Mudhoney Articles
Entertainment Today
23 August '02
MUDHONEY
Since We've Become Translucent
Mudhoney, one of the last bastions of real rock left over from the so-called grunge
era (and back with the first ever grunge label, Sub Pop), start out their latest with
a requisite charge of pure acid rock adrenaline in the form of "Baby, Can You
Dig the Light;" it's a great name for a song that, not unlike a free-form
jazz infused Iron Butterfly's "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida," seems to build and
build and build before it crashes gloriously like so many musical dreams. After this
one, well, there's not too many places to go but downhill. But more aptly, the
rest of the album, if not never quite living up to the first song, nonetheless, in
Mudhoney style, gets down and dirty; and does so well enough, even if it doesn't
with the same crispness and cool changes as the band's 1989 self-titled masterpiece.
No, it's pretty much back to basics here for the Seattle quartet, as they generally
— a horn section adds flair to "Where the Flavor is" and a couple others
— stick to the few chords and tricks that made them the rarified rock saints of
Superfuzz Bigmuff, their first EP; and a classic in its own rite.
Not that Since We've Become Translucent by any means is a classic. But, as
singer/guitarist Mark Arm's voice cracks and wavers more than ever here and the
guitars and feedback ever resound, the album becomes more of a testament to band's
devotion to remaining uncompromising in delivering their kind of noise — radio
airplay and critics be damned.
Standouts include "In the Winner's Circle," a slow-burning bluesy, nearly
loungy tune with a great edge and coolly pessimistic lyrics ("It's not as bad as
it's been/still it's not as good as it used to be"); and "Inside
Job's" jangly, ringing guitars make the song one meant to be turned up louder
than your stereo will probably go. "Crooked and Wide," meanwhile, is exactly
that — crooked and wide; oh and pretty awesome too!
The album ends on a note almost as strong as the one it starts on with the also
aptly-titled "Sonic Infusion;" at well over seven minutes, it too builds on
itself, ultimately burning up in its own flames like the glorious and mythical Phoenix;
but then, as the song slowly dies down, the flames themselves flicker and eventually
peter out too — a fantastic ending to a sound, though not superlative,
album. Yes, while the band may be a little translucent these days, they
aren't ready to disappear by any stretch of the imagination.
