By ron evans
When I was around 17, I was riding around with my pals Cho and Jamie in Jamie’s green-bean-green hatchback car and they put on something I hadn’t heard. “Is this Pearl Jam?” I asked. They laughed and said they had just had that discussion before they picked me up. They told me it was a Tri-Cities band called Small. After a few songs I could tell it wasn’t Pearl Jam, but there’s no denying the “yarrrrrl” style of the voice. Now…I’m not a big fan of Pearl Jam but I, like so many, was obsessed with Ten when it first came out. It was new, exciting and worked perfectly with the other Seattle shit (IMHO) that was blowing up. But by ‘92 I was getting a bit tired of my overplayed PJ tape - and that’s a big part of the story. Tape. Tapes. Limited music options.
It’s fucking incredible that we can dial up any goddamn thing now, whenever we want and I won’t pretend otherwise – even for the sake of nostalgia. But looking back, there was something to be said about only having a box or two of tapes, a couple crates of records, and if you were medium-poor like me…a few CDs. We really took our time with music. Now, it’s so easy to yell “Alexa, skip!” to the next track, the next album, the next genre. It’s causing a lack of focus, attention and most importantly, respect for the efforts of the souls that created this art. Good, bad or forgettable – they at least deserve one good listen. And unlike many people born after 1995 (they have pretty much always known a world with streaming) that was once the norm. If you dropped $12 on a new LP, you really wanted to like it.
So it was in this stone age that I discovered Small’s LP Finished One (released on Kennewick indie label Mysophobic Records in 1992). Jamie or Cho duped me a copy of their copy of the original tape and let me tell you — I was fucking obsessed. This album shaped me in many ways. It made me realize you could make an amazing record even as a little band in the forgotten, dry (only in weather) part of the state. It’s got teeth that still slice through me even today, hooks that will be with me until I die (maybe longer?) and lyrics…well I mostly had to guess at those. You ever learn a song more phonetically than lyrically? I did that with my copy of a copy of this cassette. But singer Jon Boetes also had a bit of a mushmouth way of singing. Kinda like early Misfits or Bad Religion. Right down to the “oooooohs and ohhh ohhhh oohhhhs” where we could all really sing along with confidence.
I could decipher enough to realize there was an intelligence to the words. Social commentary sure, but amidst the political stances and battle cries (“legalize it, Marijuana!” - wouldn’t young Small be impressed with the future! Well…some parts.) you also had celebrations of drinking beer out in the boonies as rural boredom escapism, the surrealism of growing old and the importance of leaning on friends. I always felt it was an incredibly positive album.
But the thing that matters most – it’s goddamn catchy. The songs are simple yet complex. Like punk rock that discovered those other chords and rhythm patterns. The production of the album (recorded at Triad Studios in Seattle and by Chris Hanzsek) isn’t gonna win any sonic awards but it’s so right for this album. It’s balanced and addictive but raw enough to almost feel like a live album. The musicians are solid. The drummer…good lord. My pal (and longtime drummer in my half-assed bands) Jayson Launer and I used to obsess on Jim Acquavella’s playing, in an almost angry way. He was often unpredictable – busy, but not showy or “look at me” like drums can sometimes be. There’s a fury behind those drum hits and that drives the energy of the whole band. Even in the slower parts he’s filling all sorts of spaces in a satisfying way. Those mellow meanderings are some of my favorite parts of the records—stylistically there’s a lot going on here. But it’s never mellow for long before the fury kicks back in. You can almost smell the mosh pit at times.
I only made it to one Small show — it was in Wenatchee, the Eagles Lodge maybe? The Barn? Somewhere like that. And I was happy to see that Wenatchee was responding to them appropriately. At times it almost seemed there were an equal amount of feet in the air as on the floor. Just a big, beautiful swirling mass of sweaty kids in constant motion. I miss that kind of moshing, although it never really felt like moshing. More like a stormy sea of chaotic waves. The punching thing came later. Call me old-man Evans but…y’all can keep your punches to the face. I’ll be back by the sound guy bobbing my head. The band fucking cooked live. They were in their prime. Small was such a perfect blend of punk and the alternative/grunge stuff that was dominating tape decks in the early 90’s — they were exciting and firing on all cylinders.
One other not so small way this album influenced me – was the graphite art on the cover, drawn by Boetes. I can count on one hand the amount of albums I’ve seen that have a pencilled cover. I loved the style of it, and this made me start dabbling in graphite drawings which was the only visual art form I would use for the next 10 years. It helped get me into creating art, no question about it. It may even explain my deal with painting and sculpting tentacles.
It’s no exaggeration to say this band was as important to me as all the big 90’s PNW bands of the era. And it’s a shame they never got the level of success they deserved. Although they DID get a little spot on MTV on environmentalism. The 90’s were wild.
EDIT: In the print edition of this story I erroneously recalled it being a drunk driving spot on MTV - ironically, I blame drinking and writing.
Small released other music after this, but I’ll be honest, I never bothered to listen to it. I really should give it a try. Sometimes a record becomes so sacred to you that you avoid anything else from the band, you know? Like it would somehow fuck it up if you didn’t love it as much.
Following their break-up in the mid-90’s, some of the original members re-formed as The Ladybird Unition but I never heard them either. I did see that Small reunited for a couple shows in 2017 celebrating a fan-funded release of Finished One on vinyl. I’m pretty sad that I only learned about that while looking things up for this article – I would have been there for sure.
Small’s lineup in 1992 included Jon Boetes (vocals), Craig Woodall and Kris Boisoneau (guitars), Billy Hughes (bass), and Jim Acquavella (drums). Jon Boetes is now working as a tattoo artist in Everett. It seems that Acquavella is still playing those drums here and there at least. Jon, Craig and Jim were playing occasionally as Old Friendly fairly recently so they still seem in contact with each other, and are still doing music. I hope to run into them all some day and tell them what this album meant to me. What it still means to me. It’s the sweetest kind of ache in my gut when I hear it now. Like getting punched with the good AND bad memories of the 90’s. Which feels like three lifetimes ago some days.
Give this album a go. Pretend it’s the only tape in the car that still plays because you spilled 7/11 chili sauce on your shoebox of cassettes. Sit with it. It’s worthy of your time. They are on Spotify, but start with their Bandcamp page (smalltc.bandcamp.com) which, unlike Spotify, will put a couple nickels in their pocket. And now to hunt down one of those vinyl copies...
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