Bob Mould – Life and Times – Citizen Dick Album Review

(editor’s note:  Portions of this introduction are borrowed from some of Chuck Klosterman’s ideas about our relationship to and perception of time as we age.  We’re pretty sure that we’ve avoided overt plagiarism, but, if we haven’t, we’re sorry Chuck.  If you’re reading, drop us a line.  If you’re reading this and you’re not Chuck Klosterman, let him know that we’re thinking about him.  For the record, Kevin and James love Chuck Klosterman in a powerful and all encompassing fashion.  Brian thinks he’s okay.)

Zen Arcade came out in 1984, twenty-four years ago.  In 1960, twenty-four years before the release of Zen Arcade, John Coltrane released Giant Steps. I remember listening to jazz music when I was growing up and it seemed terribly distant to me temporally.  When I was six, I didn’t hear a record like Giant Steps and associate it anything familiar.  There were rock records that came out in 1960 as well; Bill Haley, Muddy Waters and Ray Charles all put out albums that year. But that music as well, for me as a kid, sounded old.  “Rock Around the Clock” was some dated shit in the 80s, right?  Keep that in mind and listen to “Eight Miles High.” (You’ve got it in your ipod.  If you don’t, you’re kind of a weirdo.  Watch this live clip if you need to.) That song is twenty-four years old.  I didn’t hear it in 1984 (I was six); I probably first heard it in 1996 or so, when I went to college and lived next door to freakishly knowedgable indie-music guy. (There was one on your floor too; you might have been him.  I was not that cool.)  So, for me, that song is closer to twelve years old.  Either way.  It is, almost ridiculously, not dated.  If you’d never heard it before and that song was released a single tomorrow, you’d brand it the next big thing almost immediately.  So good.  So loud.  So intense.  Compare that to how Bill Haley or John Coltrane sounded when your were six: awesome, but not modern.  How does that work?  What does that mean?  In any event, Bob Mould was in Husker Du.  He’s releasing a new solo album, his tenth, on April 17.

The album’s titular opener starts of slow and quiet, with a picked acoustic guitar behind Mould’s restrained vocals, describing an emotionally complex relationship (“Why’d you have to come around, and turn my whole world upside down?”).  Some restrained drums come in, there’s some wispy keyboard action and tension starts to build a bit.  Around the one and a half minute mark, Mould steps on the gas, breaks out a big, fuzzy electric guitar sound and growls “What the fuck,” pushing the song into an emotional sprint for the finish.  It’s a nifty manipulation of the loud/soft dynamic that wouldn’t have sounded out of place in the heyday of alternative rock.  It works as an introduction to the record for a lot of reasons.  Primarily, it’s a signal that Mould doesn’t need to bend to popular convention; he is Bob Mould and he does not need to appease the freak folk  fans, the downtown hipsters or the navel gazers.  The first track does not sound like a lot of indie rock floating around these days and Bob Mould clearly does not give a shit.  Beyond that, the song rocks in the most traditional possible sense.  It’s got a solid narrative strucuture, it compels toe-tapping, it sticks in your craw after a few listens.  It’s a song that stakes the album’s territory, in a sense: here be direct rock songs with little pretension or frills.

The album’s ten tracks work predominantly in the vein defined by that first track.  “Mm 17″ is a bit more uptempo and works more in the loud mode as opposed to loud/soft, but its straightforwardness is refreshing.  It also features a sterling Mould guitar solo (of which there are many across the record).  “Argos” recalls punk a touch more than much of the record and “Bad Blood Better” incorporates a compelling keyboard sound in the intro and chorus.  While these tracks all work in slightly different modes, together with the rest of the album, they’ve got a strongly similar tone and ethos.  “Bad Blood Better” might be even more emblematic of the album than the title track, in that its slow build, intense lyrical content and scorching guitar solo define the sound of the album as a whole.

Mould reverted to a style of songwriting for this album that he last used on his solo debut, Workbook, crafting non-rhyimng narratives before writing music and then tweaking and matching. He also plays all of the instruments on the album except for drums  (provided by Superchunk’s Jon Wurster).  Both of the factors probably contribute to the stylistic consistency.  Further, if one person’s going to do all the writing and playing, it’s good when it’s Bob Mould.  His lyrics betray his glimmering intellect and his playing is top-notch.  Dude shreds and he would kick your ass at Scrabble.

Bob Mould would be important if he’d shuffled off into obscurity after Husker Du dissolved.  Happily for us, he’s cranked out consistently compelling and quality material since then.  The volume and influence of his catalog speaks for itself.  It’s good news that his most recent record does as well.  If you’re a Mould neophyte, this record will still deliver the goods.  He’s no rock god sitting on his laurels; he’s a musician cranking out tunes for anyone who will listen.  Enjoy the track below, the steadily building, acoustic driven, wickedly tuneful “I’m Sorry, Baby, But You Can’t Stand In My Light Anymore.”  It’ll spur you to hear some more.  Good times.

“I’m Sorry, Baby, But You Can’t Stand In My Light Anymore” – Bob Mould

Grab Bob Mould at insound.