You probably remember the lyrics about moving to the country and eating a lot of peaches. Or maybe that weirdly catchy song about a lump sitting in a burlap sack. In the mid-90s, you couldn't turn on a radio without hearing The Presidents of the United States of America, a band that felt like a fever dream of goofy energy and stripped-down rock. They weren't quite grunge. They weren't exactly pop-punk. Honestly, they were just three guys from Seattle who decided that five and six strings on a guitar were a few too many.
It's easy to dismiss them as a novelty act. People do it all the time. But if you look at the DNA of 90s alternative music, Chris Ballew, Dave Dederer, and Jason Finn were doing something remarkably radical. They were happy. In an era defined by flannel-clad angst and heroin-chic misery, they sang about kitty cats and dune buggies.
The Weird Science of the Guitbass and Basitar
The sound of The Presidents of the United States of America wasn't just a stylistic choice; it was a physical limitation. Chris Ballew played what he called a "basitar"—a standard electric guitar with just two strings, tuned to C# and G#. Dave Dederer played the "guitbass," which had three strings.
Why? Because it sounds heavy.
When you strip away the middle frequencies of a traditional guitar, you get this chunky, percussive growl that sits right in your chest. It's primitive. It’s basically the musical equivalent of a caveman discovering a distortion pedal. This "2 and 3" setup gave them a signature low-end punch that filled up the room despite the lack of a traditional rhythm guitar. It also forced them to write melodies that were incredibly direct. You can't hide behind complex jazz chords when you only have two strings to work with.
That Massive 1995 Debut
Their self-titled debut album, released in 1995, was a juggernaut. It went triple platinum. That's three million copies of a record that features a song about a "Lump" who might be dead or might just be a tumor.
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"Peaches" became the anthem of every summer BBQ for the next decade. It’s a weird song! Ballew wrote it after sitting under a peach tree while high on LSD, waiting for a girl who never showed up. Instead of writing a heartbreak ballad, he wrote about the fruit. That’s the core of this band's charm. They took personal moments and filtered them through a lens of absurdism.
They weren't trying to change the world. They were trying to have a good time in a rehearsal space. The fact that "Lump" peaked at number one on the Billboard Modern Rock Tracks chart felt like a glitch in the Matrix. Suddenly, these guys were on Saturday Night Live and touring the world.
Success and the Seattle Burden
You have to understand the context of Seattle in 1995. The city was mourning Kurt Cobain. The "Seattle Sound" had become a commodity, a uniform of dark moods and heavy themes.
Then along come the Presidents.
They were the antidote. They were part of a lineage that included bands like The Young Fresh Fellows—acts that valued humor and power-pop hooks over self-seriousness. While the rest of the world looked to Seattle for the "voice of a generation," the Presidents just wanted to talk about a "Kitty" who they wanted to pet.
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That levity was actually quite brave. It’s much easier to be "dark" and "edgy" in the 90s than it was to be unironically joyful. They caught a lot of flak for it from the "serious" music press, but the fans didn't care. The fans wanted to jump.
The First Breakup and the Casper Babypants Era
By 1998, the wheels were wobbling. They broke up for the first time, largely because the pressure of being a "hit-making" band didn't mesh with their low-stakes philosophy.
They reunited a few times. 2004's Love Everybody and 2008's These Are the Good Times People are actually really solid records that most people ignored because the 90s nostalgia cycle hadn't kicked in yet.
The most fascinating post-script to the band, though, is Chris Ballew’s transformation into Casper Babypants. If you have kids, you know Casper. He became one of the most successful children's music artists in the country. It makes total sense. If you listen to "Boll Weevil" or "Bug City," the transition to "Stompy the Bear" is basically just a change in lyrics. The energy is the same. Ballew found his true calling in making music that is pure, uncomplicated fun.
Why We Still Care (Even if We Don't Admit It)
Nostalgia is a powerful drug, but the music of The Presidents of the United States of America holds up because it’s rhythmically sophisticated. Jason Finn is a monster of a drummer. He kept those two-string riffs grounded in a way that made the band feel massive.
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If you go back and listen to "Dune Buggy" or "Mach 5," the production is dry and punchy. It doesn't sound dated the way some over-produced 90s alt-rock does. It sounds like a live band in a room.
The band officially called it quits (again) in 2016. They seem happy with the legacy. They didn't burn out, and they didn't fade away into a bitter "classic rock" caricature. They just stopped when the fun stopped.
How to Revisit the Presidents Today
If you want to dive back in, don't just stop at the hits. Check out the B-sides and the later stuff.
- Listen to "Supermodel": It’s a deep cut from the debut that perfectly captures their "heavy pop" sound.
- Check out "Some Postman": From their 2004 comeback, it proves they still had the knack for hooks long after the radio stopped calling.
- Watch the live footage: Find their performance from the 1996 Reading Festival. It’s a masterclass in how to command a massive crowd with almost no equipment.
- Understand the Gear: If you're a guitar player, try tuning your guitar to C# and G# and just using two strings. It’s a creative constraint that will totally change how you think about songwriting.
The Presidents were a reminder that rock music doesn't always have to be a mission statement. Sometimes, it’s just a way to describe a very fast car or a very small bug. They provided the soundtrack to a specific kind of 90s optimism that we could probably use a little more of right now.