Often dubbed “Tripod” or the “Dog Album” for its stark sleeve image of a three-legged dog, Alice in Chains’ 1995 self-titled album is the band’s darkest work, reflective of the semi-fractured state of the group at the time, as well as the collective emotional deterioration resulting from Layne Staley’s well-documented drug addiction.
The album’s origins begin while the band was on hiatus prior to the recording sessions in 1994. Staley had since formed the supergroup Mad Season, while guitarist-singer Jerry Cantrell concocted plans for a solo album. Demo and rehearsal sessions for Cantrell’s solo project eventually blossomed into a new Alice in Chains album after Cantrell and producer Toby Wright convinced Layne, drummer Sean Kinney, and bassist Mike Inez to get onboard. Hiatus over.
“To be honest, I’m too much of a sentimental fuck; I don’t want to play with another band,” said Cantrell of those early demos in an interview with Jeff Gilbert of Guitar World in 1996. “I didn’t feel I could put something else out that could top what Alice in Chains could do together.”
Related Video
Alice in Chains was recorded with Toby Wright from April through August 1995 at Bad Animals in Seattle, the studio being chosen based on its proximity to Layne. Cantrell described the sessions as “a whole lot not thinking about it, and a whole lot of just doing it — and making sure the tape is always rolling” in the interview with Gilbert. Studio assistant Sam Hofstedt estimated that the band went through about 70 rolls of two-inch tape, according to David De Sola, author of Alice in Chains: The Untold Story.
Sonically, the album is as grey as a rainy Seattle sky. Mostly penned by Cantrell, Kinney, and Inez, much of the material is slower and doomier, best exemplified by the eight-minute atmospheric masterpiece “Frogs,” which originated from Cantrell’s original demo sessions.
The band was able to exercise an immense amount of creative freedom for a major label rock act at the time, isolating itself from its record label during the making of the album — the “corporate ignorance” referred to in the lyrics to “Sludge Factory,” another doomy highlight. Cantrell’s riffing is just so much angrier and metallic on “Tripod,” the opening chugs of “Grind” setting a firm tone. Only during his two acoustic-based contributions, “Heaven Beside You” and “Over Now,” do the clouds part — the brighter colors of these songs and Cantrell’s sweeter voice briefly elevating the album’s otherwise bleak mood.