SUCRE SONIC
|
SUGAR THE GRAND, LONDON THE weird thing was, it felt just like coming home. Weird, because Sugar are so obviously brand spanking, shiny new. That familiar moon face, that pained fallen-angel voice, the erratic enraged-moose charging across the stage, the bittersweet powerchords crashing through the night, and the fact that this time Bob Mould has found, in bassist David Barbe and drummer Malcolm Travis, two musicians who are |  |
Tonight, there probably weren't any quizzical voices asking "Huskie who" but it won't be long coming. The way Bob Mould shapes words and puts them inside a tune, wraps it all in sub melodies, then sprays everything with God-given guitar genius to make it all good enough to eat. You want 22-carat passion, go and see Sugar. The forthcoming album "Copper Blue" must have been played in its entirety tonight; whatever, the opening handful of gems, "The Act We Act", "A Good Idea", and |
|
drivers, not passengers. Two musicians who know what the f***'s going on. The birth of a band, the rebirth of Bob Mould. Love it. Last time around, when Bob Mould was still battling demons a few years back on his "solo" albums "Workbook" and "Black Sheets Of Rain", was a nightmare. Seeing him play live was akin to a psychiatrist charging admittance at his office door to watch people having nervous breakdowns. |
 'This time Bob Mould has found, in bassist David Barbe and drummer Malcolm Travis, two musicians who are drivers, not passengers. Two musicians who know what the f***'s going on. The birth of a band, the rebirth of Bob Mould. Love it' |
"Changes" showed how Barbe and Travis are at one with Mould's musical worldview. Then came "If I Can't Change Your Mind", three minutes of blazing meteor flawless pop perfection. Later, Barbe takes over vocal duties with a vengeance, which is okay cos he can sing fine, and it's a treat just to watch Mould lose himself in six-string fury. And he smiles more now, even if stage banter is virtually nil — we have to make do with a |
|
The problem then — well, there were many, not the least of which was Virgin Records — but the main problem was this band called Husker Du, and the fact that in their day they were the Best Band In The Galaxy, at least. And the fact that, as a follow-up, Bob Mould didn't have a band as such; he had these blokes who stood onstage with him and did all the right things, yet spiritually they may as well have been in the next town. |
|
good-natured crack about a five-second parking limit for stage divers. No more song titles, not until the raging encore of "JC Auto", in which Mould is screaming "I'm not Jesus Christ! No! I'm not...!" Not quite, Bob, not quite. Tonight, all manner of ghosts were laid to rest. Go buy "Copper Blue" next month, and find out how spoilt rotten you are. NEIL PERRY |