“Here We Go Crazy” (Granary Music/BMG Records)
By Eleni P. Austin
The first Husker Du music I ever bought was a 7” single, “Makes No Sense At All” b/w “Love Is All Around,” which was the theme from The Mary Tyler Moore Show. As much as I enjoyed the A-side, it was the B-side that cemented my love for the Minneapolis three-piece. It was then I knew that beneath the Punk Rock façade, these guys not only fully appreciated the homespun melodicism of the Sonny Curtis hit, and still managed to give it their own snarly spin.
Formed in 1979 by Bob Mould (vocals/guitar), Grant Hart (drums/vocals) and Greg Norton (bass). Bob was born and raised in upstate New York and was attending Macalester College in St. Paul when met Grant who worked at a local record store, Cheapo Records. Greg was also employed at Cheapo, rather quickly they became a trio, taking their name from an obscure Swedish board game (it’s pronounced Hoosker Doo, Kids).
Husker, along with The Replacements and Soul Asylum, became the holy triumvirate of the Twin Cities Punk scene. All three bands started out in garages or dank storage spaces, they toured in grotty vans, played in dive bars and sometimes slept on the floors of enthusiastic fans. They also leapfrogged from indie labels to the majors, they all enjoyed critical acclaim and a bit of commercial success. Inevitably, these bands broke up, as bands do. Solo careers were launched, and some continue to thrive to this day.
Such is the case for Bob Mould. From 1979 until 1987, Husker Du released two live albums and six studio efforts, first via the independent SST label, before inking a deal with Warner Brothers Records. Relentless touring and the advent of College Radio (which skewed toward Punk, Post-Punk and New Wave), expanded their passionate fan base. Their modest success laid the groundwork for the next wave of like-minded bands like Sonic Youth, Dinosaur Jr., and The Pixies. Ultimately, they opened the door for the Alt. Rock and the Grunge movement that exploded in the early ‘90s.
Just as true commercial success seemed within their grasp, the intense rivalry between Bob and Grant reached a tipping point. The trio called it quits in 1987. Within two years, Bob had moved across the country to Hoboken and jump-started a solo career. His solo debut, Workbook, arrived in 1989. Acoustic, reflective and introspective, it felt like the antithesis of all that came before. His sophomore effort, 1990’s Black Sheets Of Rain exhibited a heaviosity that mirrored the turmoil he’d experienced in the aftermath of Husker Du’s demise.
Going solo meant Bob could revel in his autonomy, but he clearly missed the band dynamic. By the early ‘90s, he’d formed the Power Punk/Pop trio Sugar with bassist Dave Barbe and drummer Malcom Travis. Drafting off the indie-cred he’d earned with Husker Du, the new band’s sound was crisp and concise, commercial without compromise. They released two long-players, Copper Blue and File Under Easy Listening (FU:EL), as well as the blistering EP, Beaster. But the sweet success of Sugar quickly soured when Spin magazine gracelessly publicized the open secret that Bob was gay. By 1995, the band had amicably parted ways.
Once he had been “outed,” Bob embraced his gay identity. Reigniting his solo career, he recorded six albums between 1996 and 2009. Somehow, he also found the time to become a scriptwriter for the WCW (World Champion Wrestling, for the uninitiated). It seemed out of left (right?) field, but he had been a wrestling fan since childhood. They Might Be Giants’ version of his “Dog On Fire” song has been the frenzied theme for The Daily Show, since the late ‘90s.
In 2011, he wrote a ruthlessly honest autobiography, See A Little Light: The Trail Of Rage And Melody. The preface found him staying at a clothing-optional Gay resort in Palm Springs, anticipating his Coachella debut. The same year, his music was celebrated at Walt Disney Symphony Hall in Los Angeles. An all-star line-up of artists including Dave Grohl, Margaret Cho, The Hold Steady and Grant Lee Phillips covered songs from his solo years.
The following year he released Silver Age, which featured bassist Jason Narducy and ex-Superchunk drummer, Jon Wurster. He has used the same rhythm section for his next several albums. 2014’s Beauty & Ruin and Patch The Sky, which arrived two years later. Each record dealt with the death of a parent. In 2019, Sunshine Rock managed to fuse effervescence and exasperation. Blue Hearts, released in the middle of the pandemic, crackled with authority. Now, he has returned with his 15th solo effort, “Here We Go Crazy.”
The album stutters to life with the title track. Splintery guitars wash over angular bass, plinky keys and a basher beat. Opaque lyrics like “Continental patterns, take a token you admire, drop it in the coin machine, make the jester smile, borders fade away, home is where we stay sometimes life is only but a dream,” offer aural snapshots of life. Instrumental flourishes add a measure of buoyancy to the coiled intensity of the arrangement. See-saw guitar chords dart through the mix, splitting the difference between melancholia and merriment. A sustained power chord discordantly folds into the next number, aptly entitled “Neanderthal.”
Both “Neanderthal” and “Sharp Little Pieces” seem to address past traumas. On the former, thrashy guitars and roiling bass lines are wed to a piledriving beat. The opening couplet feels wildly autobiographical: “I was the golden child with all the brains, I was so wild and too hard to contain, I was a whiny ball of nerves and need, perfectly taut, invincibility.” By the time the chorus hits, battle lines have been drawn: “I need to know, friend or foe? I feel my back against the wall, a stepping stone, a primal roar.” As the arrangement speed-shifts across the break the final verse reveals that perhaps the enemy comes from within: “Dialing up torque on a tourniquet, choking out the life as I pirouette, look in the mirror on a black wall, every time I see the neanderthal.”
The latter opens with shards of guitar and Bob’s phased vocals. As the melody kicks in, a blast of stacked guitars are buttressed by loose-limbed bass and a cantilevered beat. In the midst of this calibrated chaos, lyrics reveal old scars, emotional and otherwise: “In the back seat of a taxi, where it all went wrong (how could it go so wrong?), they abuse you, if they choose to innocence is gone (why did you wait so long) /No rescue no protect you, while they wreck you down (how could it go so wrong), they forget you, disconnect you, keep your shame inside.” A razor-sharp guitar solo on the outro reflects the lyrical sturm und drang.
While this record is perfect front to back, a few tracks stand out from the pack. There’s the candy-coated crunch of “Hard To Get,” which is powered by rapid-fire guitar riffs, boomerang bass and a triple-time tattoo. This scrappy carpe diem dreads any downtime: “The first hour ticks for five dozen minutes, all this space and time, the second hand moves too slowly…” The tension rachets on the final chorus: “Sometimes we play so hard to get, being careful gets me maximum regret, some days now, every day you’re hard to catch, hard to catch, hard to get, hard to get, hard to get,” as a final fusillade of guitars rev and retreat.
Bob cannily flips the script on “You Need To Shine.” The “live for today” ethos espoused on “Hard To Get,” is supplanted by a need to contemplate tomorrow and celebrate yesterday. Thoughtful power chords are quickly superseded by windmilling guitars, lithe bass lines and a whipcrack beat. The opening verse offers this perspicacious perception: “I worry for the future, I worry for the pain, I worry myself sick about the wear and tear and strain, I’m sending you a message with hope for brighter days, beginnings and their endings, the longing always stays.” Guitars spiral and shake across the sonic soundscape, uncoiling an optimistic solo that hits the sweet spot between Power Pop and Punk. Somehow, the final verse seems to anticipate our current national malaise, offering up some hard-won wisdom: “Don’t let sadness get into our weary bones, don’t let darkness take your soul, all that madness doesn’t matter anymore, hold ourselves together, hold ourselves together.”
Bob doesn’t hold a patent on catchy-but-depressing music, but perhaps he should. Case in point: “When Your Heart Is Broken,” which matches an impossibly hooky melody and arrangement to lyrics that paint a vivid portrait of heartbreak and it’s aftermath. Marauding guitars ride roughshod across boinging bass and a scattershot percussive attack. On the break, the guitar solo is by turns, theremin-y, barbed and jaggy. The final couple of verses seem to address a long-gone friend rather than a paramour: “Someday I won’t be around, remember your old home town, the places we used to play, you needed a place to stay/But you couldn’t settle down, you had to repaint the town, the friends that you left behind, you banish them from your mind.”
Despite the non-sequitur title, “Fur Mink Augurs” offers a master class in feral ferocity. A stentorian guitar note emerges from the ether, quickly bookended by prowling bass lines and a blitzkrieg beat. Thick, distorto guitars flash and swirl as lyrics mark the manic ebb and flow as our hero navigates the tricky topography of 21st century living: “Empty inside, ketamine ride, smoke filled floor of Disco, chemical taste, a gallon of waste, good times everywhere we go/Bottle of wine, neighbor so fine, let’s just call it a bromance, scorn and the shame, a bushel of blame, oxcart everywhere we go.” On the break, Jon locks into an epic drum solo that exhibits the brawny finesse Keith Moon pioneered. By the song’s pummeling conclusion, you might feel compelled to reach for a post-coital cigarette.
The action slows for a couple of numbers. “Breathing Room” is a potent combo-platter of low-slung guitars, and slivery bass, anchored clanky, chugging rhythm. Part “A Day In The Life” chronicle: “Most of the day, I rifle through my notebook, page after page filled with scribbles and lines, make a mantra for confession time,” and partly a window into the creative process: “Hoping for the truth as I’m rolling the tape back, faced with the facts, I’ll be leaving soon, crawl my way back to the place where I feel so safe, safe inside my breathing room.” On the break, whirring guitars and a walloping beat amp up the anxiety.
Smack in the middle of the record, “Lost Or Stolen” acts as a musical palate cleanser in between the densely intricate main courses. It starts off bare-bones, just some scraggly acoustic guitar chords and Bob at his most vulnerable. Plain spoken lyrics “At the bottom of my dark soul there’s a reflection, what I see is where I am right now, am I living on the edge…paranoid and schizoid thoughts, I am unconscious, they send me on an endless path to deep addictions that I fight all day” are naked but unafraid.
The album’s last two tracks quietly juxtapose the spectral duality that has always characterized Bob’s music. “Thread So Thin” explodes out of the speakers, a crashing drum salvo collides with thorny bass lines and fuzzy-scuzzy guitars. Astute lyrics straddle the line between the gritty day-to-day and the grace to see it through: “Raining down from above, I try to protect you, life has been really hard, it’s everything we can do to get by without losing my mind, losing my life, thread so thin, hold on tight.” It’s anthemic and cathartic in all the right ways.
Conversely, “Your Side” is a lovely encomium to his husband. Bob employs his tenderest croon, accompanied by jangly acoustic guitar, sly bass lines and a tick-tock beat. Open-hearted lyrics offer a loyalty and fidelity: “If the world is going down in flames, I wanna be by your side….I’ll be here for the dark times, you’ll be there in the light, we’re never sure what the weather might bring, but I’m certain to be by your side.” It’s a poignant finish to another stellar album.
Bob Mould has been making adventurous and uncompromising music for more than 45 years. From Husker Du and Sugar, and throughout his solo years. Here We Go Crazy continues that winning streak. The 11-song set is pretty damn perfect. He manages to synthesize the bitter and the sweet, acrimony, aggression and angst, wrapping it all up in sharp and succinct melodies. And yes, Bob, to quote Sonny Curtis and MTM, can still take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worthwhile.
