott Reeder, who’d taken on the low end role to tour the album prior — deserves free chocolate chip cookies forever. The depth of tone on Sky Valley — which I feel like is something I listen for on heavy records in part because of Sky Valley — is unto itself. It lets “Gardenia” begin the record with a sweep as the drums come in to kick out your legs, and it’s still there when “Whitewater” is dug, layered guitar and all, into the jam that launched a thousand ships; an arguable apex of Kyuss‘ time together.

But surely there’s more going on here than superlatives. Yes, though that can be hard to admit when “Asteroid” pushes air with its kick-in, or “Demon Cleaner” locks in a groove so slick Josh Homme had to go form Queens of the Stone Age about it. You know what I mean. For over three decades, the influence not only of this band, but specifically this record, has touched artists and groups the world over. From Dozer and Colour Haze to Howling Giant and Year of the Cobra, its reach is largely inescapable. That kind of thing can have an effect on how you listen, hearing the influence a band has had on others you’ve listened to.

And honestly, that’s part of the joy of genre — that larger creative conversation happening, almost with a collective voice, on a greater timeline than any individual involved can appreciate. That is to say, a genre evolves because people from different places with different ideas contribute to it, and that’s true of heavy and desert rock as well. I don’t necessarily think they knew when they tore into “100 Degrees” and then went immediate-chill across the seven minutes of “Space Cadet” that more than three decades later dudes would be sitting at keyboards waxing hyperbolic about the impact of their work on multiple continents, but they do sound like a band who realized what they had in terms of songwriting. Sky Valley‘s songs, from the rolling showcase instrumental second cut “Asteroid” through the clarion riff of “Supa Scoopa and Mighty Scoop” and on through the blast of “Conan Troutman” and the turn-around swing of the penultimate “N.O.,” shine with a character that even now feels like it’s just beginning to get its due.

Performance-wise, the band never sounded better. The rough exclamations Garcia belted out on 1991’s Wretch (discussed here) and 1990’s Sons of Kyuss demo (discussed here) have been refined. He croons, on “Space Cadet” and “Demon Cleaner,” most especially, in a way that makes his voice come through entirely more dynamic. No doubt he’s all-in when “Gardenia” hits the chorus and it’s all “Push it over, baby” and whatnot, and he’s right there careening on top of the riff to “Odyssey” like he’s surfing on sand, but as much as his style is typified by the harder delivery, the various sides enhance each other. Reeder, who played in desert cryptids Across the River — “N.O.” here is a cover taken from Across the River‘s 1985 Demo Tape (discussed here); Mario Lalli and Alfredo Hernandez were also in that band — slots into Kyuss gorgeously, giving space to Homme‘s riffs and Bjork‘s transcendent grooves and still-punk-rock fills.

Sky Valley is where Kyuss proved they didn’t need to hit full-force all the time, and while it’s not the only album on which their legacy is based, it is essential, both to understanding the band they became during their short tenure, and to understanding desert rock in general. Released with the quirk on CD of having the 10 cuts that aren’t the throwaway secret track “Lick Doo” (also somehow iconic) organized into three movements, Sky Valley both was and wasn’t of its era in terms of sound, but to say it holds up feels superfluous. Does the Great Wall of China hold up?

One could very easily sit here all day and talk about the influence Kyuss have had — it would probably be fun — but the thing about Sky Valley when you listen to it is that stuff still doesn’t matter. Inspiring generations and all that. It clearly didn’t matter then (because it hadn’t happened yet), and when you hear it now, it’s still so much more about these songs and where this band was at the time. Lightyears ahead, also behind the times, and completely in a place of their own making. Welcome to Sky Valley is a masterpiece, and if you believe in a canon of heavy, in key works that inform what a style of music becomes, or if you believe an album can make your house a home, or art can enrich your life, you probably don’t need me to tell you this one’s for you.

As always, I hope you enjoy. Thanks for reading.

—

Yesterday was Thanksgiving. We hosted for 18 people, which was a decent crowd. Only my cousin Rob was missing, and he was missed, but it was a nice day if also a fair amount of work. My wife’s mother did most of the cooking, in our kitchen, and The Patient Mrs. as well had a lot of baking and mac and cheese and such going on. Cauliflower gratin for me. And so on.

My mother was in a car accident last week. She broke two ribs and cracked her sternum. She remains sore as hell, but she came yesterday and it was both good to see her moving a bit and good for her to be moving a bit. The Patient Mrs.’ sister came down from CT with her two kids, my sister brought her two kids (everybody gets along; they’ve known each other forever), The Pecan played on the Switch 2 for like nine hours — and I had gummies and turkey and cheezycauli, so it was a total win.

There remains more cleaning up to do, which is what’s on tap for today, along, I think, with a lot of not-talking and hopefully mellow hangs. The Pecan will need to move her body. I need to shower. They’re up in the other room, but it’s a slow start to a no-school Friday, so fair enough. We’ll figure it out.

Next week? I just got asked if I would review the new Palm Desert album and said I’d try, so I guess that? Also premieres for Mother Crone and Skogskult, so look out for those.

Zelda update? I haven’t really had time to play. I got offered a chance to write for ZeldaDungeon though (it’s a volunteer thing) if I can do four articles a month. I’m not sure I have time to hit that mark, but I might try for a bit, just to change things up. Where I left my game, I finished Ocarina of Time 3D and started Majora’s Mask 3D with the same kind of graphics mod. I never played it. I was so exhausted after Ocarina of Time on N64 in 1998 I felt like I never needed to play another Zelda game. Funny now.

But so this is my first time through Majora’s Mask. I’m at a part where there are a bunch of mini-games and I’m not huge on that, but it’s pretty par for the course. I remember when Majora’s Mask came out though. I sold it at the toy store I used to work at; KB Toys #1051 at Rt. 10 & 202 in Morris Plains, NJ, when I was in high school and college. I still see people around to whom I sold toys for their kids. But I guess not much of a Zelda update other than I did Woodfall Temple in Majora’s Mask and with the holiday haven’t had a lot of time to dig into the game otherwise. I don’t know if I like having to put my rupees in the bank and losing all my items, but I hear Termina Field has good farming. Shruggy shrug shrug.

Alright. I’m gonna leave it there and go empty the dishwasher for what won’t at all be the last time today. Thanks again for reading. Have a great and safe weekend. Don’t forget to hydrate, stretch, maybe do some breathing. Punch nazis.

FRM.

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Kyuss, Welcome to Sky Valley (1994)

Yeah, I know. It’s technically self-titled. But you know, sometimes majority rule renames a record. The White Album was self-titled too, and I consider Welcome to Sky Valley no less pivotal in the influence it’s had in the two decades since its release — the 20th anniversary is June 28, wanna have a party? — bands around the world picking up the elements of what would become desert rock largely in this album’s wake. Kyuss‘ legacy is ongoing in Vista Chino and Queens of the Stone Age and all the groups who’ve taken cues from these tracks, presented in three distinct movements (plus a goofy “bonus” cut), but Welcome to Sky Valley, like any monument, is cast in stone.

Seems like overkill to rant about how great it is. If you’d like more, it’s in the Canon of Heavy, and was voted number one on the list of the Best Stoner Rock Records of All Time in the poll taken here a little while back. I feel like there are very few things that can be universally agreed upon, and Welcome to Sky Valley is one of them. If you’re on this site, reading this sentence, even if you don’t actually press play and listen to the thing, on some level you can probably get into it. At least that’s the hope.

—

So, today was my last day as editor of The Aquarian, which if you didn’t know was the last dayjob from which I hadn’t been laid off. I’m now completely unemployed.

The last couple days I’ve spent applying for different jobs, editor gigs, corporate gigs, one or two public sector deals. Nothing back yet, obviously, but I hear that’s how it goes. It’s been a pretty downer week, to be honest. My boss told me he wanted to talk on Monday and then blew me off until Tuesday. That’s right. I got blown off from getting fired. Imagine how little what you do means when that happens. All of a sudden I was Milton from Office Space. Except he still got a paycheck.

Welcome to Sky Valley is the blanket I’ve pulled over my head. At least it’s warm. I also thought I was getting pinkeye last night, though that seems to have abated.

Things are lookin’ up!

Like I said the last time I lost a job, I don’t know what the future holds for me, this site or anything else. If anyone knows of any professional opportunities, my resumé is here. I’m open to anything.

Hope you have a great and safe weekend. Please check out the forum and radio stream.

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Any discussion of all-time essential heavy albums is incomplete without Kyuss‘ 1994 full-length, Welcome to Sky Valley.

Officially self-titled, the Palm Desert four-piece’s third album following 1992’s also pivotal Blues for the Red Sun and 1991’s Wretch debut is to this day the single blueprint on which the desert rock aesthetic is based. The album was recorded at Sound City by Chris Goss and included the  simple instructions to, “Listen without Distraction.” Rarely in heavy rock has such sound advice been given.

You could argue that Blues for the Red Sun deserves induction into the Canon of Heavy first — I’m not sure you’d be wrong. The difference, however, is that where Blues for the Red Sun established Kyuss as a band apart from the grunge movement that was then sweeping radio, print mags and the greater rock and roll consciousness, it was Welcome to Sky Valley that showcased specifically the alternative they presented, the weight of their grooves, the loosely jammed feel of driving, punk-derived rhythms, the sheer power of a riff like that of “Supa Scoopa and Mighty Scoop” to stomp itself into the brain of a listener — I still try to tap out the hits at the end and get it wrong more often than not — and ultimately set the stage for the massive and ongoing influence Kyuss has today on bands all around the world.

Then comprised of vocalist John Garcia, guitarist Josh Homme, bassist Scott Reeder and drummer Brant Bjork, Kyuss would become a standard for those to whom even the commodified strains of alt rock left cold, and the sheer something else-ness of Welcome to Sky Valley continues to resonate and make it one of the best heavy records of all time, the best and most formative desert rock release ever, and an utterly timeless listen.

If nothing else, let the fact that Welcome to Sky Valley is included second to Black Sabbath‘s Master of Reality in the Canon of Heavy be a testament to its standing among the classics. And yet how can we call Kyuss anything but underrated?

“The Desert Sound”

Among others, Kyuss cited local jammers Yawning Man as having an influence on their sound, and one can hear that in Homme‘s guitar work on “Space Cadet” and elsewhere, but in a way that’s both unpretentious and undeniable, Welcome to Sky Valley was representative of the Californian desert to its very core. Weird and a little hippie, there was nonetheless heat in the tonal fuzz of the guitars and an ecosystem at work in Reeder‘s basslines, and while Garcia mused with stoned, brazen abandon about who the hell knows what, Bjork solidified every move the band made with understated percussive brilliance. Whether it was the single-worthy psychedelia of “Demon Cleaner” or the landmark thrust of “Odyssey,” Kyuss was as much about the rhythm section as it was about riffs or melodies.

The closing duo of “N.O.” (a cover of Reeder‘s prior outfit, Across the River) and “Whitewater” emphasized that perfectly, but really, it can be heard throughout Welcome to Sky Valley, and the photos that comprise the album’s artwork, of cracked sands and a foldout of a windmill, only speak to the band’s connection to its geography and their intent in conveying that musically. Whatever it was that did it, Kyuss never quite fit sonically with either the hard rock or the metal of their day. A jammed-out instrumental like “Asteroid,” placed as the second track behind opener “Gardenia” in the first of the album’s three movements, is unlike anything radio would’ve touched at the time, and at the time, radio was how a band like Kyuss would’ve gotten big. So what we have is an act necessitating a new vocabulary that didn’t exist when they did — ahead of their time — an act forcing those who’d approach them to realize that heaviness didn’t necessarily have to come hand in hand with anger or some teenaged grunge moping.

How did all this come from the desert? Hell if I know. Thinking about a landscape like that, beaten by the sun, dry and cracked like in the liner note pictures, it looks heavy, making a subtle, nonchalant threat just by being there. You can get lost in the desert and you can get lost in this music. The two almost can’t help but go hand in hand.

The Movements

Let’s say you’re a rock band signed to a major label. You see that the audience is becoming less and less dependent on a full-album listening experience and to counteract this — because you’ve just gone to the trouble of writing a full-length’s worth of material and perhaps you believe in all of it and want it to be heard — you decide to block the 10 component tracks of your album into three movements, three in the first, three in the second and four in the third. Basically, you’re demanding that your audience engage the songs on the level you’ve chosen for them. They no longer have the power to skip to whichever track they want. The terms are yours.

First of all, you’d never get away with it. Today’s corporate label strata is so client friendly that so long as you’re willing to give even the slightest bit of money as opposed to just stealing an album by downloading it illegally, record companies will basically spoon-feed the music to your ears (that’s not to mention the homogenizing effect that the desperation to reach as broad an audience base as possible has had on commercial hard rock as a whole; it’s an issue for a different time), and if you want singles, singles you’ll have. Even Welcome to Sky Valley feels like the result of a compromise in this way. Kyuss could just as easily have presented the individual pieces as one 51-minute track. One wonders at the negotiation process that resulted in the three blocks of tracks that the final CD housed, a new meaning given to the proverbial numbers game of contract talks.

Promo copies of Welcome to Sky Valley went out to radio stations with the pieces split up individually, but for the general listening populace, Sky Valley more or less forced you to take it on as a whole and on that level flew in the face of its own potential for commercial success. In a climate that was having less and less time for a whole album, Kyuss decided they’d refuse to give anything less.

Its Influence

Unless you’ve done it, I’m not sure you can understand quite how difficult it is sometimes to review heavy rock records and not just be like, “Well, it kinda sounds like Kyuss on Welcome to Sky Valley.” At this point, approaching 19 years since its original release, the album continues to have an appeal past any expiration date one might’ve ever wanted to put on it, and from California to Moscow, bands have tried to make even the slightest bit of its magic their own. Most fall short, but the mere fact that their inspiration can be traced back to Kyuss and in particular to Welcome to Sky Valley makes the album a standout in its generation.

The basic fact is that when Kyuss released this album on Elektra, yeah, there was a market for creative hard rock — the Melvins put out Houdini on Atlantic late in ’93, and Monster Magnet‘s second album, Superjudge, founding them riding high on A&M — but the number of bands taking the approach Kyuss were taking to psychedelia, to rock-after-punk (that’s not to call them post-punk), on the level they were doing it, well, it was pretty much them and nobody. The desert from whence they hailed may have had a vibrant scene at the time, with bands like the aforementioned Yawning Man or Fatso Jetson, whose guitarist Mario Lalli guests on lead for “N.O.,” but Kyuss became the ambassadors for that scene to a wider public consciousness.

Really, it’s a title they continue to hold to this day, and with the boom in awareness of what they were doing that came with the rise of the internet as a musical conveyance, their reach went global just a few years after they’d broken up. Already by the mid-to-late ’90s, Man’s Ruin Records was having an impact on listening habits, but today, the sound that took root in Palm Desert can just as likely be heard in Poland or New Zealand.

So Why Weren’t They Huge?

How can that be true — how can Welcome to Sky Valley have had such an impact on heavy rock — and Kyuss still be an underground band? Well, the commercial success that Josh Homme eventually found with Queens of the Stone Age — and let’s not forget it took three albums and a collaboration with Dave Grohl to get there — eluded Kyuss for the entirety of their career. Singles like “Demon Cleaner” and “One Inch Man” from subsequent album …And the Circus Leaves Town (1996) brought some attention, and the band toured hard, but they never quite took the steps that Homme would later take to embrace their audience. Songs were loose and half-jammed, Garcia‘s vocals biting and guttural, and like several others of their musical generation, Kyuss inhabited a curious zone somewhere in between hard rock and heavy metal. The difference is now two decades’ worth of bands have lined up behind them in that position.

The way I look at it is like “Lick Doo” — the “secret” fourth track after the glorious finish of “Whitewater” that’s a minute-long faux doo-wop organ number with Garcia singing, “Oh honey, you know that you can and will lick my doo,” etc. Kyuss by this time were getting to be professionals at their sound, realizing that they had something unique to offer on a stylistic level and setting themselves to the work of capturing that on tape, but they were also a bunch of desert-dwelling stoners goofing around. You think if they were up to taking themselves too seriously they’d have put “Lick Doo” after “Whitewater?” No way. “Hey, here’s probably the best song we’ll ever write, let’s end the record with it and then put this stupid outtake on after it for absolutely no reason.” Sorry, but if you’re considering your position in rock history, that’s probably not the choice you’re gonna make.

And ultimately, maybe that’s part of what makes Welcome to Sky Valley so special — that Kyuss may have been reinventing a long forgotten classic rock wheel, but they were basically doing so just by being who they were. And maybe that’s why all the people who’ve come along since, including Kyuss themselves, have never quite managed to harness the same feeling in a recording as these guys did at that particular moment in time, in that studio, with those instruments, those songs.