This writer felt pretty sad when former Husker Du/ Sugar frontman and all-round Alterna-rock legend BOB MOULD announced in 1998 that the self-explanatory 'Last Dog & Pony Show' would be the last time he'd release an album of quality emotional bloodletting with cranked guitars to the fore and tout it around the globe. Having spent longer than is probably healthy poring over lacerating classics like 'Zen Arcade', 'Candy Apple Grey' and 'Copper Blue', this reviewer was unremittingly sad that day and imagined that really was probably that where Mould was concerned.
And, in reality, while there have been a couple of patchy solo Mould releases in the meantime, it did look as though the days of Bob making that irresistible noise (c'mon, you know the way his trademark self-doubt melts into your brain and that divine racket he can kick up with the right henchmen whacks you simultaneously in the gut) were finally over. And then a couple of weeks ago it arrived: a new 'noisy' Bob Mould album! On Beggars Banquet! With Brendan Canty from Fugazi on drums! Whooo!!
And the great news is that it IS worth getting worked up about once again, for 'District Line' - the result of the "very positive experience" of Bob moving to Washington DC five years back - is consistently great, with excellent songwriting to the fore and Mould, Canty (and occasionally cellist Amy Domingues) kicking up a mighty racket that's somewhere between Sugar's 'Copper Blue' and the best of Mould's 'Workbook' solo album. Yeah. Like I said, it's worth getting excited about.
Opener 'Stupid Now' gets the pulse racing quickly. It's classic plaintive Bob: all ringing guitars, hangdog vocals, the lowing of Domingues' cello aiding and abetting and Canty's drums doing an inimitible nervous heartbeat thing. There's the occasional shading of electronica (more of that later) and - yesss! - one of those wonderful, cauterising, Sugar-style sunbursts of a chorus that we've all missed so much. It's marvellous, as is the ensuing 'Who Needs To Dream?': a shimmering rush of a thing, propelled along by Canty's majestic drumming and the first of a brace of elegantly descriptive guitar solos from Mould. The fatalistic lyrics ("I don't want to dream about the future/ I only hope I can make it to tomorrow") are quintessential Bob, too, and boy is it good to have him back in such rude health.
Brilliantly, most of what follows is equally top-notch. Songs like the turbulent 'Return To Dust' ("and in the end, return to dust/ and in the end, return we must") and the chugging, catchy new single 'The Silence Between Us' again recall Sugar at their mightiest, as does 'Very Temporary', where the path of love is again riven with danger and Bob's heart snags on the curves ("you're the reason I keep breathing and I'll give up the fight if you go/ cut out my heart with a razor now") although the emotional motherlode is carried along in exhilarating fashion by the song's vintage power-pop blast.
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At other times, Mould and co are equal to the challenge of something more complex. 'Miniature Parade' is again pushed along superbly by Canty's drumming and is almost Beatloid in design (piano, counterpoint basslines, great organ colouring) though typically strident. Even better is the smouldering, semi-acoustic folk-rocker 'Again And Again', which is - I hope - a song of leaving rather than suicide ("watch me walk the ledge, I am comfortable out here by myself/ you could never reach me here") buoyed up by Domingues' cello, a gloriously liquid, Richard Thompson-style solo from Mould and simply resonating with hurt.
Indeed, it's a tribute to Mould and his team's talent that even the album's one major concession to electronica ("Shelter Me") sounds natural and even something of a dark horse in the highlight stakes. The idea of Bob Mould getting down and strutting his stuff on the dancefloor might sound faintly ridiculous, but this is a sleek slice of discoid pop that works well on its' own terms and - unlike previous experiments such as 'Megamanic' - sounds intriguing and forward-looking rather than merely an aberration.
'District Line', then, is an exhilarating return to form from one of the best. It's taken new surroundings, a new team and the best part of a decade to get there, but such considerations seem worthless as soon as Bob Mould plugs in, bares his soul and reminds us that where emotional disillusionment set to surging, anthemic hardcore pop is concerned, he not only wrote the book but had a sequel in mind all along.
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