The Bowery Ballroom
Mudhoney

Mudhoney

Endless Boogie

Sun, May 12, 2013

Doors: 8:00 pm / Show: 9:00 pm

The Bowery Ballroom

New York, NY

$20 advance / $25 day of show

This event is 21 and over

Mudhoney
Mudhoney
Every now and then, a combination will go beyond "appropriate" or "good" and result in something that forever alters the universe. Just imagine a world without chocolate and peanut butter, Doc Martens and a leather jacket, Beavis and Butthead, and of course, Mudhoney and Sub Pop. April 2013 marks the 25th anniversary of both Mudhoney and Sub Pop Records, and there could be no better band to represent the label, past, present and future. Nirvana, Saint Etienne and Fleet Foxes are swell, but no other group has consistently kicked as much ass as Mudhoney, nor has anyone come close. Through two and a half decades, sarcastic grins remain implanted on their grizzled faces, even as empty bottles and the sneakers of a stage-diver fly inches from their heads.

Along with this milestone celebration, Mudhoney have bestowed Vanishing Point upon us. It's not their first album. Or third. Or seventh. Vanishing Point is Mudhoney's ninth studio album, a truly remarkable feat for any band, but almost statistically-impossible in their case, as we are talking about a band whose 1988 debut Touch Me I'm Sick b/w Sweet Young Thing Ain't Sweet No More was such a volatile and desperate single that it's miraculous the band made it through a weekend, let alone another year. In an age where only the newest of the new can survive (and even then, only for a few weeks at best), what could the decades-old Mudhoney have to offer? What could they possibly have left to say?

The answer is plenty. Whereas most groups originally (wrongly or otherwise) associated with the grunge movement have broken up, fallen apart, reunited as shells of their former selves or disappeared entirely (I'm looking at you, Sugartooth), Mudhoney kept on kicking out the garage-rocking, punk-infused, psycho-blues jams, ignoring the trends of the day in favor of scorching feedback, rumbling bass and the inimitable voice of Mark Arm. Vanishing Point is full of that fervor, but the band isn't masquerading as teenaged, beer-soaked goofballs wandering high school hallways—these are songs written from the rare vantage point of a band who went through the rock 'n' roll meat-grinder and not only lived to tell such a tale, they came out full of the wisdom and dark humor such a journey provides. Just take a listen to "I Don't Remember You," a raucous stomper that flicks off the wannabes and hangers-on that still come around while Mudhoney attempt to buy some eggs at the store. Or take "I Like It Small," a rallying cry for the little things in life, literally—Mark Arm proudly holds GG Allin above Long Dong Silver and dingy basements over esteemed music halls, not because he should, but because it's what Mudhoney has always favored: the dirty, the dejected, the fearless and free. They're sophisticated enough to rally against the UGG boots of wines, chardonnay, but they do so in the form of a punk-rock riot song that breaks the bottle over your head before pouring it down the drain. Of course, it's not long before Mudhoney receive their comeuppance, devoured at the hands of the decadently rich cannibals that control our world in "The Final Course." Vanishing Point is filled with enough dread, psychoanalysis and Nuggets-on-fire riffs to torch your cul-de-sac.

Real uninhibited rock music is harder and harder to locate these days, but Mudhoney make it easy for you, not just by being the flagship band of the greatest record label in the history of recorded time, but by writing songs that stick in your head long after your body has been buried. Vanishing Point isn't just another entry in their impressive catalog, but a modern-day rock 'n' roll lashing that we all deserve. As usual, Mark Arm says it best, as in "Sing This Song of Joy": I sing this song of joy / for all the girls and boys / dancing on your grave…

—Matt Korvette
Endless Boogie
Endless Boogie
Outta the gate I gotta say writin' about a release called 'Full House Head' & failin to mention J Geils Band is harder than findin' a white bean in a black cat's ass. Not that I got anything against 'em, hell, the ex-Mr. Faye Dunaway had that ass whoopin' comin' from me in Louisville back 'round 75. And like I told Seth Justman that night too "I got a Hotline for ya, shorty; my fist up side your head". Think It Over indeed, my little Beantown bud.

And while we's is on the subject of a thumpin', how about this new knockout from Endless Boogie what's called 'Full House Head'? It's done got me all riled up! Over the course of more than a decade long career I've watched this bunch morph from mutant hominid bar choogle to luxuriating' in fissions that split open a portal what connected Coloured Balls & Velvet Underground to now redefinin' what Rock IS in the 2nd decade of the 21st Century. The production's spiffier, the rhythm's cagier, the solo's sharper & the singin, witchier. It's comfort y'all, the comfort to rock it both languorously & intricately. This zone is short of pretense & long in talent. Given the breadth of the excellence what's passed through afore, you might spin this & hear everything from Patto note moaners & Groundhogs riffage, to Seeds-like chatter or even goddamn 'Exile era Stones texturalization. But it ain't none of that, cause it can't be. The future is always steeped in the past & originality is invested in those who don't dial it in. And Endless Boogie most certainly walk it like they rock it. This may be called. Full House Head', but you can beat me with a corncob harmonica & call me Magic Dick if the contents therein ain't that of a Royal Flush Jam.
Venue Information:
The Bowery Ballroom
6 Delancey St
New York, NY, 10002
http://www.boweryballroom.com/