As Hüsker Dü plays the last chords of the night, they become savages unleashed. Mould flings his guitar off with one hand, beating the strings with the other as though putting out a fire. His amp thunders in electric mayhem, a train grinding its brakes on at full-speed.
Hart, after abusing the drum set in his way for over an hour, hurls his body into it like a fullback on the goal line. The pieces crash across the stage.
Watching this from a safe distance are four motionless college boys, dressed in nylon sports jackets, attending their first punk show. They point and laugh at the spectacle under the lights.
No, this is not an account of Bob Mould's appearance last night at First Avenue. Rather, these words come from a 1982 Mac Weekly article about the pre-legendary Husker Du. But Mould's return to his old stomping ground was very much the smackdown that WMCN's own Aaron M. speculated it might be. Try as he might to escape it, Bob has an insatiable need to rock out.
Hart, after abusing the drum set in his way for over an hour, hurls his body into it like a fullback on the goal line. The pieces crash across the stage.
Watching this from a safe distance are four motionless college boys, dressed in nylon sports jackets, attending their first punk show. They point and laugh at the spectacle under the lights.
No, this is not an account of Bob Mould's appearance last night at First Avenue. Rather, these words come from a 1982 Mac Weekly article about the pre-legendary Husker Du. But Mould's return to his old stomping ground was very much the smackdown that WMCN's own Aaron M. speculated it might be. Try as he might to escape it, Bob has an insatiable need to rock out.
posted by Geoff at
3:20 PM
1 Comments:
"They say, 'We hate the system, we hate the government, blah, blah, blah.' and look where they are—on fuckin' CBS, a huge corporate structure."
and from that moment forth, bob mould decided to never release his own music on a major label, and he never did.
the end
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