Pitchfork

Never let it be said that Byron Coley (storied zinester cum storied music critic, and renowned Friend of Thurston) isn't above street-teaming when the occasion calls for it. That there's also a brief essay/anecdote by Sonic Youth's A&R guy inside this Deluxe Edition package of Goo doesn't keep Coley from doing his civic duty, heaping praise upon this album's shoulders via wonky descriptors like "Mountain-on-Ketamine" or "a puzzle ballad about the road to oblivion." However, amidst all the polysyllabic polish, Coley offers a bit of truth: "[S]ome long-time fans were already croaking that the band was moving in a rockist direction, leaving behind the avant-noise roots that had marked their early history. Of course this was a load of happy horseshit. Sonic Youth had been rocking the fuck out from the git-go; they were just doing it in a language that most people didn't understand."

Indeed, if 1991 was the year punk broke, then 1990-- the year Sonic Youth supposedly bit the wax tadpole-- was when punk decided to step off the ledge. No doubt there were folks at the base of the wall, trying to cushion the impact. And, of course, they all ended up with egg on their face, and Goo

in their lap. Fifteen years later, things have and haven't changed -- hair bands abound, but instead of Aquanet and spandex, they accessorize with chain wallets and MySpace accounts. And while Sonic Youth will never be ready for their close-up, there's stuff getting play on the radio stations that doesn't sound all too different from the more accessible moments offered on this here album. An album which, of course, doesn't sound all too different from the stuff SY was offering the kids prior to cashing Geffen checks, aside from those oh-so-important production values. Byron says howdy.

Thanks to the wonders of remastering, the gaudy glory of Goo is brought to the forefront. Thurston and Lee making like Lou and Sterling on "Tunic", the seven-second radio-dial montage leading into "Mote", the bombastic hissyfit at the end of "Mildred Pierce"-- all new-to-you, brought to you now in hi-def quadrophonic Technicolor! And thanks to this being the Deluxe Edition, you can compare and contrast the bright and shiny Goo against the storied and mythic Goo demos, which sound like, um, demos. You might prefer the ramshackle charm of "Animals" over the hit-it-and-quit-it tightness of the finished product ("Mary-Christ"), but you have both here, so there's no need to really choose. My ears prefer the Hollywood 70mm treatment over the handheld shaky cam cuts, but there's something to be said for the three-minute fuck-you danging at the end of "Blowjob" (aka "Mildred Pierce"). Also, the instrumental version of non-album cut "Lee #2"-- a gentler, twangier Sonic Youth-- has it all over the previously unreleased version that makes the mistake of adding words.

As for the non-demo bonuses, they're there. The kick to be had listening to Thurston and Kim talk beat over snippets of Goo (as part of some flexidisc promo)-- woot to the Watt shoutout, T-- but there's a good reason it's at the end of the second disc. Elsewhere, the Youth cause a ruckus, cover the Boys Beach and Neon (with Lee, of course, playing the part of Brian Wilson in the former), and there's a bit of that catchy rockist stuff that some of the fans probably still can't stand. "Can Song" is three minutes of dirty booting that's hard to resist. That Thurston felt the need to preface the track-- now called "The Bedroom", previously released as a concert-recorded B-side-- with a question about your mom being a skinhead is something best left between him and his therapist. Old transgressive habits die hard, I guess, just like punk supposedly did, way back when Sonic Youth deigned to pitch and shift their rock and roll to a decidedly bigger demographic and fuck it up for everyone. And fuck it up they did, thank God.