Page 35 - the NOISE July 2014

b Ugh
bb Eh
bbb Solid
bbbb Gold bbbbb Total Classic
>> ContinuED FRoM 31 >>
REVIEW’D
That’s about it. My roommate couldn’t get anything out of him ei- ther.
And holy jumping cat- fish, that was 25 years ago and here comes an anniversary edition of Bob Mould’s Workbook with an extra CD con- taining the very same Cabaret Metro show I at- tended.
Mould’s solo debut was released on Virgin Records and got a big glowing review in Rolling Stone. In contrast, Grant Hart’s Intolerance was on SST (the label the Husk- ers left for Warner Broth- ers) and wasn’t even
mentioned in Rolling Stone.
Hart’s album is easily the more enjoyable
of the two. Intolerance is bittersweet yet joy- ous, like Grant just broke off a bad relation- ship. Workbook is depressed and hermetic, like Bob hasn’t gone outside in a year.
Even today, Mould’s first LP screams BIG ARTISTIC STATEMENT. I’m all grown up now and I’m done with those noisy electric gui- tars and all that yelling. I’ve left them behind with my Legos and stuffed animals. See? Nice dreamy 12-strings and mandolins, nice medium tempos, nice non-screamy vocals. Listen, a cello! Isn’t that nice? Nothing says Serious Music like a cello on your rock & roll record.
Workbook is still elevator muzak for aging ex-punks with kids. Tasteful to the point of blandness, like the last thirty-some years of Eric Clapton’s career. A coming-of-age plat- ter, as the publicity packet would say. Look at the rear photo of a lonely Bob seated on a rickety old chair in a dusty sepia-toned room, wearing a buttoned cardigan from the Bill Cosby Collection. Nothing says maturity like a man in a sweater on the back cover of your rock & roll record.
And how’s this for soul-searching:
I guess I’ll have to stay inside Make peanut butter sandwiches And cry *
Adulthood. What a bummer.
This was my basic opinion of Workbook in 1989 and time hasn’t changed it much. The album performed live is another matter.
If this release had consisted of Workbook alone, I would not have rated it very high. In- stead I am encouraging you to shell out for a deluxe reissue of an LP I don’t particularly like in order to hear the bonus disc.
For his touring band, Mould wisely re- tained Workbook’s rhythm section of former Pere Ubu mates Tony Maimone on bass and Anton Fier (Feelies, Golden Palominos) on drums. Replacing Grant Hart’s erratic swing with Fier’s robotic precision signaled a dis- tinct change in direction.
The most curious addition to this bunch was guitarist Chris Stamey of the dB’s, a band known for tight pop songs but with barely
By tony BALLZ
Bob Mould
Workbook
(1989, reissued 2014 Virgin)
jjjj
I never got to see Husker Du live, but in 1989 I saw all three members’ solo tours
when they passed through Chicago. Bassist Greg Norton’s band sucked and
about ten people showed up. His drum- mer had no cymbals (intentionally) and they didn’t play any Husker Du songs. Greg had shaved off his handlebar mous- tache and he was kind of a dick to every- one.
Drummer Grant Hart was one of the most garrulously charming borderline overbearing drunks I had ever met. Upon arriving at the venue he changed his trou- sers behind the soundboard, exposing his bare backside to my roommate and me. We were on acid. Later we hung out and got high with the group while Grant shamelessly flirted with us.
Norton and Hart both played at Lounge Ax, a hole-in-the-wall bar around the corner from our house in Lincoln Park. Guitarist Bob Mould’s show was at the superhip Cabaret Metro, down the block from Wrigley Field. My roommate’s band was opening and I got to roadie for them and be the coolest motherf*cker in the neighborhood with my backstage pass.
At The Metro, Mould was sullen and up- tight and vaguely frightened. He looked like a golf club was jammed up his ass. Our lone conversation went something like this (insert long uncomfortable si- lences randomly):
“Hey, Bob.”
“Hi.”
“How you doin’?”
“OK.”
“The new songs sound great.” “Thanks.”
“How’s the tour going?”
“Fine.”
“Do you like playing Chicago?” “Sure.”
any of Husker Du’s aban- don. I remember think- ing Stamey sounded under-rehearsed and tentative onstage. 25 years later, the record- ing bears this out.
He was probably a
little intimidated. The
core of Mould, Fier
and Maimone is a fire
breathing behemoth
live. The trio stomp and
scuff up Bob’s pleas-
ant compositions from
Workbook, giving them
a bite the LP versions
lack. Anton Fier drums
like a goddamn ma-
chine and the bass hits
funky against the back-
beat while the guitar
dumps black sheets of rain on everything.
Mould chucks his newly-mannered studio croon for his trademark holler. You can hear the phlegm loosening almost immediately. His full-throated shrieks at the climax of
“Whichever Way The Wind Blows” are some of his best vocalizings ever.
The guitars of Mould and Stamey are all over the road, but the material benefits from the raggedness. Stripped of the LP’s sterile overproduction and reduced to the sound of four guys simply bashing it out, the music shines like a new day rising.
I had just discovered Richard Thompson when Mould and co. unexpectedly played
“Shoot Out The Lights” that night at The Met- ro. It felt like a nudge in the right direction. The end of Stamey’s guitar solo is a disgrace; by the time the group swung through Chi- cago again, he was gone.
The evening ended with three acoustic Husker Du songs. My friends and I can be heard braying along off mic on the finale
“Makes No Sense At All.” After Mould thanks his bandmates, he thanks us for the back- ground vocals.
You’re welcome, Bob. Where’s my album credit?
Kickback$/Shindaggers split 7”
(2014 Emotional Response)
jjjjj
WEEEOOAAAGGH! That’s what you’ll say when you hear the new release by The Kickdaggers and The Shinback$, hell yeah! If you like your rock and roll marinated in beer sweat and flavored with The Sonics, The Mummies, Billy Childish, Husker Du, The Wip- ers and Dead Meadow, then this one will hit the spot, you betcha. And if your turntable smells like Pabst Blue Ribbon when you play the disc, don’t worry. It’s in the grooves.
The Kickshin$ will definitely kick your shins and your back and your ass and your ear holes. The band is the latest project from the insanely prolific Stewart Anderson, also big cheese at Emotional Response Records and the only Flagstaff musician I know of with a
Wikipedia page (besides Phil Buckman, of course). Rocky sings and twangs gui- tar left handed, Stew smacks the traps bald headed, and Dougie thumps the bass with enough hair for all three of
‘em.
The Backdaggers have been tool-
ing around this burg for years, and if you haven’t seen them live yet ... well, what’s stopping you? Go on, do it! You won’t be sorry. Pete croaks and drums and wears the Tard Helmet proudly, Ray plonks the four string with more beard than Monday morning at Starbucks, and Dougie shkronks his axe with enough hair for all three of ‘em. If you don’t know the Sh*tdaggers, then you don’t know SHIN, bubba!
This flat purple four song platter is so goddamn raw and seismic and smokin’ hot that it will wither your house plants and peel the skin from your face and piss off your pets and realign your syn- apses and give your children chromo- some damage. You can cook a steak just by setting it near the speaker. One side for rare, both for medium. This piece of wax will ruin your freaking life. That means it’s real good!
Get it today at jenandstew.com and check out the many many cool items available there. I recommend the Inde- fatigable Stewart Anderson CD and the Boyf*ckingracer comp. Buy ‘em, chump! The seven inch comes with a free down- load that includes bonus tracks, one of which Ray sings! Right on, bro!
In closing, I would like to state that these gents are all upstanding mem- bers of society and fine specimens of manhood and great Americans (except Stewart, he’s British) and close personal friends of mine. And that this review is in no way biased even though I got the record for free.
| tony BallZ does not smell like teen spirit, thank you very much. tony@thenoise.us
thenoise.us • the NOISE arts & news • JULY 2014 • 35