3 Slow-Build Songs From the 1990s That Still Give Me Goosebumps

Many listeners are not patient and would rather you hurry up and get to the point, or the chorus. But waiting, as they say, is often worth it. This list is for the savoring types, for those who aren’t in a hurry, impatiently rushing toward some kind of quick musical payoff.  Whether on a road trip or hanging out spinning late-night tracks, here are three slow-build songs from the 1990s that may give you goosebumps.

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“Champagne Supernova” by Oasis

The first Oasis album was the sound of a punk band with Beatles melodies. But when the Manchester lads returned with their follow-up to Definitely Maybe, songwriter Noel Gallagher instead aimed for the supernova heights of flag-waving anthems. “Wonderwall” and “Don’t Look Back In Anger” were smash hits. But the closing track on (What’s The Story) Morning Glory became an equally defining tune. It’s a seven-plus-minute psychedelic ballad that also features an epic guitar solo from the Modfather himself, Paul Weller. And one doesn’t require a literal meaning from Noel’s lyrics here; just look at the faces of the people in Oasis’s stadium crowd.

“Teardrop” by Massive Attack

It wasn’t all Britpop and grunge in the 1990s. Trip-hop legends like Portishead and Massive Attack released masterpieces that defined the decade as much as anything by Oasis or Nirvana. When Massive Attack dropped Mezzanine in 1998, it featured a group of musicians utterly unconcerned with big choruses or instant gratification. Elizabeth Fraser from Cocteau Twins sings “Teardrop” over a harpsichord riff written in the key of despair. It’s still one of my favorite songs ever.

“Present Tense” by Pearl Jam

Pearl Jam diehards will know this one. But for those who may have stopped paying attention to grunge in 1994, here’s a slow-burning banger from No Code. The fourth album from Pearl Jam arrived as it appeared from the outside like the band was crumbling internally. “Present Tense” appears deep in the track listing on an LP containing more punk and art rock than grunge. Over a tentatively plucked Mike McCready guitar riff, Eddie Vedder offers a choice between letting go of the past or being consumed by it. When considering the tragic history of Pearl Jam’s Seattle peers, the mere fact of the band’s endurance seems like a miracle. Perhaps Vedder’s counselling tune exists as a kind of survival manual.

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