Mudhoney Articles
Grand Royal Magazine
Fall '94
The Executive Branch of the United States of America
vs.
Mudhoney
On the 9th of April, 1994, following their triumphant
performance at the Patriot Center in Fairfax, Virginia (which
Chelsea Clinton could not attend because she had ballet
lessons), the members of the popular music group Pearl Jam
were invited to the White House to meet the then-President of
the United States, Bill Clinton. Mudhoney (a less popular
Seattle "grunge" act who were touring with Pearl Jam at the
time) were not invited. Nevertheless, as firm believers in
"coattail riding," the members of Mudhoney went along anyway.
This brazen act of near trespass prompted President Clinton
to ask Pearl Jam's singer, Eddie Vedder, "Now, who are these
Mudhonies, and are they popular with the MTV?" What follows
is an account of the two bands' visit to the White House by
Mark Arm, the then-vocalist of Mudhoney. (And just so you
know, in term of dramatis personae, Matt is Mudhoney's
bassist, Dan is their drummer and Steve the guitarist).
We were supposed to meet Pearl Jam at their hotel at
10:00 a.m. Realizing we didn't have much time, I ran down to
Matt and Dan's room for some wake'n'bake, so to speak. On my
way out the door I could have sworn I heard Steve mutter,
"Fuckin' stoners! I hated 'em in high school and I hate 'em
now." After that, we hooked up with the guys in "P.J." (as
we call them) - all except Dave, their apolitical drummer,
and Eddie, who had spent the night at Ian Mackaye's house.
Then we all piled into a van for the hungover hell ride to
the White House.
Unfortunately, every time I tried to catch some Zs
during the brief van ride, the driver would announce
something idiotic over the brutally loud P.A. "OVER HERE ON
YOUR RIGHT IS WHAT YOU CALL A SOUNDWALL YA SEE, THERE'S
HOUSES OVER THERE ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THAT GREAT BIG WALL YA
CAN'T SEE 'EM BUT THEY'RE THERE. AND THAT WALL, THE
SOUNDWALL, KEEPS THE FREEWAY NOISE FROM GITTIN' OVER THERE TO
THEM HOUSES WHERE PEOPLE LIVE, SO THOSE FOLKS DON'T HEAR ALL
THIS FREEWAY NOISE. THAT'S WHY THEY CALL IT A SOUNDWALL." I
shit you not.
Anyway, Matt brought a joint with him, hoping to smoke
it before we got there. The driver told some story about how
we should make sure none of us had any pocket knives of
anything cos he'd heard of a lady who went on a White House
tour and the Secret Service had found a three inch-nail file
on her, so they threw her in jail overnight. As the driver
was saying this, I watched the paranoia slowly overcome Matt.
He started digging through his pockets. Out came a pocket
knife, which he hid in the seat pocket in front of him. And
out came the joint, which he ate.
We soon arrived at the White House gate and sat there
for 10 minutes while Eric (P.J.'s tour manager) tried to
convince the soundwall-obsessed van driver to go through the
gate. He kept saying, "No sir, I can't do that, I don't have
the authority." Eric kept saying, "Yes you do! I have clear
and distinct instructions to go through the goddamn gate!!"
Eventually Eric went out to get some sort of authority
figure, and he finally came back with a Secret Service Agent
who escorted us through.
We got out of the van and marvelled at the fact that we
were indeed just outside the White House. We were met there
by Eddie and Kelly (P.J.'s manager). Everything seemed real
cool, and looked as though we'd finally get to meet Bill,
Hillary, and maybe even Chelsea! I was particularly excited
because among other things, I'd like to think I've a pretty
good head for foreign policy. After all, I took more than a
few Poly Sci courses in college and I've travelled the world
and elsewhere in a musical combo. And since music is the
universal language, I've seen quite a few people of curious
backgrounds come together in the name of rock'n'roll.
Naturally, I figured I could tell Mr. Clinton a thing or two
that he might find useful.
We soon separated into two groups. Suddenly the Pearl
Jam folks were escorted away in one direction by a couple of
plump White House staffers, and just as suddenly a tall guy
in a black trench coat came up to us and said, "Hi, my name's
Henry. You're with me now." We nodded and followed the six-
foot-plus Ubermensch as he led us away in the other
direction. I looked back over at the P.J. group, and Stone
gave us this same look that I've seen people give to doomed
pups so often at the dog pound, the look that says, "I'd help
you if I could. Really, I would."
I think Henry could feel our discomfort. He tried to
put us at ease by telling us, "You know, I didn't always look
like this. When I was in college, I had purple hair and
listened to Depeche Mode." We relaxed immediately, realizing
we were in the hands of a dork. A trained killer, yes, but a
dork nonetheless.
Actually Henry turned out to be pretty nice. He took us
on a special tour behind the ropes. So while thousands of
proles filed slowly by, between the ropes, gawking at us on
the other side, we were treated to a most deluxe and intimate
tour. We flitted from room to room without any kind of
restriction of boundary.
Suddenly I noticed a small group of grunge kids eyeing
us. This went on for a while as we absorbed the interior of
our nation's most grand mansion. Finally, though, one grunge
kid asked Steve for his autograph. Steve obliged and called
out to the rest of us, "Hey, guys, come on over! Some of our
fans want our autographs." Since none of us are dicks, we
went over there to give our John Hancocks to a few fans.
Within seconds, the room was overcome with the sound of
rustling papers and opening purses. Soon we were in the
midst of an autograph frenzy. Little old ladies shoved pens
and paper in our faces, screaming, "ME NEXT! SIGN MINE! WHO
ARE YOU?!" We freaked.
Sensing distress, Henry told us to follow him, and
things died down a bit once we got into the next room. Then
a small group of fraternity brothers and sisters started
going, "Hey, look, it's Pearl Jam! Hey, Pearl Jam, give us
your autograph!!"
Dan looked at them and said, "You don't want our autograph."
"Yeah we do, c'mon, give us your autograph," they
insisted. "What, are you too good for us or somethin'?"
"No, it's just... We're not Pearl Jam," we tried to explain.
"Yeah, right!"
"No, seriously! We're Mudhoney - we're the opening act."
"Very funny!" they laughed. "Ha ha ha! That's a good
one! Hey, Pearl Jam, get back here!"
Henry turned a corner, we followed, and the next room we
entered was empty. Relief. Once my heart slowed down, my
eyes refocused and the ringing in my ears subsided, I could
hear Henry saying, "Sure is beautiful, isn't it? This is
where they keep the Presidential crystal and china."
Meanwhile, Matt and Dan (the married guys) were hunched over
the Grover Cleveland section. Eventually, Matt turned to Dan
and said, "Lovely, isn't it?" Dan said "Uh-huh," and Steve
stood in the corner, arms folded, muttering, "It's not very
punk."
Henry glared at Steve. "You want punk?" he asked. Next
thing you know, Henry is telling us about this guy who walked
up to him at the White House gate, said "I'm Jesus Christ,"
stabbed Himself in the stomach and began twisting the knife
around in His guts, apparently without pain. Henry was
forced to wrestle Christ to the ground while another agent
grabbed the knife from Him. Jesus unfortunately died later
at an area hospital.
Another time some dude in a ninja suit came stalking
across the White House lawn, swinging his numbchucks. Henry
told him to stop but he kept coming. "Twenty feet more and
we'll have to shoot!" Henry yelled. The guy kept coming.
"If you don't stop now, you're a dead man!" Henry reminded
him. Still he kept coming. Henry had no choice but to tell
a guard to fire. A sharpshooter did just that and split the
ninja's skull.
"Wow, that is punk!" said Steve, fully impressed. "Hey,
man, check out Ulysses S. Grant's crystal whiskey flask,"
chimed in Dan.
We followed Henry further into the bowels of the White
House, and among other things, we say the Press Room,
complete with a handful of bored news types waiting for some
kind of announcement.
Then we went into the Situation Room. This is where the
staff meets with the President whenever a "Situation" occurs.
Inside is a long wooden table and a bunch of cushy chairs.
Further into the room, around a corner, is another, smaller
room, where three guys sit with headsets monitoring
televisions and computers. There are always three guys in
there, 24 hours a day. And if something screwy happens, they
alert the President. Henry told us that civilians never get
to see the Situation Room and that we are extremely lucky. I
bet he says that to every girl he brings here, but I have to
admit's it's kinda cool - even if I was expecting something
more along the lines of the War Room in Dr. Strangelove.
Then Henry took us into another, final room, were we
hooked up with the Pearl Jam contingent. The had just met
with President Clinton (Chelsea was again at her ballet
lesson) and were all sporting Presidential booty. There was
some left over, and desperate for mementos, we descended on
the pile of goodies. There were Presidential M&Ms (all
green), Presidential shot glasses and Presidential post-drink
Pep-O-Mint LifeSavers. The Pearl Jam guys had gotten the
last of the Presidential ribbed Trojans, I guess.
All in all, though, it was a good visit. I must admit I
was a bit disappointed that we didn't get to meet President
Clinton. I think I could have given him some good advice
concerning that Whitewater Development Deal scandal that's
been nagging him. After all, some of you might recall that I
too was caught red-handed in a similar real-estate scandal
back in the mid-'80s. Remember that whole Green River
Development Deal that rocked the entire Pacific Northwest?
That was me. But heck, a few years pass and most folks can't
remember it at all. And I'm still making money off of it!
So Bill, if you're reading this and want some more free
advice, give your new pals Pearl Jam a call. They know how
to get a hold of me.
