10 Songs, 42 Minutes

EDITORS’ NOTES

At 47, Bob Mould isn’t growing mellow. The former Husker Du / Sugar leader still maintains his sonic edge with plenty of loud, aggressive guitar and a continued interest in the electronic manipulations of the recording studio. Mould likes heavenly reverbs and the occasional keyboard bed to expand his universe, but he never loses his ear for the song. With the help of Fugazi drummer Brendan Canty and cellist Amy Domingues, Mould balances between the natural punk momentum of his musical history and the emotional maturity that befits a man who has worked through personal pain to come to an inner peace. Songs still struggle with identity and life’s unexpected turns, but where Mould once mired in despair, he now finds escape hatches in the exquisitely contoured melodies of “The Silence Between Us,” “Who Needs to Dream?” and the six-minute album closer “Walls in Time.” Mould’s voice has never sounded better, offering bittersweet twists — a sandpaper scratch for “Stupid Now,” a smooth croon for “Shelter Me.” All musicians should age this well.

EDITORS’ NOTES

At 47, Bob Mould isn’t growing mellow. The former Husker Du / Sugar leader still maintains his sonic edge with plenty of loud, aggressive guitar and a continued interest in the electronic manipulations of the recording studio. Mould likes heavenly reverbs and the occasional keyboard bed to expand his universe, but he never loses his ear for the song. With the help of Fugazi drummer Brendan Canty and cellist Amy Domingues, Mould balances between the natural punk momentum of his musical history and the emotional maturity that befits a man who has worked through personal pain to come to an inner peace. Songs still struggle with identity and life’s unexpected turns, but where Mould once mired in despair, he now finds escape hatches in the exquisitely contoured melodies of “The Silence Between Us,” “Who Needs to Dream?” and the six-minute album closer “Walls in Time.” Mould’s voice has never sounded better, offering bittersweet twists — a sandpaper scratch for “Stupid Now,” a smooth croon for “Shelter Me.” All musicians should age this well.

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