Enjoying Incubus

by editor Michele Catalano

It is 1997, and I’m at my parents’ house, spending some time with my youngest sister, Lisa. Lisa and I have very similar tastes in music and often introduce each other to new bands. Today is no exception. Lisa wants me to hear a song that she has taped off WHPC, the local college radio station that has a metal show. She is both adamant and animated about it. I sit down on her bed, ready for something new.

She presses play excitedly, and what comes out almost startles me. It is at once loud and abrasive, but abrasive as a good thing, as so often happens for me with music. The song, “A Certain Shade of Green,” has me hooked in the first seconds. I sit there with my jaw hanging open as the tune progresses. “What is this?” I ask. This is my introduction to Incubus. It is the start of a love affair.

I fall hard. The music, the lyrics, the urgent, primal singing of Brandon Boyd. It all comes together in a cyclone that makes me want more. We immediately drive to Mr. Cheapo’s and pick up the CD, titled a cryptic S.C.I.E.N.C.E, which we play as soon as we get in the car.

The first song, “Redefine,” speaks to me with such force I nearly cry listening to it. 

I’m sick of painting in black and white

My pen is dry and I’m all uptight

So sick of limiting myself

To fit your definition

I am in the middle of a nasty divorce. These words hit me with the force of a swinging hammer. I immediately note in my mind to send them to my ex the next time he contacts me on AOL Messenger. This is how we communicate. Song lyrics. And these are perfect.

We get home a few minutes later and listen to the rest of the album. I’m enthralled. I’m mystified. Who is making music like this? While reminiscent of both Faith No More and the Chili Peppers—comparisons that would follow Incubus doggedly for a good portion of their careers—it is very much its own thing. It is, for me, undefinable. It’s not rock. It’s mostly not nu-metal. It is very much funky and groovy, but there are turntable scratches and references to UFOs and drugs. I don’t know what to make of it except to say that I need more of this in my life.

That night I changed my screen name from DuHast to Redefined (Redefine was taken). This song and, by extension, this album, will become my personality for the next long while. It’s a screen name I will keep until my time on AOL ends. The song, the album, the band, all become part of me.

1997 was a weird time in my life. I had so much post-divorce adrenaline I didn’t know how to use. I was quietly going crazy, trying to live the life of one who had just discovered what it’s like to actually live, while burning with anger and bitterness over a marriage that by all rights should have succeeded, if not for a gambling problem that would become unfixable. In a way, something is unfixable if the person doesn’t want to fix it.

I harbored a lot of resentment, a lot of rage. On the outside I appeared to be happy, content with my decision about ending the marriage, making up for lost time by living maybe a little too hard. Inside, I was a twisted ball of rubber bands ready to snap. I was mad, I was sad, I was confused and lost. My diet at the time consisted of Surge soda Slurpees infused with vodka, mini Snickers bars, and a pack a day of Newport Lights. My musical diet was full of Korn, Slayer, Pantera, and the current crop of shitty nu-metal bands that captured the attention of that anger.

Incubus was something else. They were thoughtful, introspective, deep. When I listened to S.C.I.E.N.C.E— and later, Enjoy Incubus and Fungus Amongus—I didn’t feel my nascent rage trying to climb out of me like I did with Korn or Sepultura. Incubus calmed me, they soothed me. The lyrics compelled me to think deeply, to contemplate my surroundings and my feelings. Songs like “Vitamin” and “New Skin” had me nodding along, agreeing with the sentiments, feeling as if I was expanding my world view. The mellow, feel-good “Summer Romance (Anti-Gravity Love Song)” made me weep for what I used to have, but with complete catharsis. “Deep Inside” recalled my heady drug days, making me smile at Boyd’s confused shout of “I know exactly where we are, where the fuck are we?” which made me think in a bigger context of being lost and adrift. 

S.C.I.E.N.C.E. was a constant companion. I bought a second CD to keep in the carousel at work. I carried the other from home to car to home again. I never let it out of my sight. The album, for me, contained all the wisdom in the world, all the insight I would ever need, all the catharsis I could be afforded.

Time went on and my love for the record never waned. Lisa and I went to see Incubus several times on the S.C.I.E.N.C.E. tour, and each time was a revelation. Boyd’s theatrical stage presence was mesmerizing. It helped that he was incredibly good-looking and performed shirtless, his dreadlocks swinging in the air as he leaped around the stage. The band was always tight and locked in. A joyous, celebratory, atmosphere was de rigueur at their shows. My love for the band grew exponentially every time we saw them. 

As my divorce became final and I moved away from the abject anger and bitterness of the past year or so (and moved on to a better diet), I began to anticipate what Incubus would do next. I wanted them to expand on the avant garde S.C.I.E.N.C.E. I wanted more record scratches, more weird lyrics, more of Boyd’s finesse. I wanted to stomp my feet and jump in the air to new songs. S.C.I.E.N.C.E. was and would always be wonderful, but I was ready for more. More of this.

Finally, in 1999, they announced a new album. I was in a new relationship. My ex resented this relationship and gave me a lot of problems about it. I was also feeling the negativity from those around me toward picking up dating again. A lot of old feelings surfaced and I was ready for this new album to take me back to a place of catharsis. 

Make Yourself came out in October of 1999. I readied myself for it. I anticipated it with glee. I was ready for S.C.I.E.N.C.E. II. 

That is not what I got. Instead, I got an alt-rock album. It was commercially viable, accessible, whatever thinly veiled insults people were calling it. I was more open with my hatred of it. I was furious. I felt betrayed. I know how ridiculous this sounds, but when S.C.I.E.N.C.E. II didn’t materialize and Brandon cut his dreads and began performing with shirt intact, I knew my love affair with the band was over. I cautiously went to see them on the Make Yourself tour, hoping a live, raucous show would reignite the flames of passion for the band, but they played one song from S.C.I.E.N.C.E. and nothing from Enjoy or Fungus. I wept on the train on the way home. It really was over. They were no longer the Incubus I knew. They were a completely different, watered-down version of the band I adored. 

In time—we’re talking years and years—I learned to appreciate Make Yourself for what it is. I learned to separate the two Incubus iterations. But I never learned to embrace them again and never listened to anything beyond Morning View.

I still adore S.C.I.E.N.C.E. I bought the vinyl as soon as they reissued it, and I listen to it regularly. Nothing can take its perfection away from me, nor can any subsequent album ruin this for me. It remains a perfect 10 in my mind. It reminds me of a certain time, a certain mindset, a certain shade of green.