Mudhoney Articles
The Rocket
23 September '98
Ten Years After
A Decade Since "Touch Me I'm Sick," Mudhoney Are Still Sneazing
Mark Arm has allergies. Sitting on the dining room table of Arm's modest
Seattle home, among stacks of books and CDs of Mudhoney's new album, Tomorrow
Hit Today, are several bottles of prescription allergy medication. They all
bear Arm's real last name, which surprises me less than the fact that he
takes the same medication that I do. Arm is allergic to grasses and molds;
I am allergic to grasses, molds and the allergen that is contained in the
saliva of pets. In the few minutes I have been sitting here, Arm's dog has
virtually painted my leg with saliva. I'm worried that if the dog doesn't
stop using me as a salt lick, I'll have to steal some of Mark Arm's expensive
medication.
It's hard to think of the singer from Mudhoney suffering
from any malady, particularly one that I share, even though something like 50
million Americans have allergies. I find comfort in imagining that Mudhoney
have somehow managed to beat back the human clock--this mortal coil--and that
they don't play by the same rules as anyone else. Certainly, when it comes to
outliving their peers in Northwest rock 'n' roll, they have discovered the
eternal fountain of youth. They sound exactly as adolescent and as snotty as
they did when I first saw them 10 years ago, and, surprisingly, they've
recorded their best album ever in the twilight of their career. Even as
individuals they appear little changed: A decade of being Mudhoney seems to
have only made them more of what they are. Except for a few more pounds and
more playing finesse, drummer Dan Peters doesn't seem any different than he
did when he was a teenager sneaking into the Ditto Tavern. Guitarist Steve
Turner has the same light-hearted laugh he had back when he was some Mercer
Island kid sneaking into the Metropolis. Bassist Matt Lukin--who actually
looks younger now than he did 10 years ago--still has the voice of an
80-year-old man, but then he was born with that. And Mark Arm seems to stand
like some stone monument to Seattle rock (I can see his face on Mt. Rushmore
one day). As a foursome, they exist as Mudhoney, some human life form outside
the norm, except, I guess, when it comes to runny noses, scratchy voices and
that awful wheezing that comes every spring and fall.
And if there
is anything essential to being Mudhoney, it's the principle of savoring a
good joke. When I finally escape Arm's dog and begin to interview the band
members in pairs, I hope they'll look back on their career and attempt to
sum it up. They'll have nothing of it. Instead, in traditional Mudhoney
style, the conversation turns to self-deprecating humor about porno movies,
how Bikini Kill are really just like the Dwarves, the evolution of White
Zombie, and aging. Arm is better at the aging routine than anyone else, and
when I remind him that I can recall him slam dancing at shows when he was 16,
he serves up a warning that at first sounds like a serious admonition: "I
have chronic back pain because of slam dancing. Kid's don't slam. The knees
are gone. I wish I could chew food." Later, as I ask about the live
show--arguing that Mudhoney have always been a better live band than studio
band--Arm takes the shtick one step further. "The live show was really good
once," he says, his expression not changing a bit. "But that was before my
sphincter gave out. I used to be able to breathe fire out of my ass."
BURN IT CLEAN
In 1988, it really did seem that any member of Mudhoney could breathe fire
from his ass; they were that powerful and foreboding. The formation of
Mudhoney itself was something of the Northwest's first grunge supergroup.
Arm and Turner came from Green River (which also spawned part of Pearl Jam);
Peters came from a dozen bands including Bundle of Hiss and Feast; Lukin came
by way of the Melvins. No band in Seattle history has started with a better
pedigree, and proper maintenance has kept the lineage solid. Mudhoney are one
of the very few bands in the Northwest to never lose or change a member. The
four guys onstage in 1998 are the same four guys you could have found on a
Sunday night in 1988 playing the Vogue to 50 people.
Which makes
Tomorrow Hit Today all the more astonishing. This is Mudhoney's sixth
full-length album, and though fans await it with some anticipation, this is
no longer 1988 and Mudhoney haven't been on the cover of NME since that
magazine mattered. Yet with the 13 songs on the new album, Mudhoney have
crafted their most solid effort ever, one that manages to sound both
professional and natural at the same time. Produced by Memphis legend Jim
Dickinson, Tomorrow Hit Today is appropriately titled: It sounds modern and
timeless.
It's not just the production that makes the new record so different: This
time around Mudhoney have come up with a solid set of songs, with nary a
loser in the bunch. "It sounds really good to me all the way through," says
Arm. "In contrast, some of our records might have a dead spot here or there,
and maybe aren't fully realized albums, but this one seems like it is."
Whereas previous Mudhoney recording sessions usually yielded just enough
material to fill an album plus a B-side or two, this year the band had so
many songs it could be choosy. Most of the songs have been worked out live
over the past two years, so by the time Mudhoney went into the studio they
were very familiar with the material. "We knew what we were doing this time
around," Peters confirms.
Highlights include "Poisoned Water,"
"Move With the Wind," "Night of the Hunted" and "Real Low Vibe." Every title
on the album sounds like some old MGM B-movie. Thematically this is a diverse
work, exploring what life on the fringes of society is about, all the while
constantly mocking society. Though Mudhoney would probably never admit to
this in print, the bulk of their songs explore existential themes, or
question values and standards. When they suggest that you "try to be kind"
they do so in a mocking, sarcastic manner that implies such a result isn't
possible. At least that's my two-bits analysis: I'm always more concerned
with the power of Mudhoney's melodies than their lyrical content. Most songs
on Tomorrow Hit Today have that patented, thudding Mudhoney beat, yet the
album still feels more upbeat than previous efforts.
The new album buoys even the band, and though modesty is the second Mudhoney
credo (behind humor), the band members are even daring to acknowledge the
merit of this record. "This is the biggest sounding record we've ever done,"
says Turner. "It's also our most expensive." Turner does some quick math and
figures out that the recording budget for Tomorrow Hit Today is roughly
equivalent to the combined budget of every other album Mudhoney have ever
recorded. And that money has paid off with a full, mature sound. "One of my
friends left me a message," Arm says, slightly smiling now, "which said, we
did it all wrong by doing the best album of our career this late in the game."
JAGGED TIME LAPSE
It never takes too long in any conversation with Mudhoney for the old "we
don't know how long we're going to be together" comment to come up. Any
quick scan of Mudhoney's interviews over the years confirms that the band
seems to hold on to this lack of commitment like a couple that has lived
together for a decade without a ring. Even today, Mudhoney get some strength
from this: It's like a superstition, that as long as they don't act seriously,
everything will work out fine. "We finally put a three-album moratorium on
talking about breaking up," notes Arm. Turner says one of the reasons the
band has lasted so long is because its members have taken time off from
Mudhoney over the years for side projects (Turner even has his own record
label, Super Electro, which is issuing the vinyl of the new album). Yet,
even Turner seems to be free from this worry, at least for the moment.
"Notice we don't talk about breaking up anymore," he says with a chuckle.
Both Lukin and Peters attribute the band's longevity to its
comradeship and sensible touring schedule. "By no means are we going to
embark on a one-year world tour," says Peters. "That's why bands break up.
They get sick of each other."
"We've learned from opening up for
the other freak scenes," adds Lukin. "We drink a lot. That's why we still
exist. We're drunk so we don't remember how much we've pissed each other off."
Arm and Turner address their longevity with slightly more seriousness,
arguing that at least part of the reason the band has stayed together so
long is its business dealings. "Some of that is a healthy respect for each
other that is manifested in how we deal with publishing. We split it," says
Arm.
"That gets rid of major ego battles right there," adds Turner.
"The Ramones were fine until they split up the publishing. We've always done
that. From my short tenure in Green River, it was already a point of
contention with the other members as to who came up with what part of what
song, so in Mudhoney we don't worry about that."
Their equanimity
in financial matters is matched by the lack of egos apparent within the group.
Peters tells a hilarious story of one tour when Mudhoney hired a new road
manager who attempted to give Arm a better room than the other band members.
"I overheard him saying, 'Well, you're the star.' And Mark was like, 'What
the hell are you talking about? The rest of the guys need good beds, too.'"
The outcome was that the road manager ended up sharing a room on a roll-a-way.
He wasn't hired back.
Some of Mudhoney's attitude comes from their
decision to use Bob Whittaker as a manager rather than hire a high-powered
firm. It's probably safe to call Whittaker the "fifth member" of Mudhoney,
because even though he's not onstage when Mudhoney performs, he's usually
not far away (in the bar, most likely). "We trained him," says Turner. Yet
even from manager Whittaker, the Mudhoney boys can't expect any pampering.
"When we try to ask our manager to do something for us," notes Lukin, "he's
like, 'You do it. You can dial a phone. You've got fingers.'"
BOILED BEEF AND ROTTING TEETH
It was Whittaker and their Reprise A&R person David Katznelson who brought
the band to Jim Dickinson, who has also produced Clawhammer (another
Whittaker charity project). Though Dickinson is a living legend, because of
his work with the Replacements, Bob Dylan and the Stax label, surprisingly
the members of Mudhoney weren't very familiar with him prior to working with
him. The band first recorded with Dickinson in January at Stone Gossard's
Studio Litho and then followed up in Memphis with more recording later in the
spring. "I'm not someone who reads liner notes and memorizes them," Arm admits,
"so I wasn't real familiar with him." Turner is the type to read liner notes
and eventually he even tracked down some of Dickinson's solo work, which
impressed the producer. Mudhoney, in turn, were impressed with how open
Dickinson was to trying weird stuff. "He could handle things being discordant
and off-kilter," says Turner, who confesses to bringing 30 different fuzz
boxes to the sessions.
Though Dickinson regaled the band with wild
stories of Dylan, Elvis and Jerry Lee Lewis, Mudhoney were perhaps more
impressed by some of the stories they heard from David Bianco, who mixed
the album. "He confirmed the rumor that Stevie Nicks had cocaine blown up
her ass by her assistant," jokes Arm. "He'd worked on [Fleetwood Mac's]
Mirage, I guess. That's one hell of a story." "Jim Dickinson had some great
stories but none that good," adds Turner. "Now if we can only get to the
bottom of that Rod Stewart 'stomach of cum' thing," Arm says laughing.
So far there have been few urban rock legends surrounding Mudhoney
themselves. All but Turner are married, and though they all are frequently
sighted at local shows, they are usually the ones chuckling in the corner
rather than making spectacles of themselves these days. Arm is probably the
most visible if only because of his distinctive profile, his nose being the
usual topic for caricatures. "Mark is more shy than you could ever imagine,"
says Peters, being serious for a moment. "People think he's arrogant, but
he's not; he's just shy." "He doesn't have the social skills that you do,
Dan," Lukin says, bringing the conversation back to typical Mudhoney verve.
As for Turner, the rhythm section simply calls him "mysterious." "There are
things we don't know about Steve," says Peters. "Unlike us," adds Lukin,
referring to he and Peters, "he's not the kind of guy who knows what his
belly button smells like."
YOU MAKE ME DIE
During the early years, even Turner's belly button odor was fair game in the
tour bus. When the band first began as Mudhoney in the late '80s, recording
the seminal "Touch Me I'm Sick" for Sub Pop, it spent several years touring
in a van so small and crummy that Peters honestly thinks they suffered carbon
monoxide poisoning. After the tour, it became his first car.
One of the fallacies about the beginnings of Mudhoney is that Arm and Turner
started the band after breaking off from Green River. In actuality, Mudhoney
first came out of practices from the Thrown-Ups featuring Turner, Peters and
artist Ed Fotheringham, who soon lost interest, according to Turner, when he
found out he'd actually have to practice. Peters still remembers one of his
first meetings with Arm, in the bathroom line at a club. "He kept saying,
'Green River just broke up.' He was really excited about it. Then he cut in
line in front of me and puked all over the toilet."
Turner and Arm and met a few years earlier in line at the Showbox to see
TSOL. They were both middle class suburban kids, but they had a mutual friend
who, for some reason, thought they both were straight-edge and would enjoy
each other. Now they look back and joke that they were about as straight-edge
as a serrated fishing knife. This matchmaker, sporting a huge Mohawk,
introduced the pair, who looked at each other with what was most likely the
first in a series of a million guffaws, both getting the joke.
Lukin was the last Mudhoneyian to join and perhaps the most important: As a
member of the Melvins he was already a highly respected player in the region
and the most accomplished musician (and drinker) in the band at the time. For
the first year he commuted from Aberdeen, driving up for practices several
times a week after his full-time day job. When Arm first asked Lukin to
consider joining Mudhoney, the bass player also suggested Dale Crover as a
drummer until Arm shot down the idea. "He said they had this guy named Dan
Peters who would have 'a lot more star potential,'" Lukin says with a huge
grin, staring at Peters.
The chemistry worked and by the time the
band recorded Superfuzz Bigmuff, they were the biggest band in the Northwest.
A U.K. tour with Sonic Youth soon cemented their international reputation,
and suddenly they found themselves as the leading proponents of "grunge," at
least as billed by the notoriously inaccurate U.K. music press.
For several years Mudhoney were the best-selling act on Sub Pop, and what
many have forgotten is that long before Nirvana broke with Nevermind, sales
of Mudhoney albums (particularly Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge) helped keep
Sub Pop solvent. "We were almost the last people to get out of there," says
Arm of his old label. Mudhoney were owed lots of money at the end and became
particularly frustrated when they saw Sub Pop spending big bucks recording
the Afghan Whigs when other debts were going unpaid. "I was pissed off that
they weren't listening to me anymore," remembers Turner. At one point Sub Pop
offered to make the band stockholders in lieu of paying them. Mudhoney
declined.
SUCK YOU DRY
In 1992, Mudhoney signed with
Reprise and recorded Piece of Cake, an album that the entire band now rates
as one of its weaker efforts (ironically, it's the group's biggest selling
effort to date). They were happier with My Brother the Cow, but worried they
might follow that album with a record that wasn't as inspired. They then took
some time off which created a big span of time between that album and this
new one. "I think by taking a gap of three years between albums we skipped
the Mudhoney curse," says Arm. "The curse being that we seem to be most proud
of every other album. There was Superfuzz Bigmuff and the early singles which
were high points; first Mudhoney album a lower point; Every Good Boy Deserves
Fudge, higher point; Piece of Cake, lower point; My Brother the Cow, higher
point. So if we'd done another record right after that it would have been
bad. We skipped the suck album."
Turner, ever the rock historian, also suggests that the "market" for a
Mudhoney album is probably better now than it would have been three years ago.
The band is now so out of style as to be hip again. "We skipped the virtual
collapse of alternative rock as we know it," he notes.
But before recording the latest album, the band found itself having to fight
with its label to even get a chance at another record. A new regime at Warner
Bros. was not familiar with Mudhoney and actually asked them to make a demo
tape. They agreed and after some heated negotiations eventually managed to
get a budget approved for a much more expensive recording than they had ever
done before. For a band that had always operated very efficiently, and used
any money left over from its album budgets as income, it was a huge risk.
"We've always done records that were efficient and cheap, getting a
good-sounding record, but keeping some money to live on," says Peters.
"Now, it's been 10 years and we finally had the resources to take a stab at
a proper, decently recorded record and we're not always going to have that.
If we would have broken up tomorrow without doing this, I would have been
bummed."
"This is probably our last chance to record this kind of
record with someone else paying for it," adds Lukin.
There it is
again. The eternal Mudhoney fear of the future. When asked what the group
might do if this album actually turned into a hit--which in a just world it
would, since these songs are perfect for alternative radio--the band shies
away from an answer. It is as if even wishing upon a star might bring bad
luck. "I don't think any of us worry about that," says Turner, quickly. "If
it happens," adds Arm, "I'll be shocked, but I won't be displeased."
If they have a fear of the future, there is one thing the members of Mudhoney
are absolutely certain on: If one band member were to leave, that would be
the end of Mudhoney. "If one of the members quits, we won't replace them
and we won't be Mudhoney anymore," sounds off Lukin as a way of warning. "I'm
proud of the fact that our band has been together as long as we have," says
Peters.
Whether Tomorrow Hit Today is a huge hit or not, one other
thing is certain about Mudhoney's future, no matter how long it may be: Big
egos won't be allowed. "In our band," warns Peters, "there is no 'brooder in
the back room.' There's none of this, 'He's having his time right now. He
needs the back of the bus.' You can't get away with being pompous in Mudhoney
because if you do, you're going to have a hellish six-hour drive on tour."
EVERY GOOD BOY
Back at Mark Arm's dining room table I am so pompous as to suggest that this
record really could be Mudhoney's commercial breakthrough, the record that
finally gives them sales figures to equal their artistic achievements. I must
be mad to suggest such a thing to these superstitious fellows (perhaps it was
an allergic reaction to the dog). When I propose that maybe even people who
hated their other records will find something to like on Tomorrow Hit Today,
Arm widens his eyes and begins speaking like a Native American elder.
Remember, this band even has a song on the new record called "I Will Fight
No More Forever" inspired by Chief Joseph. Maybe Arm is channeling him
because he sticks his arm out and looks exactly like an Indian chief.
"Who are these people who would not normally like Mudhoney?" he asks,
looking out over the horizon, like a character actor in an old Western.
"Show them to me. I do not believe of what you speak. We are wise and patient
men." Arm says it with such a straight face and without letting even a hint
of a smile crack his face, that I keep waiting for him to sneeze.
