Destiny's Child, Basement Jaxx, and Guided by Voices
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27 July 1999
Destiny’s Child
The Writing’s on the Wall
Destiny’s Child might be remembered today for launching the pop juggernaut best known as Beyoncé. And that’s fair—while the group’s lineup was constantly in flux, Beyoncé was its irreplaceable core. The Writing’s on the Wall was the group’s breakthrough album and their biggest hit, going multi-platinum and cementing the quartet (soon to be a trio) as one of the sharpest, smartest girl groups around.
That’s not to say it spontaneous; Destiny’s Child was, after all, carefully assembled by producer (and padre) Mathew Knowles. But then again, so were the Sex Pistols. So were the Monkees. So were Girls Aloud (that might be a bad example). The point is that great pop music (because Destiny’s Child always were, at heart, a brilliant pop group) doesn’t have to share the indie obsession with authenticity. After all, Rihanna doesn’t write her own songs—but after “Disturbia”, do you really care? The Writing’s on the Wall never pretends to be homemade. It’s almost deliberately slick, as processed as its cover image. But it just sounds so good.
Standout track “Say My Name” goes beyond “guilty pleasure.” Propelled by Beyoncé‘s commanding vocals and a hook that digs in so deep it might never come out, “Say My Name” became the group’s signature track for a reason. “Bug a Boo” is a sleek message of empowerment hidden beneath a glossy riff. It’s a rare thing: An album comprised almost entirely of singles. And even rarer, while slightly dated, The Writing’s on the Wall comes off just as funny, sharp, and well-crafted as it did ten whole years ago.
Personal confession: The Writing’s on the Wall was the first album I ever purchased, at the tender age of 12. While my indie pedigree might’ve progressed since then (goodbye Britney, hello Band of Horses), the message of The Writing’s on the Wall still remains. No, not that a guy ought to pay your bills, bills, bills, or that even if you’ve got a man, the club is still jumpin’, jumpin’. No, the true message behind this album—the one that’s endured throughout a decade of break-ups and reunions, through the Beyoncé legacy, and even through Obsessed—is that pop music, at its best, doesn’t owe allegiance to anything except the beat. 
Emily Tartanella
3 August 1999
Basement Jaxx
Remedy
At the time, Basement Jaxx seemed monstrously weird, and in all honesty, they’re still pretty weird. Considering the general seriousness of popular electronic music at the end of the decade, Remedy was a bizarre little curio from another planet, a disc of effusive Latin-flavored pop-house disco anthems that seemed like the bastard love child of Fatboy Slim and Armand Van Helden. Of course, the Jaxx didn’t rise up overnight: they’d released successful singles and remixes for years. But this was their first big push, and the universal acclaim from the likes of Spin and Rolling Stone—along with some actual MTV and radio play—made their sound instantly recognizable. And of course, the fact that they actually had songs as good as “Rendez-Vu”, “Red Alert”, and “Bingo Bango” was the best part. This was, and is, electrifying good stuff.
And the best part is that not merely was Remedy good, but it was no fluke. 2001’s Rooty was arguably even better, and subsequently 2003’s Kish Kash was one of the decade’s most acclaimed albums—not most acclaimed dance albums, but most acclaimed period. Considering how good they are at making awesome singles, it would be easy to forgive them for slapping together perfunctory albums. But they almost always come through with quality LPs—even if, truth be told, they’ve sometimes been too overstuffed, too jam-packed with awesome ideas for their own legibility. Remedy seems positively lean in comparison with Kish Kash or 2007’s Crazy Itch Radio, sleek and sexy almost to distraction.
The Jaxx may lack the intellectual bona fides of the Chemical Brothers of Underworld, or the crossover appeal of Moby, but for people who love—really love—dance music, a Jaxx single sounds like nothing so much as shaking up a cold, fizzy Coca-Cola on a hot summer’s day and swallowing it down with a mouth full of Pop Rocks. In other words: not to be missed. Tim O’Neil
3 August 1999
Guided by Voices
Do the Collapse
In the mid-‘90s, few acts were as beloved as Dayton, Ohio, indie rock band Guided by Voices. Their admirers weren’t mere fans; they were fanatics, worshipping a cult of DIY aesthetics that made the band seem accessible and relatable to every vinyl nerd with a garage sale guitar and a used four-track. From 1994’s Bee Thousand to 1996’s Under the Bushes, Under the Stars, the band were critical darlings, issuing near-perfect treatises on the power of great songwriting to not only transcend lo-fi production, but to be somehow enhanced by it.
By 1999, though, Guided by Voices leader Robert Pollard had jettisoned the act’s “classic lineup”, abandoned hip indie label Matador for TVT, and taken on former Cars frontman Ric Ocasek as producer. The resulting album, Do the Collapse, is predictably slicker, more polished, and bigger sounding that any prior Guided by Voices release. These factors alone were enough to engender disappointed fans and tepid reviews.
However, seen from another perspective, Pollard was aiming for a wider swath of the music-buying public, and he delivered the goods. Do the Collapse‘s sharper production meant it could be easily appreciated by the casual alternative radio listener. If you’d survived the ‘90s on a steady diet of Flaming Lips, Smashing Pumpkins, Sugar, and Beck, then this was the Guided by Voices album for you. Opening track “Teenage FBI” ranks among the group’s very best, with its chugging rhythm blooming into the chorus’s delicious power-pop chords. “Things I Will Keep”, with its fuzz guitars and keening melody, is another of the record’s best tracks. Also in this category are buzzing rocker “Surgical Focus” and, with its heavenly refrain, “Liquid Indian”.
Then there are the slow songs. The warm, strummy “Dragons Awake” is flat-out lovely, while “Hold on Hope” is the gorgeous power ballad that has rankled the hardcore lo-fi lovers the most. Perhaps a bit syrupy, it’s the band’s “Everybody Hurts”. It’s also kinda great, pairing sweeping strings with the typically oddball and unsentimental line, “There hides the cowboy”. Do the Collapse is the Guided by Voices album that’s not for the fans, but that doesn’t mean it’s bad. In fact, ten years later, it sounds pretty darn good. Michael Keefe
