The Afghan Whigs’ self-released 1988 debut record, Big Top Halloween, bears little resemblance to the albums that would earn the band their reputation. Even though the first song the group ever recorded was a cover of the Temptations’ “Psychedelic Shack,” there is almost no R&B influence to be found on their first full-length. Instead, inquisitive listeners should expect an eclectic mixture of indie rock and hardcore punk, alongside various other rock and roll experiments. It’s easy to see why Sub Pop Records co-founder Jonathan Poneman signed the Whigs after spinning one of the 1000 copies of Big Top — it’s an accomplished album for a band that had only been together for a little more than a year at the time of its recording, but prime Whigs it is not.

Although its individual songs are good — sometimes great — Big Top Halloween suffers from an identity crisis. Charitably, one could call it eclectic, but maybe the better term is scatterbrained. The Whigs sound like they’re trying to be a million other bands rather than themselves. “Push” opens a bit like an Iron Maiden song and then tries its best to sound like U2. “Doughball” is a straight-up ska punk track, while “Back O’ The Line” pairs blues licks and swing time. The first two tracks, “Here Comes Jesus” and “In My Town,” sound a bit like a lo-fi take on Fleetwood Mac, but with five-second bursts of Eddie Van Halen solos, courtesy of McCollum, whose performance on this album really stands out. McCollum had a reputation in Cincinnati as a man who knew his way around a pedal board, and he uses that knowledge to emulate hair metal, surf rock, and even Crazy Horse at various times (in fact, the band’s alt-country song “Life In A Day” is a standout).
 

The best songs on Big Top Halloween, including the title cut and especially the best track, “Scream,” evoke a mix of the Heartbreakers and the Dead Kennedys, sentimental one second and aggressive the next. It’s actually still a pretty great brand of rock and roll, but in all honesty, the Replacements were doing the same thing at the same time, except better. However, that ability to evoke tenderness and rage in the same song would later serve to be Dulli’s greatest strength as a songwriter, but here he’s the least-essential member of the Whigs. In fact, his first stab at balladry, “But Listen,” is the odd song out on the album, a clunky bit of sentimentality with a honky-tonk piano that descends into a speed-punk burst at the end anyway. His lyrics already show a propensity for sexual innuendo, but there’s a bit too much “baby baby” to qualify as poetry. Like the rest of the album, it shows important hints of where the Whigs would take themselves later, but nobody should be upset that Dulli doesn’t play it anymore. As a period piece, though, Big Top Halloween is still a forward-thinking and exciting picture of where alternative rock was in the late ’80s, ready to break into full-blown renaissance. I would have signed this band too.