Grandma by Slot: A Raw, Scrappy Gem from ‘91 That Still Kicks
Alright, let’s talk about Grandma by Slot. Yeah, you heard me right—Grandma. Don’t let the name fool ya; this ain’t your grandma’s knitting circle soundtrack. Released in 1991 via Sympathy For The Record Industry (a label known for its gritty underground vibes), it’s a scrappy little rock record that punches way above its weight. With styles dipping into Alternative Rock and Indie Rock, it’s got that raw, unpolished charm that makes you feel like you’re listening to something real.
First off, credit where it’s due: Sue on bass lays down some serious grooves, Eddy hammers out drum beats with reckless abandon, and Billy and Jim trade guitar licks like they’re trying to one-up each other at a backyard BBQ. It’s chaotic but in the best possible way—a controlled mess, if such a thing exists.
Now, onto the tracks. You’ve got “10 Foot Stare,” which is basically what happens when someone stares so hard at you that you start questioning all your life choices. The riff is punchy as hell, and there’s this weird tension running through the whole song—it’s like waiting for a sneeze that never comes. But damn, does it stick with you. I found myself humming it hours later while making coffee, which is impressive because most mornings my brain can barely remember how to operate a toaster.
Then there’s the title track, “Grandma.” Oh man, where do I even start? This tune sounds like what would happen if Nirvana decided to write an anthem about family dysfunction over burnt apple pie. There’s a sort of sarcastic swagger to the vocals, and the guitars have this grungy bite that just gnaws at your soul. Plus, who doesn’t love yelling “GRANDMA!” along with the chorus? Go ahead, try it. Feels good, right?
The rest of the album keeps up the momentum without overstaying its welcome. At just two tracks (yeah, really), it leaves you wanting more—but maybe that’s the point. Sometimes less is more, y’know? Like those tiny candy bars you get at Halloween—they’re gone before you know it, but boy are they sweet.
Looking back, Grandma feels like a snapshot of a time when indie rock was still figuring itself out. No fancy production tricks, no autotune—just four people throwing everything they’ve got into their instruments and hoping it sticks. And honestly? It works.
So here’s the kicker: if you ever find yourself stuck between nostalgia and curiosity, give Grandma a spin. Just don’t blame me if you end up shouting “GRANDMA!” at random strangers afterward. Trust me, they won’t get it.
