Hidden But Not Forgotten: The Stylus Magazine Non-Definitive History of the Hidden Track

Stylus Staff

“What the”???’ -- The Notably Bizarre


Leftfield — Leftism

After the unnecessary portentous ambient twaddle of “21st Century Poem” takes far too long to finish, we are rewarded with 30 seconds of nothingness and 30 more seconds of the most ferociously deep and distant bass you have EVER heard. Keep the volume knob modestly to the left, otherwise dust will be shaken from your shelves. Pointless, aimless, sure, but viscerally awesome.
Nick Southall


God Lives Underwater - Life In The So-Called Space Age

Less a hidden track and more an extended ending to “Medicated to the One I Love”, this “song” features a simple bass tone, beat, and sonic detritus. After a tedious 25 minutes of this the static increases until it takes over the track along with the bass beat. Finally, it’s all extinguished in one fell swoop- and then comes an instrumental fragment of a potential song that should have been on the album (razor sharp guitars, spaced out Yoshimi-esque synths, the whole nine yards)- an instrumental fragment that ultimately sounds better than anything else that has occurred in the past 70 minutes. A voice comes in as the fragment cuts off, “That was awesome’” “Yeah, man.” Too bad it’s the best thing here.
Todd Burns


Nirvana - Nevermind

Born of a botched take for “Lithium” and Kurt Cobain’s love for the Beatles’ “Her Majesty,” “Endless, Nameless” has the dubious honor of introducing millions of newly-appointed Gen-X-ish “alternative rock” fans to the post-album hidden track. It’s a brilliantly mangled mess of strangulated guitar bleats and Cobain’s now-eerie torture chamber yelps captured in perversely shiny high-fidelity stereo by a compression-crazed Butch Vig — a weird confluence of Nirvana’s most consumer-unfriendly impulses and the high-gloss musical world in which they’d squirm. A production error in the first run of the CD left early versions of Nevermind without the track, which would appear on the subsequent pressings of the album snatched up by bandwagon jumpers such as my eighth-grade self. For the less adventurous among them, “Endless, Nameless” was little more than an oddball afterthought of screeched go-to-hells meant to jar those lulled to angst-y sleep by the depressed dirge of the preceding “Something In The Way.” For those willing to dig past the superficialities, Nirvana’s destructo-jam was something much more dangerous and intriguing — an invitation to explore a long line of likeminded underground guitar abusers from which Nirvana reluctantly emerged.
Joe Panzner


Kyuss — Welcome To Sky Valley

Welcome To Sky Valley is truly one of the heaviest, most intense albums ever made, a stoner-desert-rock affirmation of the power of maximal heaviosity guitar riffs and drums that sound like lead weights being dropped on mountains. And it’s all about shagging. Fantastic. But anyway, after 50-odd minutes of riffs that make Led Zep sound like The Carpenters, Kyuss are obviously bored of the tedium of the tectonic grooves at which they excel, and decide to have some fun. Mere seconds after the last buzz of Grand Canyon guitar fades out, someone cranks up a jaunty organ riff and the band unleash a minute of tongue-in-cheek easy-listening requests for oral sex — “you know that you can and will lick my doo-wah / you know that you can and will lick mybigfat doo-ooo’” backed by cheery tambourine slaps and doo-wap backing vox. Yes, quite.
Nick Southall


Justin Warfield - My Field Trip To Planet 9

One of the more oddball moments in ongoing bonus track history comes courtesy of Justin Warfield and Prince Paul. Warfield’s debut album, My Field Trip to Planet 9, featuring tracks produced by Prince Paul, serves as a nice addition to anyone clamoring for beatnik-drenched Native Tongue rap. However, the final track, a reprise of the album opener, “Tequila Flats”, is followed by what one can only assume is a discarded train wreck of an interlude, and one of the godfather of hip-hop skits’ more embarrassing moments outside of MC Paul Barman. After the requisite blank space, an answering machine message left by Prince Paul is heard, accusing Justin of biting his rhymes. A follow-up message is left by Justin, imitating Prince Paul.

Instead of leaving the half-baked skit well enough alone, they push further. The message tag is supplemented with the recorded operator message and incessant beeping that comes from leaving the phone off the hook. Naturally, this segues into a sitar and light percussion loop coupled with beach wave ambiance and a bubbling bong. Mercifully, the sound of a needle dragging across vinyl ends this around the 8th minute.

(Note: Justin’s follow-up album, The Justin Warfield Supernaut, while abandoning hip-hop in the name of classic rock, would have a hidden upbeat jam that would make any me-too artist ala Kravitz proud.)
Fredrick Thomas


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