Read Ten Thousand Saints if spotted at your local library. A vivid reconstruction of the eighties hardcore scene, Eleanor Henderson’s 2011 novel doesn’t shirk from reporting the gay sex among and between members and fans, respectively. I couldn’t get Hüsker Dü out of my mind when reading it, nor did the possibility of a Tommy Stinson-Paul Westerberg liaison.
As bracing as these records remain, I’ll still take Sugar when I want to hear Bob Mould, a phenomenon I’ve written often about (Eric Harvey’s review of the reissued Sugar catalog is essential reading for those who were there or those who want to remember those days).
1. Flip Your Wig (1985)
For older fans, Hüsker’s second 1985 album is where the trio started repeating themselves. To my ears Hüsker just sounds more audible. The first side doesn’t stop: after sharing mikes on the title track, Mould and Hart race over each other with a “Beat this, motherfucker!” approach to recording. “Every Everything” is Hart at his most lustful, “Makes No Sense at All” Mould at his most Reagan-esque, “Green Eyes” Hart’s combination of jealousy and glee — he can’t believe his lover is hot enough to attract attention. The album climaxes with Mould’s “Games.” The second side takes a breath.
2. New Day Rising (1985)
The last of the inchoate howls before Hart and Mould seized the means of production. I find the album distended: tugged needlessly through a rote hardcore climax despite what the strongest material indicated. Mould wants to brood on “Celebrated Summer,” Hart wants to howl like Paul McCartney on “Long Tall Sally” through “Books About UFOs.” But this tension produces a terrific listen. Perfection — who gives a shit?
3. Candy Apple Grey (1986)
My first Hüsker and Mould-related purchase was also the band’s major label debut, and unlike the Replacements’ Tim it doesn’t sound as if the Hüsker Dudes were nervously looking over its shoulder at the young A&R guy insisting on click tracks. Not since “Diane” had Hart sounded as ravaged as he did on “No Promise Have I Made.” In the High Eighties, mainstream accommodations often required synthesizers; except for the solo in “Hardly Getting Over it,” Hüsker go old school, for example the organ on “Sorry Somehow.”
4. 5. Metal Circus (1983)
The star is Grant Hart, specifically “It’s Not Funny Anymore,” as clear as glass held up to sunlight. I dare you to tell me it wouldn’t have fit on Warehouse three years later. “Diane” extends compassion to a dead raped waitress in the form of maelstrom vocals and a guitar attack that doesn’t stop; I suppose it’s the affective fallacy at its purest. Meanwhile Mould contributes “Real World,” relying on Hart’s high harmonies to inject the pathos he can’t yet. Was it his response to Hart’s aphorisms in “It’s Not Funny Anymore”?
5. Zen Arcade (1984)
It’s here because It’s Important but it’s my least favorite certified classic of the classic White Indie Foursome of 1984 (My ranks: Double Nickles on the Dime, Let It Be, Meat Puppets II). Yes, I had to be there. While Mould still can’t shake the hardcore blues, Hart discovers colors and timbres on “Pink Turns to Blue” (beyond his capacity to sing, of course; that’s the charm), “Never Talking to You Again,” and “Turn on the News.” The piano interludes represent the tentative, almost frightened steps (can’t piss off those mosh pit vets) by natural maximalists realized on later albums.
6. Everything Falls Apart (1981)
They had to start somewhere.
7. Warehouse: Stories and Songs (1987)
If another Hüsker old-timer spits in my ear about the inhuman precision of the band’s final album — where’s the noise, man? — I’ll yank out his earplugs. It’s also rare to dismiss an album (a double album!) boasting as many good songs as Warehouse. I listened to most of it this afternoon and hummed every verse, bridge, chorus, middle eight, chorus. Hüsker wrote these during the Zen Arcade year too. What went wrong? No idea. Cleanness is not a virtue for post-punk bands whose roots are hardcore. If I were in a band that wrote “Ice Cold Ice,” “Could You Be the One,” “She’s A Woman (And Now He Is A Man),” “She Floated Away,” and “Friend, You’ve Got to Fall” I’d consider it a triumph.
Humanizing The Vacuum 