The Way Of The Vaselines - A Complete History (2LP) - Clear Vinyl

Crate-diggers talk about gateway records, the ones that pull you into a whole scene. The Way of the Vaselines: A Complete History is one of those. Sub Pop put it out in 1992, just as the world was catching up to the Glasgow duo Eugene Kelly and Frances McKee. Nirvana had already covered Son of a Gun and Molly’s Lips, then turned Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam into a quiet showstopper on MTV Unplugged under a slightly tweaked title. Kurt Cobain even wrote the liner notes for this compilation, calling them among his favourite songwriters. That cosign didn’t just sell a few extra copies. It reframed a short, crackling run of singles and one LP as a touchstone.

The collection scoops up their two EPs and their 1989 album Dum-Dum, plus that sly Divine cover You Think You’re a Man. You hear the whole story in a neat arc, from the shy swagger of Son of a Gun to the fuzz-kissed rush of Teenage Superstars. The guitars are scratchy and small, the drums feel like a kit borrowed from a mate down the road, and the harmonies wander into each other with a grin that never gets smug. McKee’s voice has a clear, bell-like edge that cuts through Kelly’s shambling drawl, and the lyrics walk a line between cheeky and devotional. That Catholic-school glint turns up often, nowhere more striking than on Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam, which treats tenderness and blasphemy like siblings sharing the same bedroom.

Part of the charm is how little they seemed to care about being a Proper Band. The early releases came out on 53rd & 3rd, the tiny Scottish label tied to The Pastels, then fizzled just as fast. They split in 1989, right as Dum-Dum landed. By the time Sub Pop pulled this lot together, the band existed more as a rumour, a tape passed by friends, than a going concern. That’s why the sequencing here matters. Heard as a single body of work, the songs feel tighter and funnier, the hooks bigger, the edges more deliberate. Rory Rides Me Raw still sounds like a private joke that found a chorus. Dying for It is both bratty and beautiful. There is no bloat, no B-side drift. It’s 36 minutes of ideas that stick.

You can hear why a generation of indie pop bands lifted their whole attitude from these tracks. The Vaselines treated noise and sweetness as equal partners. Guitars buzz without getting macho. Melodies bloom and fade in two minutes, never overstaying their welcome. Even the throwaway gags land. You Think You’re a Man brings a queer pop classic into their scruffy orbit, and it sits there like it has always belonged. The recording is rough, sure, but the songs benefit from that. A cleaned-up version would miss the point. This is bedroom-pop spirit before anyone used the term, but it still kicks like punk.

If you’re hunting The Vaselines vinyl, this is the copy you want in the bag. The Way of the Vaselines vinyl flows in a way the original releases never did, and the tracklist feels like a perfect Sunday afternoon in the lounge. Flip, sip, sing along, flip again. If you’ve only come to them through Nirvana, it’s a thrill to hear the originals snap and sparkle. If you already knew, it’s like finding a long-lost mix tape and remembering every word.

The legacy has held. When Sub Pop reintroduced the catalogue again in 2009 as Enter the Vaselines, the enthusiasm felt fresh, not nostalgic. New fans arrived, older heads nodded, and the band eventually returned to the stage. Yet this 1992 compilation still feels definitive. It captures the moment their songs left a tiny Glasgow scene and started circling the globe. I’ve watched copies walk out of a Melbourne record store the minute they hit the wall, and it makes sense. These are songs people share.

So yes, file it next to your Pastels, your Beat Happening, your early Teenage Fanclub, but let it live on its own unruly terms. If you want to buy The Vaselines records online, start here. If you’re building a shelf of The Vaselines albums on vinyl, start here. And if you’re just browsing for vinyl records Australia wide, start here. This is the sound of two friends finding a secret and letting everyone in. It still feels like a secret, even when you sing along.