‘Freakscene: The Story of Dinosaur Jr.’ Is Homespun History Of Famously Dysfunctional  Band

There’s a thing that always goes around on social media, “What’s the loudest band you ever saw?” I never have to think about the answer. Dinosaur Jr. at Bunratty’s in Allston, May 1989. The band took forever to set up, supposedly because they were changing the batteries in their vast array of guitar effects pedals. When they finally started playing, the dense roar gushing from their amplifiers drowned out any and all melody or vocals, a gooey deluge not seen in Boston since the Great Molasses Flood of 1919. In between songs, piercing high-end feedback assaulted the eardrums like a scourge of mosquitoes barreling down your eustachian tubes. It left quite an impression. 

Formed in 1984 amidst the bucolic collegiate environs of Amherst, Massachusetts, Dinosaur Jr. were pioneers and participants in the alternative rock explosion that would forever bring underground influences into the mainstream consciousness. The group’s legend rests on its original lineup and ‘80s records, though they would find success during the ‘90s grunge boom, before their inevitable breakup and eventual reunion. The new documentary, Freakscene: The Story of Dinosaur Jr., chronicles their ongoing history and is currently available for rent on iTunes, among other streaming services. 

J Mascis and Lou Barlow first crossed musical swords as teenage members of Deep Wound, a blindingly fast and surprisingly influential hardcore punk band. Mascis played drums, Barlow guitar. Like other members of their generation, they grew tired of hardcore’s socio-musical limitations and began searching for new kind of kick. Mascis began playing guitar and writing songs and recruited hard partying self-described “hippie punk” Murph (born Emmett Jefferson Murphy III) on drums and asked Barlow to play bass, a surprise since, “I thought he hated me.” Murph described his new bandmates as “really uptight.” It’s a cliche to say their volatility informed their music, but also, their volatility informed their music.

Both Murph and Barlow speak admiringly of Mascis’ “anti-everything attitude” and prodigious musical talent. Merging classic rock and post-punk influences, Mascis’ songwriting slipped between tuneful melodies and bracing noise, the contrast violent at times. He was/is also a gifted guitarist, feeding his trademark Fender Jazzmaster through anachronistic fuzz pedals at volumes that made enemies of soundmen throughout New England. When his voice could be heard, it was oddly wistful and melancholic. “My voice sounds more like Neil Young than like Nick Cave but I was more into Nick Cave,” he explains. 

Initially known as Dinosaur, adding the Jr. after complaints from a band of the same name made up of ’60s rock vets, they made their vinyl debut in 1985. They came into their own on 1987’s You’re Living All Over Me, one of two  records they released on landmark independent label SST Records. Dinosaur Jr.s murky mix of pop hooks and guitar chaos, their ugly beauty, would influence both British dreampop ensembles and U.S. grunge outfits, including Nirvana, who later asked Mascis if he’d care to join the band (he declined).

Mascis’ single-minded musical vision was such that he set up a drum kit next to Murph’s in order to show him how his songs should be played. He could also be, in his words, “really mean,” something exacerbated by the rough touring conditions of the band’s early days. While Barlow initially felt his mission was to support Mascis musically by providing a sympathetic wall of noise, the abuse created resentment and ultimately rebellion. On at least one occasion, the tension erupted into on-stage fisticuffs, an awkward and embarrassing nerd fight captured on video and seen in the film. 

Mascis gave Barlow the boot in 1989. Barlow would go on to release music with his band Sebadoh and in 2005 had a hit single with “Natural One” by sideband the Folk Implosion. Now solely a vehicle for Mascis’ songwriting, Dinosaur Jr. soldiered on and like other bands of the era followed the money and signed with a major label. With new bassist Mike Johnson, they toured as part of the 1993 Lollapalooza lineup but Murph quit soon after. Though successful in their own right and on their own terms, the band’s failure to reach the same lofty heights as Nirvana brought them into conflict with their label and Mascis broke the band up in 1997. 

By the early 2000s, the bad blood between Mascis and Barlow had evaporated. In 2005, the original 3-piece lineup reconvened and since then have released five albums which sit comfortably beside their past landmarks. The film’s final act finds them touring and basking in the adulation of their friends, fans and fellow veterans of the ‘80s indie rock wars. Off stage, Barlow and Mascis find solace in their families, while Murph speaks of his newfound sobriety and his ongoing need to tour. 

Freakscene: The Story of Dinosaur Jr. is thoroughly enjoyable and pretty perfectly captures the personality of a band whose influence can still be heard today throughout the rock landscape. Directed by Phillip Reichenheim, Mascis’ actual brother-in-law, it has a homespun intimacy that matches the band’s frumpy fashion sense and handmade visual aesthetic. Though the members of Dinosaur Jr. have not always gotten along, their musical bond remains strong enough to keep the peace. “It’s definitely more like family than friends,” Mascis says laconically at the film’s end. “A dysfunctional family.”

Benjamin H. Smith is a New York based writer, producer and musician. Follow him on Twitter:@BHSmithNYC.