As rock critics line up in droves to shower steep praise upon the most accessible album of Bob Mould's career, Sunshine Rock, we at The Shit felt it might be more worthwhile to revisit the former Hüsker Dü guitarist's most ambitious and divisive effort, Modulate, an album that saw Mould ditch the guitars, drums, and backing band in favor of synths, samplers, and the almighty vocoder.
While the results left much to be desired, one had to hand it to Mould for going to such lengths to find inspiration after doing about as much as could be expected within the limitations of the tried and true guitar-bass-drums combo.
Like any musician who has spent a large amount of their time on the road playing the same songs each night, the last thing you want to do when you get home is fire up the guitar amp and make the same damn noise to a crowd consisting of the family cat.
One suspects that this is what led Mould to reach for a synthesizer instead of a Strat, at which point this legendary purveyor of punk found unexpected solace in the ability to create atmospheric songscapes without disturbing the neighbors.
For most artists, switching up their musical color palette brings out an entirely new way of crafting songs, but in Mould's case, the songs remain largely the same, but there is no longer a need to scream over a wall of guitars and drums, so Mould's vocals are able to take an a level of nuance otherwise unheard in his guitar-based music.
In fact, at times, Mould's vocals take on an almost Peter Gabriel-like quality that you wish he wasn't so intent on burying them in the mix, processing them with heavy effects, or running them through Autotune (GASP!).
Unlike, say, Trent Reznor's work with Nine Inch Nails wherein every sound is painstakingly tweaked until all traces of spontaneity have been removed, there is a chaotic quality to songs like "Sunset Safety Glasses" and "Semper Fi" that proves Mould's intent here is to recapture that immediacy and venom he originally found in punk rock.
By the midway point of the record, Mould can't resist picking up the guitar and giving perplexed fans a taste of the familiar on "Slay/Sway" and "The Receipt". Predictably, both songs comprise the album's high point.
"Quasar", "Soundonsound", and "Comeonstrong" continue in much the same vein, making you wonder if Mould's fascination with electronica seems to have run out of gas or if he's just trying to keep long-time fans engaged.
"Trade", a song that's been kicking around in Mould's "workbook" since 1987, finally sees the light of day here and masterfully bridges the gap between both worlds and cries out for release as a single. Truth be told, it ranks among the best work of his career so it is a bit of a shame to see it buried near the end of the record.
Album closer "Author's Lament" is a pulsating piano-based commentary on, we presume, the need for commerce-based institutions to pigeonhole artists for easy mass consumption. If this had been a Sugar tune, a line such as "Inside this box I spend most of my days" would have been lost in the onslaught of guitar. Here, however, it hangs in the air long enough for the meaning to be absorbed.
Just as the song seems to be building towards something resembling a climactic payoff, though, it begins fading out. In that sense, it is much like the album itself: Ambitious, soul-searching, and chaotic, but ultimately too timid to fully commit to complete reinvention.
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