Washing Machine was the first SY I bought right when it came out, and I fell for it hard. I was in high school, couldn't afford many albums, so the ones I had got played a lot, burned into my brain. It had some relatively mellow subtly psychedelic tracks, a retro-60's-girl-group track, a Velvets-tribute-of-sorts, a mid-album secret track, two stellar Lee songs (after
Jet Set's severe Lee drought), &
Diamond Sea was like a world unto itself unfolding deeper and deeper in ecstasy/obliteration. Had a great driving experience listening to my copy of the extended single CD with the "alt Lp ending" version of the track, as a passenger driving from town up into foggy mountain roads with teenage friends. The song and the road both traveled from familiar to mysterious territory. They hadn't heard anything like it before, and were blown away. I missed their tour for this album for reasons teenagers miss out on things, like lack of a ride, and was pretty bummed. I made damn sure to make it to the Tibetan Freedom Concert, Golden Gate Park, San Francisco 1996 via Greyhound bus with a friend. We stayed at his Aunt & Uncle's place in the Haight and walked to the park early, got right up front, making sure to choose the stage SY would appear on. The Sonics played a short set, only four songs I think, and it was the first time I saw them live. When
Diamond Sea hit, I was overwhelmed as only a music-obsessed teenager can be seeing their favorite band for the first time, playing their favorite song for 20+ minutes. Highlight of my year. If I'm not mistaken, that was one of the last times they played that song. That song was my gateway into extended improv and eventually jazz, which I am still gleefully exploring. Now I see connections with other side-long epic tracks like Tortoise's
Djed, Pink Floyd's
Echoes, Velvet Underground's
Sister Ray, Grateful Dead's
Dark Star.
I found this image in a fine art magazine once, which dovetails with the album artwork, and would be ideal for a deluxe 20th anniversary reissue on spin-cycle vinyl.
Bill Woodrow, "Twin-Tub with Guitar", 1981, washing machine. It is a sheet metal guitar sculpture using metal from a single salvaged washing machine, designed so that all the pieces remain attached to the washing machine, made the year the band was founded:
In my memory the sculptor was female, the guitar jutted out and away from the washing machine, and was less rough and more precise/realistic. My memory has been known to be faulty.
If
Washing Machine has a lowlight, for me it would be
Junkie's Promise. I usually skip that one. The post-Cobain maudlin heroin drama feels deeply passe to me now.