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>>Where Have All The Good Times Gone?: Mudhoney
Raleigh, N.C. The members of Mudhoney are sitting around a picnic table, the canopy of the hospitality tent shielding their sore heads from the strong Carolina sun. Vedder walks over, escorting the kids who got thrown out of the club last night. They seem more thrilled to see Mudhoney than to be hobnobbing with Pearl Jam. Arm is very pleased to see that the Mudhoney dressing room is stocked with Sierra Nevada beer. Peters is refusing to wear his jersey tonight. A woman from Tannis Root, the T-shirt company that handles Mudhoney's merchandise, is trying to guilt him into wearing the shirt she designed. "The problem is," says Peters, "I still have a little pride left." During Mudhoney's set, Gossard, Mike McCready and Matt Cameron (formerly of Soundgarden and now playing drums for Pearl Jam) watch from the side of the stage. Despite all his protest, Peters is wearing his jersey. The band turns in a tight yet joyless set. Once again, the reserved seating in front of the stage is nearly empty, illustrating the disconnect between Mudhoney and the Pearl Jam fans they're playing to more succinctly than the polite smattering of applause that greets the end of each song. Pearl Jam's music is tied to high-school and college memories, slow dances and car sex. Mudhoney's audience is - or, maybe more appropriately, was - record collectors, cranky cultists and self-righteous indie kids, the malingerers lurking beneath the valley of the underdog. Pearl Jam fans went to their prom; Mudhoney fans went to a kegger in the woods. Back in the dressing room, the toilet overflows and Lukin is called in to do plumbing chores. One of Pearl Jam's staff is regaling Arm and Turner with stories about her days working for Axl Rose. They chortle with contempt as the dirty laundry list of backstage excess, misogyny, egomania and stupidity unfurls. Onstage, Vedder is relaying the tale about the kids he inadvertently got kicked out at the Cat's Cradle, because "some celebrity asshole bought them a beer Tonight, they have backstage passes and a beer." Mudhoney catches a ride on Pearl Jam's chartered luxury jet. All around the backstage area, the word "bonzo" is posted (as in "tonight, we bonzo"), meaning the minute the last note rings out, Pearl Jam is hustled to a series of vans that take the band directly to the airport where a plane is waiting on the tarmac. Arm is impressed that Michael Jackson once used the same plane. The Gloved One is the subject of sordid fascination for Arm. Last Christmas, Arm gave friends copies of the tawdry tell-all, I Was Michael Jackson's Lover.
Atlanta, Ga. Backstage, as the band members towel off and slip out of their jerseys, there's a knock at the door. It's Vedder's assistant, who reportedly used to work for Joey Ramone. He hands Lukin a mysterious package wrapped in newspaper. Closing the door and tearing back the newsprint, he pulls out a brand new bong and holds it aloft with the pride of an Academy Award winner. "Excellent," Lukin says, with his trademark scratchy voice. It seems Vedder's assistant has an endorsement deal with the Graphic Boy Bong Company. "Cool," says Peters with a surfer-dude drawl. "Let's roast a bowl!" Wafting away the clouds of sweet, skunky smoke that now envelop the dressing room, Arm fields my questions about Tomorrow Hit Today. The LP is the final option on the band's contract with its label and, as such, different rules applied this time. In the past, the band would get a budget of $150,000, record for $10,000 and pocket the rest. Not this time. "What we don't spend goes back to the record company, so we figured, 'Why not spend the money?'" he says with a shrug. For the first time in its career, Mudhoney hired the services of a name producer. For $25,000, the band got Memphis swamp-rock guru Jim Dickinson, the man who recorded Big Star's Sister Lovers and the Replacements' Pleased To Meet Me and played piano on the Rolling Stones' "Wild Horses." Another $25,000 went toward Dave Bianco's mixing services. The L.A. studio where the final mixes were done had its own hot tub. But the remaining $100,000 clearly went into the tracks. The songs are taut, lucid and fully developed. Tomorrow Hit Today is easily the best record the band has put out since its "Touch Me I'm Sick" single. But a decade later, with grunge but a gray-sky flannel memory, will anyone care? "I would be happy with anything more than indifference," says Arm. Is this Mudhoney's last hurrah? "The first single was the last hurrah," says Arm. "Every record since has been the last hurrah. It's the last hurrah that keeps going." |