I Saw God and/or Bob Mould

Typical exchange, post-Mould gig.

Q: "What did you think of the show, J?"

A: (Wiping flecks of spittle from his slackjawed face) "Uhhh... I'll let you know when I've regained my powers of speech."

***

Half-stumbled, half-floated to the Rosewood Theater just in time to miss opener Donovan Monday, and -- with no-cal Moose Houseblend (black -- no cream, no sugar) in one paw, hi-cal Can-O-Feckin-Beamish in the other -- found a spot up frontwise, stage leftwise, where fellow "Let's-Listen-To-Zen-Arcade-On-Acid-Tonight" veteran and Morgantown punk staple Jeff "A" Antonini harrangued me about choosing not to open the show (I would have, if I didn't have to wake up at 7AM that morning, commute an hour to work and an hour back, etc. Sure, I gave the esteemed Robin MacWehrlebird the same harrangue -- he shoulda! -- but I digress, me hearties...). Acourse others were there, as Mould does indeed inspire a rabid, Madonnalike following; but instead of a plethora of teenage gurls in teased hair, black lingerie, fingerless lace gloves and Rosary beads the place was buzzing with thirtyfivefourtyish guys with the distinctive Mould "look": tallish, bookish, sexually ambiguous gents with close-cropped hair, work shirt tucked into belted blue Levi 501s, black work shoes, well-worn copy of Our Band Could Be Your Life or New Day Rising tucked away in canvas messenger bag for a hopeful postgig autograph. Glaven. I myself was gonna bring some Husker vinyl for the same purpose but I didn't wanna go all Chris Farley on poor Bob's ass like I did in '92.

Unsurprisingly, a representative from (just about) every worthwhile Morgantown band (Pabst and present) was in the hizzy. Not a shock, considering how Our Man (like fellow SST alumnus Mike Watt, a musician's musician) rewrote the book on his chosen instrument (an inspiration to everyone from Kurt "Sensitive Pisces Jesus Man" Cobain to Kevin "Pass The Fookin Donuts Ye Radge Ye" Shields), and by cracky, these blessed volume junkies didn't bat an reddened eye when His Mouldness strapped on his 12-string acoustic and launched into a frenzied, red-throated rendition of "Wishing Well" (from his outstanding, Richard Thompson-ish solo album Workbook) simply 'cos they knew that said 12-string would be the loudest, biggest, rudest, room-filling 12-string they've ever heard.

Having been absent from Mould giggage for upwards of a decade (Sugar at the Trocadero in Philly, 1995), It didn't take me long to notice a change in Uncle Bobbo's demeanour (and I ain't just talking about his fresh-from-Gold's-Gym guns, or the short, snowy beard either); the guy actually looked happy fer Chrissake; aside form perhaps one-odd dirty look to the soundman, gone was the famous Mould glower, replaced by an at-ease, almost self-deprecating humor (don't let the hi-volume, hi-energy, hi-angst body of work fool you, the man is an absolute sweetie). Of course, he didn't say a whole heck of a lot, as he had a lot of work to do. And what work! Mould rolled through a sprawling, epic batch of songs on both his 12-string, and his Sugar-era blue Stratocaster -- a setlist comprised of meteoric nuggets of joy and rage that must have been psychically culled from my own gray matter: "Wishing Well", "Celebrated Summer", "Egoverride","Circles","Favorite Thing", "Beating Heart The Prize","If I Can't Change Your Mind","Chartered Trips" (Holyfuck!! Chartered Fuckin Trips!),"Thumbtack", "See A Little Light","High Fidelity","The Act We Act","I Apologize","Sinners and Their Repentances", "Hardly Getting Over It","Paralyzed", "No Reservations"... each volley of song more intense than the last, Mould wrapped snakelike around the microphone stand, left leg pumping like a demonic piston, hands flailing on the strings of his Strat as if there were a loud, raggedly glorious band behind him.

Perfect.

After the encore (which included Husker Du's almost-hit "Makes No Sense At All"), and the second of two standing ovations, Mould left the stage to (in true D.I.Y. fashion) sell some merch and exchange words with the reverent masses, who--their minds being blown finestyle by Bob's set--left the room and went home recharged, inspired with the age-old punk ideal that Bob, like you and I, is an ordinary person, but an ordinary person who does extraordinary things.

Review of the new Sandra Black album

Hey gang, tonight at 123 Pleasant street will be Sandra Black's CD Release party with J. Marinelli and Librarians, so I thought I'd review the new record in honor of the occasion.

Sandra Black's 5th record, "Children Are The Past" is a rock-opera concept album about the Whitney Houston/Bobby Brown relationship. Following in the footsteps of punk-pop megastars Green Day, Sandra Black is delving into less controversial but certainly not less compelling material.

The first track, "The Making of The Bodyguard" sounds kind of like Slowdive mixed with The Beatles song "Tomorow Never Knows" in which the calm re-assuring voice of Brian Newruck reads the lyrics to Houston's "I Will Always Love You" behind guitar noise and Billy Sheeder's demented cries of "I didn't know it would end up like this / I didn't know it would end up like this..."

Going into track two "Fame is Shame part I" we have an eery instrumental piece in which we hear droning sounds coming into constant conflict with the voice of Whitney Houston saying the word "Fame" followed by what is presumably Bobby Brown saying "Shame." Billy's brother Dan Sheeder plays accordian on this one.

Tracks three and four are nothing but insipid, My Bloody Valentine knock-offs that we've all heard a million times by a million different indie rock groups and Sheeder's lyrics, which are usually pretty good, take a definite turn for the worst. I mean, look at this garbage taken from "Whitney Whitney Whitney:"

Whitney Whitney Whitney
I cannot believe you changed
you were once such a cool lady
now you are a fool lady
you can't walk two steps
in dear ol' Morgantown
without catching a frown
from Mr. Bobby Brown
in Morgantown
West By God
from Mr. Bobby Brown

Whitney Whitney Whitney
the queen of the scene
has two faces it seems
i was on the pavement
thinkin' bout the government
hello darkness my good friend

At this point, one must speculate as to the future of one of Morgantown's longest-running and most beloved bands when they descend into a level of idiocy comparable to the Insane Clown Posse? Not to mention the blatant Michael Jackson ripoff in that second verse. If this were any other band, I'd have pushed the stop button and thrown the CD in the garbage, but this isn't just any other band. This is the band that gave us such musical gems as "I Got My Kicks," "Rock Song," "Milkshake," and "Holy Diver" I decided to sally forth and carry on and fight the good fight.

The fifth track and final track, "Where Will We Go From Here?" is actually really good. I don't know if it's good enough to make up for the horros that are "He Got Me Hooked On Drugs" and the aforementioned "Whitney Whitney Whitney" but it's pretty good. In this song, a more resigned, melancholy Billy Sheeder tells us all that "knowledge comes with death's release" and that until then "we should all love each other." This is the Billy Sheeder we are fond of, the Billy Sheeder who made the dream alive, the Billy Sheeder who bought us drinks, and the Billy Sheeder who unhooked our bras and felt us up in the ladies room. Billy Sheeder the Wizard. Billy Sheeder the Poet. Billy Sheeder the God.

In "Where Will We Go From Here?" we see a band at their best, but based on the utterly inane songwriting that precedes it, we are led to ponder how long before the magic is gone and the band relapses into a grotesque charicature of the band they used to be. Will future Sandra Black concerts feel like a Sex Pistols reunion concert? Only time will tell.

I GIVE THIS ALBUM THREE AND A HALF STARS, THREE YELLOW MOONS, TWO GREEN CLOVERS, AND ONE RED BALLOON!

Are you out there?

Dear Lost Souls,

We should have some new posts coming soon by people other than me (hopefully), but in the meantime I wanted to give a heads up on this week's shows. Tonight at 123 Pleasant, Nakano will be playing with David Bello and Sebastian and a touring act called Isobella. Isobella are evidently a shoegazer act, and have been compared to the Cocteau Twins and Slowdive, which has been my bread n butter since '95, so go and make me feel bad for missing it. Thanks, employer of mine. I caught David Bello & his merry band last weekend again and their songs just get more catchy each time. My offer of Jager shots for Baptiss Blacktick covery still stands, but I have to be there, boys. Also M. Iafrate will be lending his musical skieelz to Nakano, and Aaron Hess will be screening a short film beforehand, so arrive early and ready to revel.

And Thursday, for those of you unwilling or unable to pay the $14-17 to see Bob Mould, there's a band called Valencia playing at Fuel. I don't know what they sound like, but Mark Miller of Bowling League is setting it up, so it's reasonable to think it will be quite good. Show starts at 9, they play around 10:30 or 11.

Before I end this post, I'm curious as to just how many people actually read this blog. We have plans to redesign it and start flyering around campus to get more readers. Eventually. If you're reading this message, give us a shout in the comments and we'll see how many people are awake.