Betty

by John Franck & Ed RivadaviaWith the corporate rock cognoscenti frothing at the mouth to sign the next Nirvana, in 1991 a seemingly "nerdy" band from New York by the name of Helmet was about to set the world on fire -- at least on paper. Seemingly overnight, the Amphetamine Reptile faves had a fat check in their pockets and an astounding major-label debut by the name of Meantime. Eschewing Cobain's neo-punk/power pop instincts, Helmet opted instead for a more a minimalist approach, whereby rhythmic tension over 4/4 melodies reigned supreme. Now poised to step into their role as future darlings of a sound that can only be described as bludgeoning aggro-punk-atonal-rock, the band was propelled by a massive hype campaign and heralded as East Coast tastemakers du jour. But for all its accolades (mostly well-deserved), Meantime's commercial success sadly fell short of expectations and, by 1994, Helmet was giving it another try with Betty -- its second effort for Interscope. Label pressure notwithstanding, Betty had a lot more riding on it than even perhaps Hamilton was willing to admit. Lacking some of the tightly focused ferocity of Meantime, Betty appears to be an almost too well-thought-out affair and, ultimately, its songs miss out on some of the discreet melodic accents that had served to underpin even the most bludgeoning noise-fests on Meantime. Songs like "Wilma's Rainbow," "Biscuits for Smut," and especially "Milquetoast" have their moments, but don't quite live up to expectations. And although Helmet's tuned down, stop-go-stop dynamic (originally pioneered by New Yorkers Prong) would go on to influence hundreds of up-and-coming acts, their complete lack of image or star quality (a key ingredient to Cobain's magnetism, as much as he himself despised it) would play a major role in eventually doing them in. Betty initiated a commercial spiral for the quartet that not even the return to form and progress displayed by 1997's massive sounding Aftertaste could reverse.