Mudhoney
The Lucky Ones
(Sub Pop, 2008)

Longevity isn’t always a good thing. Case in point: Mudhoney. Had they called it quits or simply faded away like so many of their initial contemporaries, they too could have come roaring back today to critical acclaim on wings of ‘90s indie greatness, as is the style of the times. Instead, having long since slid in and out of grace (if I may), they stuck it out, kept it going, and at this point have their work cut out for them. They’re giving it their best shot, though, with a pretty ballsy move to mark their 20th anniversary.

It’s a move that warrants a little background: At the dusk of the ‘80s, Mudhoney tore holes through every denim knee in the underground, one foot skewering the malignantly sexual “big rock” ego and the other kicking over a stack of amps. They were fueled by a lonely garage punk rage that relished the muck of its own visceral noise, yet once punk broke, so did the spell they’d inadvertently cast. Grunge hit the big time, Mudhoney flipped to Reprise for a gilded few albums but also immediately reformulated their sound. The changes were subtle enough for Mudhoney to remain “Mudhoney,” but significant enough for the band to slip quickly from relevance, as tends to happen when any one scene becomes so suddenly and thoroughly commoditized. Mudhoney’s aboveground 15 minutes coincided conspicuously with the heyday of that reluctant, fame-shunning beast of early ‘90s indiedom; the limelit new punk of frumpy, lackadaisical slackers hoisted into the mainstream for milking and emulation. In that context, self-sabotage was also known as “keepin’ it real,” even though every sword was double-edged and it was just as hard for us to tell the difference then as it is now. At any rate, fans both old and new felt alienated and lost interest, Reprise eventually “released” the grody Seattleites back into the ether, and they slunk home to good ol’ Sub Pop, which was itself seven years deep in its lock onto the moneyed teat of Warner Bros. To herald the return of their former flagship all-stars, in Y2K Sub Pop rolled out the best-of/rarities compilation March to Fuzz, though it was entirely too soon. Two years later came another mediocre new Mudhoney album, and another one four years after that; neither turned heads.

So here we are in 2008, with many of Mudhoney’s glory-day peers now resurrected and rocketing around on chariots of widespread critical adulation, re-hitched to shooting stars 12- or 15-years-old, while Mudhoney’s towing the anchor of an unfortunately substandard meanwhile. Rather than reap the same great splash of recognition, Mudhoney cashed it in long ago in the form of continued pats on the back and attention paid to a string of albums that were shaky at best. Well, no more! They may never have really gone anywhere, but Mudhoney’s back! And to prove it, they’ve released their ninth LP, The Lucky Ones, on the same day as Sub Pop’s two-disc, 20th anniversary deluxe reissue of their debut, Superfuzz Bigmuff.

Ballsy. And it did drum up some excitement in me to hear the new album and see how it measured up. I give them credit for the self-confidence the move exudes, though as it turns out, no amount of excitement or momentum can change the fact that the former barely holds a candle to the latter. We’re in a different time, the world’s a different place, and Mudhoney’s a different band. Admittedly not so different as for there to be any point in severing themselves from their legacy, yet aged and changed enough for it to be not such a great idea to suggest that we hold their latest album up to their first for side-by-side comparison.

So let’s try not to. The Lucky Ones steps away from the grandiosity of Mudhoney’s most recent productions to hearken back to an earlier, more pared down rock spirit, though stylistically it remains closer to their heavy blues of late than the gritty punk of old. As if to underscore the message that today isn’t yesterday (though which “yesterday,” I’m not sure), Lucky leaps right out with an opening track named for its emphatic refrain, “I’m Now.” It’s a rock song of moderate tempo with moments of barrelhouse back-up piano; definitely more nü-honey than mud. It’s catchy and short, though, and starts things not too inauspiciously. Aside from those pianos and some rubbery effects on the bass guitar in “We Are Rising”, the rest of the album stays true to the unadorned power of a straight-up four-piece rock band, and though it may not have the sustained songwriting strength or velocity to justify it, it’s an admirable return to basics for Mudhoney.

It’s also not without its highlights, such as the title song, a tight number that alludes to life in our current world of general scarcity and how the lucky ones are those that “went down” before we got to this point. Also, “Next Time”, a lascivious, guttural bump that lampoons, deftly as ever (if also a little more tamely), the exaggerated and gross sexual ego we imagine overblown rock ‘n’ roll frontmen as having, even though the days of that kind of macho sluttiness in rock seem to have passed. It also calls to mind the fact that singer Mark Arm is now 46-years-old, which adds an effectively unsettling element to the fun of hearing him grunt, yelp, growl, and whine. The once youthful disdain laced throughout Arm’s gravelly sneer has aged into something a little more discerning, although on this cut it’s often just plain creepy. Either way, Mark Arm’s voice remains as genre-defining as Steve Turner’s combo of pedals. Though he can barely hold a note, there’s something endlessly engaging about Arm’s one-of-a-kind caterwaul that benefits greatly from a context free of horns, excessive overdubs, and the other bells and whistles the band abandoned for The Lucky Ones.

Ultimately, The Lucky Ones is the best Mudhoney album this millennium, though that’s not saying much, and it sure as hell ain’t no Superfuzz Bigmuff. Over the past dozen or so years, Mudhoney has evolved and seemingly done their best to follow their instincts amid the widening expanse between now and the bygone era in which they defined the cutting edge without trying. Those instincts may not always have led them to the greatest of music, but they’re leading them back towards something better and rawer with this album. They’ve reached with renewed vigor for a sturdier, more familiar sound, and attained it; finding worthwhile new songs to wrap around that sound, however, hasn’t proven quite so easy.

Listen: Various Tracks [at myspace.com]

More articles by Howard Wyman:

Album review of No Age, Nouns

Album review of Awesome Color, Electric Aborigines

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