The extended player: too long to be a single and too short to be an album. The debut EP has long been a cornerstone of indie rock, and seemed to be particularly important in the careers of several of the most important American bands of the ‘80s; bands who used these little discs to burst onto the music scene full force.

EPs are made for any number of reasons: they’re demos or are borne out of necessity as the band can’t afford to make a whole album, but either way, the EPs below went a long way towards announcing the bands’ arrivals with just enough music to whet our appetites, but not nearly enough to satisfy us for the duration.

Pixies – The Holiday Song

The Pixies recorded 18 tracks in three days with producer Gary Smith of Boston’s Fort Apache Studio for a cost of $1,000 (the money was loaned to the band by front man Black Francis/Charles Thompson’s father). The tape was essentially a demo known as The Purple Tape and was given to promoters and other interested parties around Boston and in the indie scene, eventually ending up in the hands of Ivo Russell-Watts, head of 4AD records. The first release from the band was Come on Pilgrim, an EP that took eight of the songs from the demos to introduce the world to the Pixies. What’s amazing is the fact that it’s a demo; for their first sessions, they sound like a veteran band complete with their own unique sound, blending Francis’ screamed vocals, bassist Kim Deal’s ethereal female harmonies, Joey Santiago’s possessed guitar lines and David Lovering’s propulsive drums.

“The Holiday Song” is possibly the most mainstream of the set, offering a surf-rock influenced lead guitar with punk-y stop-start chorus and vaguely incestual, violent, and definitely creepy lyrics (I think I’m better off not knowing what “He took his sister from his head / And then painted her on the sheets / And then rolled her up in grass and trees / And they kissed ’till they were dead” means). In what would become the band’s trademark, the music builds and builds, becoming more chaotic, and with each chorus Francis’ shrieks get louder and more frightening, before coming back down to give the listener a bit of a release; it’s a move that’s akin to a horror movie offering a bit of comic relief following a grisly and suspenseful death scene.

The Replacements – Kids Don’t Follow

While not technically their debut (Sorry, Ma Forgot to Take Out the Trash had debuted a year earlier) the 1982 Stink EP more or less set the stage for the Mats’ sound: a sloppy drunk fusion of classic rock guitar hooks, punk energy, and frontman Paul Westerberg’s smartass lyrics. However, the rest of the EP fails to live up to the promises of the lead track, “Kids Don’t Follow” (hell, the band probably realized this, the EP was subtitled “‘Kids Don’t Follow’ Plus Seven”) Beginning with a field recording of the Minneapolis police busting up a house party, the track gives way to a catchy lead guitar line by guitarist Bob Stinson and sung/shouted vocals by Westerberg all over a melody that sounds like a sped-up version of a 60s classic rock song. It’s as if the boys really wanted to be as classic sounding as the Faces or Stones but were afraid they wouldn’t be accepted unless they played everything at 200 RPMs. Nonetheless, the track and EP both give the listener a clear idea of the greatness that was to come.

R.E.M. – Carnival of Sorts (Boxcars)

Literally recorded in a garage—Let’s Active front man Mitch Easter’s Winston-Salem, NC based Drive-In Studios, which was really just his parents’ garage—the Chronic Town EP still stands as one of the Athens, GA group’s best works from perhaps their best period. The sound of the EP is a strange dichotomy: catchy, but unconventional; punk inspired, but folky; undeniably Southern, yet it has more in common with the avant-punk stylings of Television and the Velvet Underground than any derivative of country or R&B, but they make it all work in something wholly original, yet familiar.

Starting off with creepy carnival music spiraling at us before surrendering to Peter Buck’s jangly Rickenbacker and Bill Berry’s tightly wound drums, “Carnival of Sorts (Boxcars)” immediately creates a threatening and anxious atmosphere, which isn’t relieved by Michael Stipe’s hauntingly mysterious vocals and paranoid lyrics. Stipe’s lyrics from this time period are arguably his best, always enigmatic, but offering clear, equally inscrutable pictures to the listener. What they add up to is anyone’s guess. Instead they create a mood that goes along perfectly with the music and sticks with you. The eerie tension sticks with the song until the chorus, which bursts through with a full-on pop hook and distinctive turn-of-phrase, “Boxcars are turning / Out of town;” after that chorus, it’s easy why Stipe has always insisted on being called a pop star and not a rock star. This is eerie, mysterious, foreboding, folky, punky pop.

[buy stuff here / here / here]