Chemical Drip Velveteen by Million Yen: A 1999 Indie Rock Gem That Sticks With You
Alright, so let’s talk about Chemical Drip Velveteen, the kinda forgotten but totally rad album from Million Yen. Released in 1999 under Pop Goes The Vinyl Records, this US-based indie rock project didn’t exactly blow up the charts, but man, it had its own vibe that just kinda creeps up on you. If you’re into raw, unpolished rock with a dash of something moody and mysterious, this one might just hit the spot.
Now, the album has two tracks—yeah, only two—but don’t let that fool you. Both “Chemical Drip” and “Velveteen” pack a punch in their own way. Let me break it down for ya.
First up, “Chemical Drip.” This track is like… imagine if your favorite hoodie smelled faintly of rain and cigarette smoke, but in a good way. It’s got this gritty guitar riff right at the start that grabs you by the collar and doesn’t let go. The vocals are sorta slurred, like the singer’s been up all night thinking about life or maybe just nursing a hangover. But there’s also this weirdly catchy rhythm underneath it all, like a heartbeat keeping everything together. I remember this song because it feels messy and real, you know? Like, not everything has to be shiny and perfect to stick with you.
Then there’s “Velveteen,” which takes things down a notch but still keeps you hooked. It’s slower, moodier, and honestly feels like wandering through an empty house late at night. There’s this haunting keyboard line running through it, almost like a ghost humming in the background. And the lyrics? Super cryptic, but they make you wanna lean in closer, trying to figure out what the heck they’re talking about. For some reason, this track always reminds me of old black-and-white movies where everyone’s secrets slowly come undone. It’s not flashy, but damn if it doesn’t stay in your head long after it’s over.
So yeah, Chemical Drip Velveteen isn’t gonna win any Grammys, and it probably wasn’t meant to. It’s more like that friend who shows up unannounced but ends up being the most interesting person at the party. It’s short, sure, but it leaves a mark.
Funny thing is, listening to it now feels kinda bittersweet. Like, here we are in 2023, streaming playlists full of algorithm-approved hits, and yet this little slice of ’99 indie rock still holds its ground. Makes you wonder how many other hidden gems are out there, waiting for someone to stumble across them again. Or maybe that’s just me getting overly sentimental. Either way, give it a spin—you won’t regret it.
