30.EP.27w: October 23, 2002.
"The War Party, part 22:
Wipeout, or a brief survey of the history and meaning of Hüsker Dü."
So now sit around staring at the walls
We don't do anything at all
Take out the garbage, maybe, but the dishes don't get done
                    -- "I Apologize."

Some things never change
Some things stay the same
Some things rearranged
But one thing I know for sure, your heroes always die
                    -- "Folk Lore."

There's more to life than being right and wrong
                    -- "I Don't Know What You're Talking About."

        And, of course, on the flip side of the equation is Hüsker Dü.
        Bob:  "Hüsker Dü?"
        Damn right.  Maybe one of the best punk bands ever.  Without Hüsker Dü there'd be no Pixies, there'd be no Nirvana, no Green Day, Pearl Jam, Radiohead, there'd be no grunge and the first half of the '90s would have been radically different, probably.  For better or for worse.
        Bob:  "Yeah, that's hardly a recommendation."
        Hey, what the followers do with the ideas isn't the fault of the originators.
        Bob:  "So, aside from helping wreck music and the 1990s, what's the big deal with Hüsker Dü?  They supposed to be good or something?"
        Yeah.  They're supposed to be good or something.
        Hüsker Dü was a power trio:
        Bob Mould, a chunky guy on guitar and vocals.
        Grant Hart, another sorta chunky guy with long hair, on drums and vocals.
        Greg Norton: bass.  He also had a handlebar mustache.
        Bob:  "And?"
        Well, see, part of the problem with punk is its artifice.  Now, ultimately, all worldviews are artifice.  There is not one worldview that encompasses all of reality.  That just seems to be the way things are.  And so we have to choose to filter out what we don't want to see.  However, punk rock seems to want to chose the most discordant, and ugly aspects of reality-- nothing wrong with that, I like to do that all the time myself-- but what punk does is pretend that there is no choice, that THIS IS THE WAY THE WORLD ALWAYS REALLY IS-- when it is very clearly not always that way.  The world is only a distopic nightmare if you choose to see it that way.  And that's what punk, in general, likes to do: everything is either all-oppressive and bleak and so we must embrace "anarchy" in order to battle "control," or the world is already anarchistic and therefore everything's bleak and empty and has no meaning so you may as well wallow in anarchy.  And so Anarchism becomes a simultaneous rallying cry for both what's right and wrong with the world-- which is unintentionally and fascinatingly deconstructive, but also childish and annoying.
        You see, the world may be on some level anarchistic, sure.  I'm positive it is.  But there's a problem with adopting that as a political principle.  Once you call something anarchistic, you have immediately imposed a system upon it: the system of anarchy.  And the system of anarchy comes with categories and presuppositions-- in other words, anarchy is already organized.  But that's impossible because anarchy, by its very definition, is resistant to systematization.  Anarchy must escape itself.  So, people who wander around proclaiming the virtues of anarchy simply don't know what the hell they're talking about.  Anarchy cannot be proclaimed because the second something is proclaimed, it begins to adopt categorization and organizational principles.  The instant a principle of anarchy is adopted it becomes the very thing anarchy is supposed to fight against.
        Also, through the proclamation of anarchy, something else is forgotten:
        The world isn't always anarchistic, sometimes it is very ordered.  And even ordered to principles we can see-- or if not actually see, ordered in such a way that we can extrapolate fictitious ordering principles from it.
        The majority of punk rock doesn't acknowledge this and so drowns under its own ignorance.
        (Much in the same way that Satanic death metal bands do not acknowledge their debt to Christianity.  They are parasitic upon Christianity, and therefore would not be able to exist without it.  If you exist solely in opposition to something you are dependent upon the thing you are in opposition to.  So if all the Satanic metal bands all got their wish, and the "tyranny" of Christianity fell, they would also fall, because their mythologies rely upon the very Christianity they hate.  Oops.)
        And, remember, I say the majority of punk rock bands, but not all.  There are some exceptions.
        Hüsker Dü is one of those exceptions.
        They started out in the hardcore scene in St. Paul, Minneapolis in the 1980s.  And their early stuff is actually pretty bad-- more or less-- but they quickly developed and erupted into a massive musical force.
        The early stuff was just plain old hardcore thrash.  Really fast, loud, get-in-and-get-out.  Most of the songs were about a minute or less.  For example, their album Land Speed Record contains 17 songs and is just under 27 minutes.  And that's including the best song on the album, the 5-minute "Data Control."  Everything else is just hammering noise played so fast it's almost unlistenable, lyrics screamed and unintelligible.  That works out to about under a minute-and-a-half per song.
        But then, very quickly actually, Hüsker Dü got the thrashfests out of their system, calmed down, and started making songs people could actually understand.  Actually, at the end of Side 2 of Land Speed Record-- which is a live album, by the way-- Bob Mould says they'll be back for another set.  Reportedly, that set was of a bunch of slower, more intelligible songs.  But it was never recorded, as far as I know.
        Then came the album Everything Falls Apart-- which is all right, but not brilliant.  Still, it's solid, if not flawed.
        Soon after Everything Falls Apart came Metal Circus.  This is the one where they becoming a force to reckon with.  Metal Circus is an EP that includes, among other things the song "Real World" which is a call for responsibility and intelligence in the punk community.  Bob Mould was smart enough to know that anarchy doesn't work, that it's all just childish posturing, that there are rules to society and the reason we live with and within these rules is that society is preferable to the certain death of the alternative.  So grow the hell up.  And remember, we're all in this together, and even if you don't like your leaders, remember, they still are human beings-- and prone to the same mistakes and vanities as the rest of us.  So, screaming for anarchy is childish, and anarchy just plain doesn't work and Hüsker Dü was the punk band that said it first.  If not maybe the only punk band that ever said it.
        Bob:  "That actually is pretty good for a punk band."
        Yeah.  And it gets better.  Right after Metal Circus and Everything Falls Apart (both released in 1983) came:
        Zen Arcade, a double album recorded in one weekend in '84.  It was sort of a theme album, sort of a punk rock opera about a boy who grows up in a broken family, says screw everything, goes of on his own and finds out that life on his own really isn't much better than it was with his family.  He runs smack up against two of the hardest truths of life: you have to take responsibility for your own actions, and the grass really isn't greener on the other side.  It's just different.  And it can be just as crappy, but crappy in a different way.
        Over the course of three parts (one part per side), the main character moves from feeling enraged and trapped at home, to moving out and lashing out like a spoiled child, to having his girlfriend OD and die, and then having to reconcile himself with the world.  The fourth part (fourth side) is an epilogue and then a long, psychedelic instrumental jam.
        Zen Arcade broke all the rules of punk, and there still isn't another punk album like it.  For one thing, it's long.  Another thing is it has a structure-- sorta-- because was some friction between Mould and Hart.
        Mould wanted to make a theme album and Hart didn't.  But somehow they did-- Hart still sorta operated within Mould's parameters, sorta.  And the tension and chaos the two created seems to only highlight the disintegration and fragmentation of the main character.
       Anyway, there's a structure, and a story of sorts about something fairly real-- not just pointless despair, posturing about anarchy, and whining about girlfriends and drugs.  The music is driving and angry, but also mostly accessible.  There are semi-poppish numbers-- maybe harsher than today's punk-pop, but still in their own way fairly catchy.  There are also short blasts of sound that are just thrashing walls of rage with Mould and Hart screaming at the tops of their lungs, but there are also quiet, acoustic moments.  There's some 60s-ish garage-sounding stuff.  And there are also a couple of slow, minimal piano instrumentals that call to mind (of all things) Brian Eno.  In some songs drum tracks and guitars are played backwards, and in others forwards, depending on the atmospheres each song requires.  Sometimes voices have reverb and effects.  There's an experimental sound-collage on side three-- that's also the side that has most of the piano stuff.  And then of course there's that 14-minute psychedelic jam at the end.  The album is like a white-hot blast of genius.  Rough, but poppy, by turns experimental and accessible-- an amazing fusion of punk rock and art rock that has yet to be equaled.  It does suffer from muddy recording, unfortunately, but in a way that just makes you listen more closely to the whole thing and gives you a chance to pick out the nuances.  All three members of the band were in fine, tight form.  (And Norton's bass playing is excellent.  Not many people talk much about Greg Norton, but he was a really good, really edgy bassist.)  And I get the same pleasure listening to Zen Arcade that other people do Miles Davis and fine dub.  It keeps you on edge.  Stylistically, the album is all over the map.  On first listen, you never know what the next song will be like.  And yet all the different parts fit into a cohesive whole.  Zen Arcade is studio-savvy, intelligent, well-played, and filled with energy and brilliance.  And it was all recorded in one take over a weekend.  80 hours straight, the story goes.
        There's a story that when the Velvet Underground released their first album, everyone who heard it went and formed their own band.  Zen Arcade has that exact kind of inspiring vibe.
        Bob:  "Huh...."
        Yeah, and then came New Day Rising which is another near-perfect blast of hard, edgy, angry, and sad music.  The cover shows a beach at sunrise, and a couple of dogs playing in the water, and if you listen to the title track, the first track, which is just Mould yelling "new day rising" over and over again over a wall of high-end guitars, you can practically feel that sun coming up, feel that beach in the middle of summer.  It's maybe one of the most joyous things I have ever heard.  The rest of the album is pretty solid, and even when the playing is a little less than inspired, the lyrics are always pretty good.  And the title track, Hart's "Girl Who Lives On Heaven Hill" and "Books About UFOs," and Mould's "Celebrated Summer"-- which is maybe the very first song to do the "grunge" loud-soft-loud song structure-- make the whole thing totally worth while.  Even if you don't like the rest.  In fact, "Celebrated Summer" encapsulates the whole grunge nostalgia-rage-despair-sadness thing that so many other, lesser, bands have been trying to reach for years.  And this was in 1985.
        (One thing, though: you do need the lyrics in front of you to get the real Hüsker Dü feeling.  And they're always included.  In fact, I remember one interview with Mould where he pained a picture of the perfect Hüsker Dü fan as someone who sits down,. or lies down, holding the lyric sheet, and while listening to the record reads along.)
        And then the other album that came out in 1985 was Flip Your Wig.  Hüsker Dü was staring to get kind of radio-oriented, but in no way was it losing its edge.  More catchy songs.  And then some playful stuff, and a couple of short instrumentals round out the album.  Again, arty, smart, emotional, and musically very tight.
        Bob:  "Oh yeah, before I forget, what the hell does 'Hüsker Dü' mean anyway?"
        It's Scandinavian for "remember when."  They got the name from a board game.  I've never played the actual Hüsker Dü game so I don't really know what it's like.  It is kind of a distinctive name for a band, though.
        Bob:  "Yeah.  It does seem substantial.  Sorta.  Or at least like something a bunch of angry Vikings would yell."
        It's also pronounced "hoo-sker doo."  Not the soft U sound lots of people use.  Not just "husker doo."
        Bob:  "But still, an LP and an EP in one year, then a double LP the next year, the two LPs the following year?  That's pretty ambitious."
        They were an explosion.  This isn't even including other little singles and stuff.  The reason they released two LPs in one year was because they promised their label (SST) they weren't going to follow up a double album with another double.  So they just snuck out two records instead-- one at the beginning of the year, one at the end.
        And people were starting to pay attention to them.  Both fans and critics loved Hüsker Dü.  They were on the verge of achieving huge mainstream, and artistic, critical success.  They always came up in the same breath as R.E.M.  In fact, that's how I heard about them initially-- they were being compared to R.E.M.
        "How?"
        Basically, Stipe and company were the soft, more jangly, surreal and introspective new musical saviors.  Hüsker Dü were the loud, abrasive, intelligent, realistic, in-your-face new musical saviors.  Both bands were experimental and yet accessible, very tight and yet playful.  They were both perpetually reinventing genres they themselves helped create.
        Sort of like two extreme poles of the same thing.
        And both were equally influential.
        And I know the Pixies had listened to Hüsker Dü because when Black Francis (Frank Black-- Charles Dodgson-- whatever the hell his name is now) was advertising for a bass player way back when, he put up posters saying he were looking for people to form a band with a "Peter Paul & Mary / Hüsker Dü sound."  The only problem with that is that Hüsker Dü already had a Peter Paul & Mary / Hüsker Dü sound.
        And I know Nirvana also knew about Hüsker Dü.  Ditto pearl Jam.
        "What about Sonic Youth?"
        They were contemporaries, so they don't really count.  Although they may have been fans.  But I'm not sure.  I don't really see a lot of Hüsker Dü in Sonic Youth, though.
        But, really, all you need is the Pixies and Nirvana and then the rest of the grunge thing sorta follows-- or the "emo-core" movement as they were all called before they were grunge.
        "Emo-core?"
        Hardcore punk with "emotion."  Hence, "emo-core."  It was a short-lived term because it was stupid.
        "That doesn't stop some people."
        True enough.
        Anyway, back to New Day Rising for a minute:
        "Celebrated Summer" is a song that manages to get me, even now, years after I first heard it just after I graduated from highschool.  So it has a connection with me.  But, really, even before I accumulated memories around the song, the song still had a very similar effect.  It really does in a way capture the sadness of growing up.  And growing away from everything you loved.  Even though, even in the song, all the things you loved were also kinda rotten, too.
        And after New Day Rising and Flip Your Wig came only one album:
        Candy Apple Grey.  It was their Warner release, they got signed to the biggies.  And their sound got crisp and clean, not muddy and harsh like their earlier stuff-- but this worked to their advantage.  Candy Apple Grey is one of the few "punk" albums I've ever heard that really deals with honest emotions honestly.  Even though, it's kind of hard to call them "punk" at this stage.  They were just sort of some other kind of music, now.  Heavy, metal/punk influenced, thrashy-- but there were also some ballads and softer songs.  And that's nothing new now, but in 1986 it sure seemed new.  And besides, Mould's two sad songs are amazing.  They manage to be despairing without being whiny.  And they are depressing.  Not even remotely uplifting.  But somehow they manage to be so pure that they don't suffer from this.  They straddle a fine line between wallowing and resignation.
        And Hart's in fine form, too.
        After Candy Apple Grey came another double album:  Warehouse: Songs and Stories.  By this time, right when it seemed like they were poised to make a really significant impact in the music world-- they were getting enormous critical acclaim and their fanbase was growing-- and most of their core followers were still there, too, even after they supposedly "sold out" by getting signed to Warner-- right when they were about to hit it big, they broke up.
        "Why?"
        Mostly due to friction.  Bob Mould and Grant Hart never really got along that well.  Mould had cleaned up all his drug use and Hart was getting sucked into the pit of addiction.  And, also, maybe it was because they did what they had to do.  And so they stopped.
        Bob Mould did some solo stuff, and then formed Sugar which again had really good critical buzz, but it never really hit the heights that Hüsker Dü hit.  And then he continued on solo, and still records.  Some of it's pretty good, some less good.
        Grant Hart formed a band called Nova Mob that released a couple albums, but never really did much.  I think he might still be trying to record, but he's pretty obscure.
        Greg Norton became a chef.
        The thing is, Hüsker Dü had the grunge aesthetic before there was grunge:  The workshirt aesthetic, the pragmatic anger, the resignation-- all tempered with a far more realistic worldview than any grunge, or emo-core, or postpunk band that followed them.  The music is angry and unhappy, sure.  But they don't warble in tritely poignant falsettos about being compared to crushed pop cans lying in the rainy gutter, while some guy who can barely muster the energy to get out of bed blasts out a wall of distortion on a some crappy, detuned guitar.
        Listening to Hüsker Dü is like sitting down with a couple of angry guys who lay it all out on the table:  "Here, this is the way it is.  This is what sucks, and we probably can't change it.  But that still doesn't mean we can't think about it, or complain about it in an intelligent fashion.  But still, even when you're complaining, get a job and make sure you get to work on time because you still need a job because you still gotta eat."
        Looks-wise, they all dressed like average Joes, no weird piercings and tattoos-- Mould looked like a guy you could find at a grocery store, Hart had long hair, but it was just regular old long hair.  Norton did have a handlebar mustache, okay, that was weird-- but no weirder than the forced eccentricity of all those little slackers running around in the '90s with their self-consciously greasy hair and their stubby little goatees.  And, actually, at the time, because maybe he was the only person on the planet sporting handlebar mustache, it was sorta cool.
        And they were realists, not anarchists.
        Their lyrics were honest, not self-consciously primitive, and not overly florid.  They were solid.  Mould and Hart sang about stuff that was real to them, and did so honestly.  They didn't preach revolution, or proselytize about drugs and fucking.  Or whine about being sad and how God's so mean even though I don't believe in him.   They were about the here and now: going to school, getting a job, trying to relate to other people, getting by, and trying to deal with the inevitability of time.  And getting pissed off, sure.  Because you can't help that.
        And, as it goes, the older I get, and the more and more experiences I accrue, the more I can relate to Hüsker Dü's songs.  There's anger and rage in a lot of their music, but it's tempered with a pragmatic acceptance of the inherent faults of humanity.
        Hüsker Dü was a punk band for grownups.
        And now that the early '90s are starting to come back in vogue, maybe it's time to pull out the Hüsker Dü and take a listen to what artistic integrity sounds like, what good noisy, arty punk really is-- before all those imitators start crowding the airwaves again, with their whining and their din.  Because now that walls of guitars and whining are starting to come back (as if they ever really left) it's becoming totally obvious to me that "punk-pop," "emo-core," "grunge," whatever, still hasn't really progressed much beyond what Hüsker Dü set down.
        And, quite frankly, neither have we.  We've moved from the posturing anarchy of the punk rock '70s and '80s into the posturing apathy and artificial rage of the '90s, and now we're moving from that artificial anger into a state of simulated concern-- and throughout it all there's been only one constant: it's all a game.  We pretend to hate ourselves and the world, or we pretend to care about the "less fortunate," only when it's convenient and there's a hell of a party to be had-- all the while proselytizing about some vague, irrational Big Picture that must be dismantled, or taken down, or overthrown, or protested-- when in fact the only thing that really matters is getting through the day with your mind and soul intact.  Everything else is just play that's equally futile and fun.  Because the mechanisms we rail against are the very mechanisms that support us, allow us to rail-- and besides, these mechanisms are bigger than we are, they move and function on their own, and pivot on points that even the people in power don't fully understand because they're just people who are, ultimately, no better an no worse than you or me.  They have the same types of faults, believe the same types of things.  Anarchy and control are one and the same.
        So, either give up, or don't give up.  Love or hate, care or don't care.  You always end up in the same spot.  It all boils down to the same thing.
        We're all human in the exact same ways.
        A humanist message, maybe.  And maybe a little sappy.  But if you don't like it, fuck you.
        Thank you, and good night.

Next:  Something that's actually *not* a music review mascarading as a simplistic attempt at social criticism....
 

© 2002 Brian Cotts.
(If you'd like to be notified of further *30* postings, e-mail Brian at cbrian@lycos.com.).


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