New Bob Mould coming
News that there will be three new Bob Mould albums this year made me think back. I was a big Hüsker Dü fan way back when. At one time, I thought SST was the record label that would change the world. But given what I’ve been reading today, I thought of a new slant on an old part of the punk aesthetic.
The Minutemen and Hüsker Dü used to print the lyrics to their songs in square blocks of text with no line breaks. It seemed annoying at first, but later it seemed downright conversational. Now that I think about it again, it was rebellion against the verse / chorus / verse structure of traditional rock and roll. Looking at the textual patterns, I see parataxis at work.
Oral memory is a chained thing: it is paratactic, and composed with mostly conjunctive phrases with no subordination. Hypotaxis, or the use of subordinate clauses (such as an embedded chorus) is really a product of literacy. Oral tales seldom exactly repeat, they repeat with variations on a theme. This is done in a few rock tunes, but not many. Purging the rock influence also meant purging the verse / chorus / verse structure. These habits have stayed with a few writers, like Bob Mould. Though doesn’t always stick to it, he seems to be incredibly effective when he does. I was looking at one of my favorite songs of his, “Hanging Tree” from his second solo record and it follows the old pattern:
Another exit on the freeway another bridge I cannot bear to cross alone and I’ve been on the mend I’ve been getting ready to change my name again and once I had a love so fair once I had a reason to keep on left a paragraph taped up on my door it said don’t wait up cause I’m not coming home so I’ve been driving far and wide to find my call in life I’ve been looking for a place where I belong I guess a little pain never killed anyone I guess I feel that way again I can’t come clean I cannot stay got no reason to explain I’ve been here too long I need a change and I hope you’ll understand stained glass window never gonna carry my name been laid to rest in a field of sticks and stones and above my head all that’s left are footsteps of some kid too young too far away from home so don’t send me invitations to your big parade place of residence unknown in my eyes there is no compromise there is no calm before the storm these things happen all the time should I throw myself from the hanging tree? is there a place for those of us who don’t belong I haven’t found it yetI know these feelings well, and I still haven’t got past them. Now I understand better why these things need not be broken up on a page. They aren’t broken up in life.
It goes on and on and on in an endless narrative. Some people do things. Some people get hurt. Some people express it all too well.
Like Bob Mould.
Not to ignore the more erudite context of your post (well, okay, to ignore it completely), I just wanted to chime in and say that "Black Sheets of Rain", and in particular, "Hanging Tree", at extremely high volume, helped me survive many years ago through one of the most emotionally painful times in my life. Given that I did survive, the memory of the pain, and the out-on-the-precipice wail of Bob's voice singing about his own pain, are good memories for me now. Thanks for sparking the recollection.