Anti-Climacus

When I posted on Nirvana way back at the beginning of August, I had in mind to include some comments on Nirvana as the acceptable edge of a bunch of stuff I don't care for--metal and hard rock and hardcore. Technical virtuosity has never been a point of interest for me. The 90s were, blissfully, a time in which it was easy--indeed expected--that aspiring guitar players should laugh at those with too much polish, who never quite grasped that music is about something other than playing a bunch of notes as quickly as possible. The point applies more broadly, as an endless debate point in classical music, or amongst those who argue the comparative merits of Cannonball Adderly and John Coltrane (or early-v-late Coltrane). And the avoidance of melody and tune as a stand-in for emotional angst always drew the metaphor a little too directly.

So, despite the herculean efforts of Michael Azerrad in Our Band Could Be Your Life, this is the only song of Husker Du's I ever managed to like. Their early, indie material is too dissonant, Bob Mould too unable to carry a tune (even here, I think his voice is pitched just a little flat). It pops up on mixes at appropriate moments, and has appeared on this fall's (with "Greetings to the New Brunette" and "The Whole of the Law"), and will be burned to a CD as soon as I can find my blank cds.