12 1985
The year was bookended by two significant relationships. The one that started in the winter was doomed, and we both knew it, but we went ahead anyway. It was probably the first time that I paid significant attention to a partner’s needs, though still not enough.
It had only been six months since "Zen Arcade", but Hüsker Dü put out the single album "New Day Rising" in January. While the glorious overdriven guitar sound was still evident, one could see the outline of a mature band emerging, with catchier, more complex songs. Mould wrote most of the songs on "New Day Rising", with a few by Hart. A couple were credited to "Bob Mould, Hüsker Dü", a formulation I hadn’t seen on "Zen Arcade". I didn’t know that the double album had been the first time there were any songwriting credits published, at the insistence of Mould, who clearly felt he was doing most of the work. But this also meant he got more of the mechanical royalties, setting up tension in the band and spurring Hart to try to write more to catch up.
I saw both Hüsker Dü and Minutemen play at the Stone in San Francisco in March, on the SST Tour with three other bands (whom I skipped). I was surprised at the energy that Minutemen brought to their live performance. Guitarist D. Boon was a big guy, but he was bouncing all over the stage. Bassist Mike Watt was a close second. Drummer George Hurley was of course rooted to his stool, but was constantly flipping his hair out of his face. They were tight and enthusiastic. In contrast, Hüsker Dü mostly stood and played their instruments, but I had been worried that they couldn’t recreate their sound live, and was reassured on that score. They sounded fabulous.
The second Smiths album, "Meat Is Murder", was released in February. The band seemed to have grown since the first album. The opening track, "The Headmaster Ritual", hits it out of the park with the first lyrics: "Beligerent ghouls / Run Manchester schools / Spineless bastards, all". The standout track was clearly "How Soon Is Now?", which opens the second vinyl side. It was longer than usual, and in a different style, dominated by a high, searing slide guitar note alternating with a prominent harmonic riff, with a throbbing chord underneath created by studio post-processing. Morrissey’s lyrics were a simplistic first-person self-pitying complaint, but it hardly mattered what he was saying; the melodic line suited the song. I was lucky to hear the track; it wasn’t included on the UK version.
The only real disappointment was the title track and closer, during which Morrissey rants at carnivores while cows moo over a slow guitar strum. I didn’t know it at the time, but this would be the last Smiths I would properly listen to for quite a while. I managed to miss their period of greatest fame, and only belatedly caught up.
The Pogues came to fame with their second album, "Rum, Sodomy, and the Lash", released in August. They took the basic tropes of Irish folk music and infused them with a healthy dose of punk sensibility. I’d had some exposure to Irish music before, notably from the Irish Rovers, whom I watched on Canadian TV in Northern Ontario as an adolescent, but the Pogues were well beyond a conventional treatment. They sped the tempo up, stopped bowdlerizing lyrics, and made the most of the original material by vocalist Shane McGowan. It was a bracing and very unusual entry into my usual mix.
I saw the Minutemen play at least once more, at Ruthie’s Inn in the southern wilds of Berkeley, close to the border with Oakland. I do not remember the exact date, and the Internet is no help. They were probably playing songs from their upcoming LP "3-Way Tie (For Last)", released in early December, just as I would have heard songs from their April "Project: Mersh" EP at the March SST Tour concert. It was another great show.
"Mersh" is short for "commercial" (Minutemen had a fair amount of private language, though they were never shy about explaining it to others). The songs on the EP were longer and more melodic than on "Double Nickels". There were even horns, and better production. It didn’t do well, because the hardcore community bristled at any mention of commercial success, while the larger community didn’t notice. SST was never that good at promotion or distribution.
"3-Way Tie" is a muddled album. There are too many cover songs, and D. Boon’s political lyrics are too literal, while Mike Watt’s songs are too cryptic. It feels rushed. It was a misstep they could easily have rebounded from. But they would not get the chance. Three days before Christmas, after the conclusion of a tour through they opened for R.E.M., D. Boon was sleeping in the back of a van driving back home, when the rear axle snapped and the van went off the road. He was thrown out and died instantly.
Watt and Hurley, sunk in grief, were soon approached by a fan (styling himself Ed FromOhio) who convinced them to keep going as Firehose, with him on guitar. They played for seven years, putting out several albums, though none as compelling as the Minutemen’s best. I saw them play in Toronto, probably in 1987. Ed was no D. Boon, but he wasn’t trying to be. Firehose never covered Minutemen songs; Watt was fiercely possessive of D. Boon’s legacy. They had been best friends since age 13, and I can’t recall reading an interview with Watt where he didn’t mention D. Boon, usually at length. Watt went on to a solo career and is now a respected elder of the punk scene. He still plays with Hurley sometimes.
I heard the news of D. Boon’s death from an announcer on KALX on the evening of the day it happened, sitting in my living room with my new girlfriend, who had started her graduate work in September. That relationship was to last nearly twenty-five years. I wasn’t ready for something of that magnitude; I had to do a lot of learning on the job. Mostly, I did okay. Until I didn’t. But I’m getting ahead of myself. This is the point at which my previous memoir ended, because it was a Bildungsroman. But I didn’t stop evolving, and the music didn’t stop evolving. We have a lot to get through still.