There’s nothing wrong with a touch of nostalgia – hell, we don’t know where we’re going unless we know where we’ve been. Or some such. So go visit those old haunts, pull on that old t-shirt that really must have been less ripped-stretch-fit at some point, by all means, if it makes you feel better about yourself. Do what they do on the telly and call that girl who gave you her number 23 years ago. She’s happy and married without you, loser, but whatever. She always is. And we knew it had been a while, though we’d not hazarded a guess at the literal figure. To see 19 years written down is frankly a touch unsettling. 19 years since the classic Dinosaur Jr (J Mascis, Lou Barlow & Murph) laid down squealing proto-grunge classic ‘Bug’ and promptly buckled then imploded – leaving J Mascis to presume the name as his own and pull it through the 90s alt-rock heartland with varying degrees of success. 19 whole years.
What the most unsettling this is though, is how little they’ve changed. And by little we mean not at all. Seriously, do a blindfolded taste test on random punter in the high street outside Superdrug and they’d be hard pushed to work out which had been sat festering in a plastic beaker for the best part of two decades and which is freshly squeezed. It’s almost like someone hit pause at the end of ‘Don’t’ on ‘Bug’ in 1988, dusted off the tape deck in early 2007 and had ‘Almost Ready’ spluttering into life back at them. It’s like somebody accidentally knocked the lid off the sealed jar of creaking guitar licks on the shelf that subsequently ricochet around the room, wire and buzzing. Bearing that in mind, the record can’t help but be a resounding bloody victory.
Yeah, so you wonder where the wealth of experience gathered in the 19 year interim has got to (rugged lo-fi strides with Sebadoh, collaborating with Kevin Sheilds, Primal Scream and so on), and think about how the returning Mission Of Burma in a similar position push the boundaries like never before, but then considering the faultless reproduction of past glories wrapped in vaguely new shapes here you just don’t care. ‘Crumble’ and ‘Been There All The Time’ take up the Neil-Young-on-PCP end of their mantle perfectly, ‘Lightening Bolt’ and ‘Pick Me Up’ the rougher Husker Du aspect and ‘We’re Not Alone’ and ‘What If I Knew’ taking a mellower Lemonheads-esque alt country tack. Those of you who think that J Mascis’ career has just been one long winding guitar solo thus far will be proved right yet again, but he’s hammered into position by Lou Barlow’s foundation, and what a guitar solo it is anyway. All they’re really missing to be honest is another ‘Freak Scene’. Not bad going.