FADE IN: AMSTERDAM, JUNE 30

The drive from Cardiff to Nefyn, a remote fishing village on north Wales' Llyn Peninsula, is only about 160 miles, but it takes me nearly seven hours.

In a slightly sketchy part of north London, a cockney blonde whom we'll call Myrtle smokes a cigarette in the driveway of the plain white-fronted former bakery that serves as recording studio, office, and grown-up clubhouse for the members of one of the worlds' biggest bands, Coldplay. Myrtle says she works at the office next door, and when asked if the guys are good neighbors, she hedges.

That's right. It's the archives of Spin at your disposal. Check our May 1992 issue by browsing the gallery below.

Our June cover story involves some old friends: Weezer. Deputy editor Steve Kandell checks in with the Weezer camp, taking stock of the power pop poobahs' perch at this point, six albums deep into their career.

Jim James loves to do voices. He peppers his conversation with crisp impersonations of the jokers who populate his world. Like the suits who go platinum-gaga at the arrival of each new album by his band, My Morning Jacket. "It's time to go to the next level, ravity-ravity-ravity!" James says, bending his faint Southern drawl into biz-speak yammer.