Afotimber
Hot on the heels of Sugar’s out-of-nowhere reunion comes this Record Store Day artefact – a four-disc box containing the 12” singles from 1992’s much-loved ‘Copper Blue’ LP. First things first: let’s assume you’re familiar with the buzzsaw noise of Hüsker Dü, the fast’n’furious power trio with which Bob Mould made his name before their dissolution in early 1988. Two adventurous but ultimately bleak albums followed under his own name, before he did something no one expected him to do: he formed another band.
Having selected former Mercyland bassist David Barbe and Zulus drummer Malcolm Travis to be the rhythm section for a hypothetical third solo album, Mould explained in his 2011 memoir ‘See A Little Light’ that the trio ‘just felt like a band’. Over breakfast at Waffle House, he spotted a stray sugar packet on the table, and the new outfit was born – but band or no band, Mould was very much in the driving seat. With a fine set of songs inspired by Cheap Trick’s ‘In Color’ and My Bloody Valentine’s epoch-shaking ‘Loveless’, and the hookier moments coalescing as an instant classic LP titled ‘Copper Blue’, the trio swiftly picked up a degree of commercial success that had sadly eluded the Hüskers… and that just about brings us up to speed.
But this isn’t about ‘Copper Blue’. We don’t need to dissect it, following several reissues and more than enough thinkpieces in the past 15 years alone, and in any case this box set compiles accoutrements rather than the LP itself. Even so, it’s worth emphasising that the album is a collection of perfect three-minute pop songs, some of which just happen to be drawn out over five minutes. Generally you don’t begrudge the indulgence, whether that’s down to Mould having a lot to say – an extra verse here, an alternative chorus there – or simply because the hooks merit joyous, increasingly wild repetition. However, the album’s first single ‘Changes’ is the sole offering to get a radio edit, with a full minute shaved off, and this concision feels like it really amplifies a gorgeous series of yearning, chiming hooks and heartfelt sentiment (“I need something that’s warm and honest”).
The other singles, meanwhile, simply glow: ‘Helpless’ is a no-nonsense belter that’s arguably a template for some of his more enduring solo favourites, and ‘If I Can’t Change Your Mind’ is a perfect slice of jangling wonder that manages to be vulnerable, defiant and resigned in the same breath. They lose nothing from being heard out of the album’s context… meanwhile, if ‘A Good Idea’s obtuse-angled powerpop is a nod to ‘Debaser’ and the oft-referenced Pixies call-out for a ‘bassist into Hüsker Dü and Peter, Paul, and Mary’, then we’d love a glimpse at the parallel universe where the ‘Puff, the Magic Dragon’ hitmakers had riffed on ‘Bone Machine’.
So what of the B-sides? There are three studio cuts, easily the equal of the album’s many highlights, although you can see why they didn’t make the final running order. ‘Needle Hits E’ is classic Bob Mould, the sort of fuzzed-out brilliance he’d made his own since ‘Flip Your Wig’, but maybe slightly too breezy for the album’s overall tone. ‘Try Again’ shifts into a different mode; an acoustic-led melodrama that builds effectively towards shrieking feedback and thunderous drums. It’s utterly superb… it’s just not ‘Copper Blue’, nor is the jackhammering instrumental ‘Clownmaster’, which blisters and bruises but also leaves you wondering whether there was a vocal line that got left on a cutting room floor somewhere.
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Aside from a stripped-back vox’n’acoustic edit of ‘I Can’t Change…’, the remaining cuts are drawn from a July 1992 concert at Chicago’s Cabaret Metro, with the band ripping through the album’s song selection in fine form. Dotted across the discs here, we get a take on ‘Slick’ that fully leans into the menace of the song’s muscular conclusion, a rip-roaring version of ‘The Act We Act’ and a cover of Thunderclap Newman’s ‘Armenia City In The Sky’ that features Travis pounding away like a man possessed, while a series of unhinged noises emanate from Mould’s guitar. The live numbers also include two songs that never made it to the studio – the Barbe-penned ‘Where Diamonds Are Halos’, which is ragged and drenched in hooks, and ‘Anyone’, a pacy squall that feels like someone shoved ‘Don’t Fear The Reaper’ inside a blast furnace and walked away whistling nonchalantly. Collectively and individually, they’re a reminder of what a taut, powerful live act Sugar became – and hopefully will be once more in 2026.
Yes, trainspotters, all the tracks here have been previously collected (albeit on out-of-print reissues of ‘Copper Blue’ or the 30-year-old compilation ‘Besides’), so completists might wonder whether they truly need this admittedly great-sounding and cool-looking set of 12”s. Reader, that’s between you and your wallet – all we can say is that after more than three decades, much of this music still dazzles and the rest helps paint a broader picture around one of 1992’s most vivid treasures.
By 1994, a fully-spent Sugar had called it a day and Mould returned to the solo career, with a 1996 album track entitled ‘I Hate Alternative Rock’ heavily inferring a growing emotional detachment. Keeping everyone guessing once more, he briefly picked up a new gig as a WCW scriptwriter before embarking on a period of self-discovery – more fully embracing his identity as a gay man as he explored the worlds of dance music and electronica. The solo albums continued to creep out, but in 2012 something interesting happened; his tenth solo album, ‘Silver Age’, was easily his best and most complete set of songs in years, and just happened to drop on the 20th anniversary of ‘Copper Blue’s release. He toured the two albums together, igniting the spark for a remarkably focused sequence of solo records that continues to burn brightly on this year’s ‘Here We Go Crazy’. Here’s hoping Sugar’s rebirth can prolong the sweet spot.
8/10
Words: Will Fitzpatrick
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