|
Bob Mould spent a spell in solitary confinement after he quit Husker Du, and now he's doing it again following the demise of Sugar. Apparently Mould hit, strummed, triggered or sang every note here, so it's amazing that the album sounds as punchy and vibrant as it does. Although not all that cheerful, of course - Mould is a famously glum bugger, and even when the music sounds energetic and positive, his lyrics gloomily undermine it. Hence the stirring harmony-pop of Egoverride is riddled with self-loathing and disfigured by hideous screeching noises. Deep Karma Canyon is a thrilling rock blast, but here Mould is singing about psychic gloom. He offers some extra stylistic options, like the chunky acoustic thump of Thumbtack or the yearning mountain-man folk-pop of Fort Knox, King Solomon, but while the songs change slightly, the message remains solemnly the same. (AS) The Guardian Friday Review
It slipped in the door when we weren't looking. But is this, like, a real record? Does it have a single? Is there a tour? Do my peers go off and talk to Bob and let you know that the new product is Big or Crucial or A New Sound? Do you need Sugar with that? You might be inclined to decide that with this gone-solo-again album - the take-it-or-leave-it-title, the unsweetened songs done demo-fast and true - Bob isn't remotely concerned what anyone thinks. I'd say it's more the sound of the old "If a tree falls in the forest with no marketing campaign, does it exist?" question answered with the realisation that he doesn't have to ask it any more. Sugar's gone south - something about it not being fun any more, something about it being too much about success - and, instead, Bob becomes the first person to write a song with a title like "I Hate Alternative Rock" that doesn't come off like a radio-tailored, take-the-cake-and-eat-it-too smirk. Instead, "Bob Mould" comes with the dedication "This one is for me." No wonder: he wrote, produced, and played every damn note. But rather than giving him elbow-room for self-indulgence, it clears the table for some home truths: a hushed, confessional "Anymore Time Between" and a bittersweet "Next Time That You Leave" offer no safe corners, no get-out-of-jail-free card. And, balanced with that, a brusque, doors-open-to-the-wind melodic uplift that easily matches the sound of Sugar at their best. "Deep Karma Canyon" pelts itself with melody, sends frizzingly tune-drenched guitar lines whirling; a bass-anchored "Art Crisis" makes inspiration out of refusal: "Nothing I can say about it/Hey, it's OK now.". "Bob Mould" even provides its own review. The CD booklet awards the album marks out of five, mostly giving it threes. But it's the categories Bob chooses that matter: Grace, Intuition, Innovation, Confidence, Knowledge, Humility. They're the right categories. Jennifer Nine
Black Bob's back in his gloomy solo corner again after the relatively light-hearted pop-metal of Sugar. This third solo offering isn't quite as unrelentingly miserable as predecessor Black Sheets Of Rain, but it's not for want of trying. Most of these songs brood angrily over betrayal, from Next Time That You Leave's dull, recriminatory, "you are just a bastard", to Thumbtack's more poetic concept - a couple use pins on a map to show where they've gone, and over time Bob's partner wears through the map by visiting the same place over and over again. Finally, he caps this almost album-length sulk with the most melodramatic of suicide threats in Roll Over And Die. For which, many thanks. The sound is typical Mould: either stern, grey sheets of distorted guitar chording embellished with the occasional stab of feedback, or furiously spartan acoustic strumming, as in Thumbtack. It's stereotypically "alternative", which makes his denunciation of the "tired epileptic charade" in I Hate Alternative Rock all the more baffling. After all, who else but a committed indie vinyl-junkie would include a fake side and needle-lift effect halfway through the CD? Andy Gill |
Discography
Biography
Homepage