I first saw this band on Conan O’Brien in ’93. I was ingesting massive quantities of LSD at the time, so the name was initially intriguing to me, but then again, so were carpet fibers.
Looking back, it was most likely an attempt to pander to the insufferable lot who would wear hats that belonged in Dr. Seuss books, Marvin the Martian t-shirts and were just a tad late to the “Grunge” party. . . Muck Sticky, basically. The song was interesting enough and the next day I sought out a copy of their album at the now long defunct skate shop, “The Vine”. I brought the CD to the counter and the guy ringing me up decided he’d give me an unsolicited account of his encounter with Tripping Daisy. It seems they were toting totally undeserved rock star attitudes, and how un-Pearl Jam-like they were, who apparently, despite their fame, were the nicest guys ever, and I should seriously take this into consideration before making this purchase, and blah blah blah. . . I didn’t care and bought what would be the last non-pop punk album I would buy for some years (think Pegboy, not New Found Glory or some other bullshit, dickhead). Anyway, the album was forgettable and I can’t really remember what it sounded like.
However, I do remember this awful fucking song that received mild commercial success. Well, enough to enable the bass player to buy gravy boats full drugs to kill himself with (in true rock star fashion, no less!) and a spot on Beavis and Butthead.
The lead singer for Tripping Daisy went on to form that wretched fucking pop/choir/Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat/tailor-made-for-car-commercial-ad-soundtracks band, The Polyphonic Spree. In hindsight, I probably should have listened to that guy at the skate shop. Nah, fuck that.
-S. Apple Esq.