(St. Paul, Minnesota) Just finished choosing and packing lenses and charging batteries for tonight. I’m really looking forward to this. I saw Mudhoney back in 2019 and really got my bell rung. I left with an intense post-concert high. That feeling is why I love my job.
And I remember wondering about Mark Arm while wandering aimlessly through downtown Minneapolis that night in 2019: how does one discover that they’re talented at scream-singing in the first place? (trying it, I suppose?). He’s perfected his undeniably amazing open-throttle voice over the decades, and today his band is one of the few from the 90’s “grunge” era still recording new material. Their new one, Plastic Eternity, was recorded in only nine days starting with only song fragments and riffs, and it’s brilliant.
Oh, and about that “G” word. Once in an interview, Ed Vedder of Pearl Jam was asked what he thought of grunge. He said nothing and just scratched his two front teeth and checked his fingernails to see if he found any. Calling it “grunge” just gives people like Gene Simmons an opening to say ridiculous things like “Rock is dead” when only his style of it is, but I suppose such labels make music easier to write about for some.
I’ve always equated the Seattle-driven early 90’s era of rock to what happened in music in the late 60s, when people lost interest in safe and corporate sonic product and responded to what was happening at the grass roots, leaving the corporations holding the bag and having to sign bands that an entire generation decided were more real. I really hope I live to see the next revolution, because ubiquitous hip-pop has become tiresome. I avoid it like it’s a barking COVID cough and I usually only hear it in Ubers. But not tonight. Tonight my driver got tipped just because he loves Jazz.
I bid him a good night and a good life and stepped into the Turf Club and was greeted by their friendly staff who took one look at me and decided I needed a Red Bull on the house (I’ll sleep when I’m dead). We chatted. Doors had just opened and only a few people milled around. The general consensus among the bartenders was “Holy Shit! Mudhoney!” and also “Holy Shit! Bob Mould!” (The Hüsker Dü legend plays there later this month.)
Sold Out show (Mudhoney)
Lots of vinyl at the merch table (Mudhoney)
Movement in the corner of my eye. I turned to the stage and watched as members of Hooveriii (pronounced “Hoover Three”) collaborated with the crew and sound-jockeys to get things right. It would start soon, so I wandered over and viewed the stage from various perspectives to see who would be blocking who, and how to solve that. Once my eye meets the viewfinder those solutions become immediately clear.
Hooveriii are truly great, and interestingly, they are a different band onstage than what Apple Music dished up last night. The couple albums I checked out were laid back and chill for rock music, which it is. You could almost nap to those albums, which is not a cut-down. At all. That’s a hard trick to pull off with rock. Think of the haunted cavernous sound of Joy Division records. But like Joy Division was, onstage they are a completely different monster. They really bash it out, and it amped up the place for Mudhoney to full charge.
Bert Hoover (Hooveriii)
Gabe Flores (Hooveriii)
Kaz Merblouk (Hooveriii)
James Novick (Hooveriii)
Hooveriii onstage
During their fascinating performance, I needed to retrieve something out of my kitbag which was to the side of the stage and safely behind the ropes. After my rummage, I stood up and found myself standing next to Mudhoney’s Mark Arm, who was taking in the set. I tapped him on the shoulder and, without saying anything, cocked my head toward the stage – toward Hooveriii – with a plainly impressed look on my face. He, also without saying anything, agreed wholeheartedly with a solid nod. Then I got back to work. Click click click.
Bert Hoover (Hooveriii)
Bert Hoover (Hooveriii)
Bert Hoover (Hooveriii)
Bert Hoover (Hooveriii)
Owen Barett (Hooveriii)
Hooveriii setlist
When they finished to roaring applause, crew members started simultaneously tearing down and setting up the stage for Mudhoney with all the efficiency of a NASCAR pit crew, so I went to the bar for a quick shot and ran into an old friend. Bill took one look and immediately accused me of shoplifting, pointing to the fact that every pocket on my person was bulging.
“Lenses,” I explained.
“You goof! How many do you have on you?”
“Six. No wait, seven. The one in my right eye counts.”
The stage and the capacity crowd (this show was sold out) suddenly started making a lot more noise so I bought Bill’s next drink, took my leave, and found a spot front and off-center as gleeful cheering broke out while Steve Turner (lead guitar), Dan Peters (drums), and Guy Maddison (bass) took their places and made themselves at home. When Mark Arm joined them everybody lost their mind, putting a wry smile on Arm’s face. And then it was on. Explosively on. They launched into ”If I Think” from their 1988 debut EP, then “Drinking For Two”, “Move Under” (off the new album), “Nerve Attack” from 2018’s Digital Garbage, “Get Into Yours,“ and “Souvenier Of My Trip” (both also new).
Mark Arm’s pedalboard (Mudhoney)
Mudhoney
Mark Arm (Mudhoney)
Steve Turner (Mudhoney)
Guy Maddison (Mudhoney)
There were no breaks between these, and zero stage banter to hamper their momentum, which gained with every song. So by the time their first-song-from-first-record manifesto “Touch Me I’m Sick” hit the crowd several songs later, the oblivion one experiences at a hardcore punk show was in full force. They didn’t play “The Money Will Roll Right In” and I didn’t even notice until the next day. It wasn’t about specific songs, at least to me. It was more of an extended experience of the band’s iconic sound.
Mudhoney
Mark Arm (Mudhoney)
Mark Arm (Mudhoney)
Mark Arm (Mudhoney)
Steve Turner (Mudhoney)
Machine-gunning us with song after song without respite, is extremely smart for this type of band. Their energy never dips and our energy keeps rising. There wasn’t exactly a mosh pit, it was more like a mosh bar, all the way back to the doors at times, but always just short of true mayhem. We are, after all, Minnesotans. (But basement shows here are as harrowing as anywhere else in the world).
Guy Maddison (Mudhoney)
Mark Arm and Dan Peters (Mudhoney)
Mark Arm (Mudhoney)
Mark Arm’s Hangstrom III (Mudhoney)
Mudhoney’s set, like in 2019 (If I am remembering correctly), was divided into fourths. The setlist at their feet this time even had division lines to keep things organized in four sections. I could very easily be wrong but I think the set breakdown is: 1. Songs Mark plays with his Gretch, 2. Songs he plays with his Hangstrom III, 3. Songs he doesn’t play guitar on at all, and 4. Back to his Gretch. When he’s not wearing a guitar at the mic stand, he’s a captivating performer who uses the entire stage and his entire body.
Steve Turner (Mudhoney)
Mark Arm (Mudhoney)
Mark Arm (Mudhoney)
Mark Arm (Mudhoney)
Mark Arm (Mudhoney)
And the rest of Mudhoney is just as talented as Arm. Dan Peters is terribly underrated and thunderous. Holding his sticks high over his head before every song and then becoming a blur. Australian bassist Guy Madison is nimble and loose but in complete lockstep with Peters’ tight focus. Meanwhile Steve Turner is straight-up brilliant, knowing when to lay off the fuzz and when to pour it on. A very serious technical player. That word “nimble” applies to him as well.
Mark Arm (Mudhoney)
Mark Arm (Mudhoney)
Mark Arm (Mudhoney)
Mark Arm (Mudhoney)
Mark Arm (Mudhoney)
As I write this I am earbudding their 1988 Live album Need, and just now – between songs – Arm advises his audience “Pull down your pants if you like us!” He pauses. Then, a tad dejected: “Nobody likes us.” I beg to differ. I would have definitely dropped my trousers, perhaps instigating a small nudie revolution. Or just been 86ed and arrested and made the evening news with my bewildered mugshot over the shoulder of a talking head with a perfect haircut. A small price to become an extremely microscopic footnote in one great band’s history.
When it was finally over, I had that glazed-over look on my face – that post concert high – the entire ride home, my memory pulling up half-remembered photographs I’d caught but not yet really looked at, and the trace of Mark’s voice ringing in my ears down the lamplit highway home.
Guy Maddison (Mudhoney)
Mark Arm (Mudhoney)
Steve Turner (Mudhoney)
Mudhoney’s setlist
Images/Article: Joe Cunningham
