There was a time – not too long ago, actually – when our music libraries existed almost exclusively inside a blissfully ignorant little antennae-stuck box we liked to call the FM radio. And no matter how liberating it felt to discover that there was a universe of other options beyond that box (once we’d surrendered to our “”better”” judgment), I’d be surprised if we didn’t all occasionally miss that anticipatory “”What’s next?”” tickle of the unknown, all in the hands of a nameless DJ somewhere, directing the channels of our tween angst at his every whim. Then again, I could probably tell my late-’90s self exactly what was next: Third Eye Blind.
Not that good radio has become obsolete, especially in the unexpectedly quality signal-tangle of San Diego, but much of its original thrill is inexorably drained when stuck with the killjoy of developed critical taste and the knowledge that we could probably be listening to something better. Third Eye Blind – with three solid top-10 hits in 1997-98 (“”Semi-Charmed Life,”” “”Jumper”” and “”How’s It Going to Be””) and two lesser singles in 2000 – subsist for our age group in an untouchable realm of nostalgia. Their jabbing warmth shacked up in the tender spots of our developing brains before we were old enough to give a shit, bonding every deceiving major chord and angsty rumination to our own hormone surges and puppy-love firsts. So what if we were belting, “”How do I get back there to the place where I fell asleep inside you?”” like we meant it? We were mature for our age – and those goddamn melodies, driving the whole thing home, punching the post-pep back into messier grunge origins like Pearl Jam and Nirvana (more difficult to make our mom-drivers sit through at high decibels).
Sure, there was Matchbox Twenty, the Foo Fighters and Everclear, but no one knew us quite like Stephan Jenkins and his fluctuating backup did on TEB’s self-titled debut, a heartfelt teardrop that tidied the frayed edges of early-’90s alternative with squeaky-clean stadium-meets-garage rock for the soul. Though we didn’t call it such at the time, these were the true beginning signs of the now-bubblegummed mainstream-o genre – a hint of whine or tortured scream here, a suicidal side-note there – that syringe-pumped up our callow young veins with just enough junior happy-place heroin to ward off the raccoon-eye makeup and jeans three sizes too small that now plague society.
An inner-fan letdown, 2000’s follow-up Blue opted for more mature, watered-down adult sucralose with “”Deep Inside You”” and “”Never Let You Go,”” still rolling with those unforgettably packaged guitar-wail loops, but lost under the radio rubble of sheer overabundance. Plus, they’d become a guilty pleasure instead of a public one – nobody wanted to admit lingering love, and TEB cassette tapes everywhere were tucked into dusty under-bed shoebox resting places, not to resurface until the privately rejoiced announcement of 2007’s Sun God lineup. Don’t bother with the weighty 2003 comeback-attempt Out of the Vein – gone are the champion hooks, and besides, we have taste now, right? – and kiss the Sun God’s feet in prayer that they’ll stick to the old stuff: so we can finally hear it in open air once again, and what’s better, with a few drinks to knead out all lingering inhibitions.
