REVIEW: CLASSIC ALBUM
Last Splash: The Mascot of Alternative Authenticity
By Serenna Zingg
10/29/25
Each month, we revisit a classic album from the past and unpack why it mattered then – and why it still matters now. Today, we look back at the Breeders' 1993 masterpiece Last Splash and its impact on modern alternative culture.
Courtesy of The Breeders/4AD, via Spotify
You know the feeling: a single from an artist you've been rooting for blows up online, concert ticket prices climb exponentially, and suddenly the worst person you've ever met starts posting cutesy downtown pictures with the band's viral song attached. Knowing they deserve their moment in the spotlight, you stomach it.
You finally go to their show, just to hear the throng of recording-ready people go mild after every song - even ones who demonstrate the artists' style and craftsmanship better than the glossier one that blew up online - until the all-too-familiar 15-second chorus comes up in response to a chorus of whoops and a seizure-inducing volume of full-brightness screens pop up and record it. At the risk of coming across as pretentious, watching someone invest in a pricey ticket for a band they don't care about is already difficult, but doing so all in the name of crazed loyalty to ever-changing social media trends is worse.
While the nature of modern music marketing has caused artists to be arguably even better than ever at crafting infectious choruses, this unavoidable rate race of modernized music advertising seems to be taking a pumice stone to the spirit by buffing away any signs of soul, friction, or imperfection until what's left is polished enough for online soundbites but hardly recognizable as rock. I say this more to lament the state of the industry than to criticize the talented alternative artists doing what they love, but I will stand by the take that, amid the regurgitative nature of online music circulation, a revisitation of what made rock - no, rawk - compelling in the first place might be overdue. Because even if it's not the artists' fault - simply an adaptation to the arena they're working in - listening to modern alternative rock performers can feel like interacting with someone who desperately wants you to think they're cool instead of with someone who actually is, and couldn’t care less whether you notice.
The Breeders' sophomore effort Last Splash couldn't care less if you think it's cool or not: That's what makes it one of the most genre-representing alternative albums ever recorded, and one that deserves to be more of an inspirational touchstone for modern bands aiming for artistic integrity. Lead singer Kim Deal originally started The Breeders as a rebellious project born from frustration at being unable to explore her more eclectic ideas after being The Pixies’ bassist from 1996 to 1993: Deal herself said in a conversation with The Jerusalem Post that having a hit outside of her origin band was "really weird", and that The Breeders had originally been more of a toss-away project than anything; in fact, she recruited her identical twin sister Kelley Deal to be a core contributor to the trio, teaching her basic music theory while recording the record (a middle finger to Pixies founder Black Francis’ perfectionism if there ever was one). Apparently, authenticity wins out in the long run - between Kurt Cobain citing their metallic, barely-constrained album Pod as one of his top three musical influences of all time and “Cannonball” dominating the alternative rock airways, it expanded deeper into the collective consciousness of the indie rock community.
"It was really weird to have a hit. Of course, we had a certain level of fame in the Pixies, but nothing I had ever done had been mall-kid friendly.” - Kim Deal
There are few points that Last Splash doesn't hit on the imaginary but intuitive "untouchable alternative classic" bullet list: it’s raw and organic yet enjoyable, emphasizes personality over persona, doesn't treat the instrumentals as mere background characters, resonates lyrically without being overly on the nose, and, most importantly, resonates with the stoner community. Yet, despite the nonconventional and trailblazing nature of Last Splash - from the mixing to the composition to Kim's opaque lyrical expression - it still manages to be approachable and relatable. The effortless and edgy sound doesn't come across as a large-scale attempt at conveying, "We are serious musicians taking a gap year, and we demand this be taken very seriously". And, naturally, singing about romantic concerns instead of whining about how your dad discarded your weed won't earn you any points in the shower-strike club.
Deal used Last Splash as a canvas for her messy feelings about God and existential angst - particularly in the party-of-one inside joke that is “Divine Hammer’s” music video, but it isn't above contemplations concerning romantic feelings or sex - yet manages to grace the topics without a single pigtail twirl. “Do You Love Me Now?," perhaps the most overtly romantically-concerned song on the album, asks "Do you dream of me/like I dream of you/Do you wish you were here/Like I wish I was with you”, whilst “Drivin' on 9” reads as a fantasy about spontaneously tying the knot with someone in the wild west: Deal, "the coolest girl in the world," as Olivia Rodrigo called her, even degrades herself enough to admit, "I sure do miss you."
“No Aloha” manages to land a response to ghosting that is both aloof and deeply embittered, while “Invisible Man's” thesis ruthlessly targets someone impossible to pin down or communicate with. Unlike The Cardigans' flirtatious and saccharine “Lovefool,” or even “Step on Me,” Deal sounds almost embittered every time romance is mentioned; then makes way for the most badass and off-the-cuff instrumental one-off you've heard in a while. Sex has always sold, and that's okay - but in a world where obsession with sensuality and taboo is largely a female responsibility to pander to, a female lead who's aware of her sexual presence yet has no interest in playing the MTV game like Madonna did is undeniably refreshing, and arguably a watermark of "true alternative music." From a sonic perspective, it poaches the best of the alt-rock sound without totally putting itself in the corner: having come straight from co-writing the Pixies album Doolittle, Deal already knew how to make metallic and edgy alternative rock - an influence particularly heard in the heavy reverb, sloppily-revved guitars, and sunken basslines saturating the otherwise-dry atmosphere. Still, the album isn't a remix of staling 90s clichés.
Track one “New Year” leans into the noise-rock shoegaze feel enough that one would, at first introduction, provoke one to prepare for a metal album; then “Cannonball” rolls in, combining incredibly smooth basslines and slurred guitar that falls right behind without feeling shoehorned in, a masterful combination of classic grunge, surf-rock, and pop-inspired sound effects.
From there, instrumentals continually reconfigure until the end, from Hawaiian lo-fi surf-rock on “No Aloha” to surprisingly girlish “Drivin' on 9's” harmonica-outfitted bouncy country instrumentation. “Mad Lucas,” a break from the assertive and unrelenting riot-girl influenced “I Just Wanna Get Along” experiments with slow-burning, downward-turning blurbs of sound blurred over by glitchy megaphone-esque recordings that match perfectly with Deal's lazy, smoky voice. It's the sonic representation of what watching a cigarette burn out on the ashtray looks like after a smoke session.
The way I see it, artists tend to face a couple of tradeoffs when creating an album, and they have a couple of options. They can have continuity of ideas, continuous experimentation through the album, and overall flow. It takes very little to execute one; talent to achieve two; and achieving all three should be justification to launch an album to stardom.
It's common to listen to an alt-rock album and think, "They sure know how to make a crowdpleaser song or two, but the tracks that tried to be experimental come across more as a way to troll the audience or show they're cool and quirky enough to put the spoofs on there, too." Rare is the album that intentionally experiments with different song structures, lyrical subjects of interest, genres, and doesn’t fall victim to the common alternative weakness of striking like a rollercoaster engineered by a twelve-year-old who believes the more whiplash, the cooler the ride. I'm aware that the descriptor “alternative” has always been a moving target and, in a way, immune to objective criticism in the way that pop music isn't. Maybe the point of alternative music is that it's supposed to be jolting, like a concerningly undermaintained roller coaster built decades ago. In the 90s, could music be "alternative" if it plays forty times a day on the radio and is only popular because a lot of its genetic makeup is identical to that of pop music? Perhaps synonymous with "insufferable" to the majority of the public to earn the term? Or did it simply have to be distinguishable from the preexisting music?
Due to my lack of having-been-aliveness in the 90s, I don't have a clear-cut answer. However, irrespective of the decade or the mechanics of how massive volumes of new music is ultimately siphoned down to the public, I believe some form of solution can be found in The Breeders' philosophy: within the alternative sphere, being a little difficult to everyone, especially MTV talent scouts, is incredibly seductive. Last Splash didn't pander to any one given audience, and that's why it's loved by most. If you're sick of endless genre-pandering and an algorithm-sponsored mood of "samesness," give Last Splash a full listen.
The future course of alternative music can, and should, be found in the past.
Listen to Last Splash
