Bob Mould is a man always on the lookout for a new challenge. After Hüsker Dü (one of the most celebrated rock bands ever) folded in 1988, Mould would helm another powerful trio, Sugar, before beginning a fascinating, ongoing series of solo releases that have ranged from introspective to danceable, from melodic to nearly chaotic. The enigmatic guitar (and cultural) hero is finishing up what promises to be a fascinating memoir to be published next year and has just released a rock-solid solo disc, Life And Times. Read our new Q&A with him and earlier ones from 2008 and 2002. Mould will be guest editing magnetmagazine.com all this week.
Mould: In years past, I typically spent Memorial Day weekends relaxing with friends in Rehoboth Beach, Del. In 2008, the Bob Mould Band (I know, speaking of myself in the third person, in a way) was in Barcelona as a featured act of the celebrated Primavera Sound Festival, a three-day, multi-stage panoply of noise/punk/indie artists. Well, except for Rufus Wainwright, who I don’t think fits any of those three categories. The journey from the previous evening’s band performance (and my subsequent DJ set at yet another club) in Paris is 1,100 km, which translates to 10 hours in the splitter van. A tall blue box on wheels rented in Frankfurt, a fact we were constantly reminded of by passing vehicles filled with young Euros who care not for the Germans. The ride of a splitter van is akin to a glorified bread truck loaded down with six men, their luggage and the entirety of their stage gear. You can feel the road, all right.
Upon arriving, we all headed to the artists’ hotel to obtain our credentials. Once the unremovable cloth “Working” wristbands were attached and the meal tickets were distributed, Rich Morel (my keyboardist) and I abandoned our entourage. Because we were in Barcelona for three days, Rich and I opted to stay at Hotel Axel, which is, according to its website, a member of “the first hotel chain in the world focused on the gay community.” Rock festivals, when well-organized, can be great fun. But if I have days off during a tour and it doesn’t interfere with tour logistics, I prefer to stay with my gay brothers and sisters. After a very late night of bar hopping, Rich and I rejoined the troops at the festival site. That evening, we effortlessly rendered a top-notch show for a large and enthusiastic audience. After the set, the band and crew headed for the catering area. The usual cast of characters, including J Mascis and Lou Barlow, were milling about the dining hall. As I was settling into my seat with a fluffy dessert and a cup of coffee, I was approached by a young lad who was hobbling with the aid of a walking cane. As it turned out, it was Dean Spunt, the drummer/singer of No Age, a band whose music I had recently heard for the first time. We spoke for a few moments, got the mutual-appreciation part out of the way, and then I asked about the injured leg. Dean informed me that he had messed up his leg trying to avoid paying the bathroom fee at a Sanifair in Germany; specifically, by attempting to sneak through the “children’s entrance,” which was a three-foot cutout of a child, next to the pay turnstile. (Kids, don’t try this at home.) I did not attend No Age’s show that weekend but have since seen them many times. We even played two songs together a few months ago, at their Noise Pop gig in San Francisco. Dean and Randy Randall are good guys who make great music; equally important, they give back to their friends, peers and the scene from which they emerged. That’s real punk rock.
“Teen Creeps” (download):
