Mudhoney: Two Decades of Fuzz

This summer, venerable Seattle indie label Sub Pop celebrated their 22nd anniversary in a very unconventional way-they celebrated their 20th anniversary. Formed by Bruce Pavitt and Jonathon Poneman, the imprint was the original home of grunge bands like Nirvana and Soundgarden before their recent revival thanks to The Shins, Wolf Parade and The Postal Service. The July fete was highlighted by Iron and Wine and Fleet Foxes sets, but many were undoubtedly a little surprised to see a long forgotten band by the name of Mudhoney electrify the afternoon crowd.




Two decades removed from the genesis of that swampy blend of punk attitude and metal speed, it is amazing that grunge hasn't received the reassessment that has visited other genres. Whether it be because Kurt Cobain froze the subculture in amber upon his suicide, or that the public still suffers from alt-rock exhaustion, there has been little effort to seperate the wheat from the chaff in a genre that had as many posers and hangers on as true innovators.

To those familiar with their work, it is mind boggling that Mudhoney-a band with almost no ambition to speak of, and even less interest in writing actual songs- could possibly be the zenith of grunge form. But indeed, in 2008 the drums on Nevermind seem soulless, the lyrics to Ten seem amateur, and everything about Alice in Chains seems contrived. But twenty years after their debut single, Mudhoney stands as a testament to the power of big, dumb rock n roll. Unlike most bands who claimed to be influenced by The Stooges, Mudhoney put into practice the idea of rock as unstructured music that relied on charismatic vocal adlibbing and sloppy riffage. Their first b-side, a track called "Touch Me I'm Sick" that briefly made them a cause celebre in the English music papers, is nothing more than a fiendishly distorted guitar line adorned with some demented howling on the part of Mark Arm. But then what was "Louie Louie"? Or "I Wanna Be Your Dog"? One of the most fascinating paradoxes in popular culture is that exciting nexus of low brow and high brow, where almost anything can happen. So before the press lionizes the next Art Brut or Black Lips or any other deceptively simple, high concept rock band, put in a Mudhoney disc, slip on a flannel button-up, and party like it's 1988.