NEW ALBUMS

Here We Go Crazy GRANARY MUSIC/BMG 8/10

Ex-Hüsker Dü man turns tumultuous times into direct hits.

By Daniel Dylan Wray

Bob Mould: turning heartache into stomping riffs

ON Bob Mould’s last solo album, 2020’s Blue Hearts, he unleashed a fire in his belly. The album contained a series of polemics that railed against the state of America and all the parallel injustices and inequalities that he saw mirroring the Reagan era that defined his formative years. On the follow-up, his 15th solo album, the same musical dynamism can be heard – striking, sharp, sub-three-minute bursts of intense pop-coated alt.rock that recalls the fizzy joy of the Buzzcocks – but Mould’s political bite is tamed here. Instead, it’s a record that grapples with his own life, past, present and potential future, along with navigating the crippling uncertainties and colossal fears that modern life can impart on us all.

On the opening “Here We Go Crazy”, Mould lays out the literal landscape of the album, setting a scene of wide-open Californian desert terrain with wind blowing in the mountain tops, as he ponders the volatilities of life, as man and nature square off. In a snappy, hooky, chorus Mould sings “here we go crazy” as his own vocal harmonies sing backing lines about being lost in the mountains. It sets the tone for the album that is loaded with breezy, infectious, sometimes soothing melodies that can often bely a darker lyrical undercurrent. Tracks such as “Neanderthal”, a two-minute firecracker of a song driven by Jon Wurster’s pummeling drums and Mould’s racing riff work, may be about revisiting the violent household that Mould grew up in, and a means of processing that trauma, but it almost recalls Mould’s Sugar era, such is its catchy and irresistible nature.

Mould assembled the record to have a three-act structure: an opening collection of songs that tap into uncertainties, feeling unsettled and unsure, before a mid-section that explores a darker period, and the final part coming out of the other side and seeing flashes of hope and optimism emerge from periods of pain and anguish. What’s especially impressive with Mould’s approach, though, is

just how much fun he makes the whole thing sound. Even on songs which tap into more difficult territory, such as “When Your Heart Is Broken”, he delivers it with such a seamless knack for melodic songcraft, that he even turns heartache into foot-stomping riffs and sing-along choruses. Similarly, while “Fur Mink Augurs” may plunge the listener deep into the frozen depths of a long, cold, isolated winter as feelings of cabin fever takes hold, the sheer energy of the song – with a remarkable drum outro from Wurster – keeps it as arresting and incandescent as it does angry and downcast.