Bob Mould has always avoided living in the past — except for the last two and a half years.
During that time, he’s been writing an autobiography, See a Little Light: The Trail of Rage and Melody (with Michael Azerrad, Little, Brown, $24.99), which publishes June 15. It tells the story of a punk rock pioneer consistently dodging his own past. He plays in bands — the bracing fury of Husker Du (1980-88), the ear-splitting pop of Sugar (1992-95) — then avoids reunions like a plague. He practically chucked rock altogether, shocking hard-core fans by reinventing himself in the new century as a DJ and electronic music maker. He lives in cities and then flees, never to return. He quits alcohol, quits smoking, no relapses. The man moves forward.
See a Little Light tells of Mould’s struggles with homosexuality, personal relationships and various addictions, but this is not just another titillating rock ‘n’ roll memoir. There are good anecdotes, for sure — Mould almost got the job producing Nirvana’s “Nevermind,” and his friendly rivalry with the Replacements’ Paul Westerberg actually resulted in some demos together (which were stolen from a van, but “don’t worry, the stuff wasn’t very good”) — and makes certain we understand that we shouldn’t expect a Husker Du reunion. It’s a clear, plain account of one troubled musician’s life, with a lively and happy present-day ending.
“I think longtime fans will be shocked but not really surprised by some of this stuff,” Mould said this week from his home in San Francisco. “The plain storytelling is what they’re used to from me. I didn’t try to make it something it isn’t. … It’s definitely my voice.”
Mould will be in Chicago twice in the next three weeks, performing shows that illustrate the two sides of his personality and career. He spoke with the Sun-Times about the shows, the book and where music intersects with — or divides — a life …
with Bob Mould and Rich Morel
11 p.m. May 28
Metro, 3730 N. Clark
$16, (800) 514-ETIX, metrochicago.com
An evening of reading and music
8 p.m. June 16
Mercury Theater, 3745 N. Southport
$25, (773) 325-1700, mercurytheaterchicago.com
Question: In the book, you refer to Chicago as “a key city for me,” with some fun tales about shows at the Riviera and Aragon. Why has Chicago been important?
Bob Mould: Strictly by numbers, Chicago is my biggest market. I do my best business there, whether it’s selling records or tickets or the amount of airplay or media coverage. It’s my biggest town. I always emphasize to whoever I’m working with that Chicago has to get special treatment.
Q: Why do you think we like you so much?
BM: I don’t know, I’ve just always connected there. Joe Shanahan [owner of Metro] has been a key part of that over the years, and Norm [Winer, music programmer] at WXRT. … It must just be the ethic of Chicago. It’s a hard-working, no-nonsense town.
Q: Yet in all the different cities you’ve lived in — Minneapolis, New York, Austin, D.C., San Francisco — you’ve never landed here?
BM: That aaaaaalmost happened in ’02. It was the winter, though. I’ve lived in the Adirondacks and Minneapolis and had about 30 years of hard winters. But my partner and I at the time said, “Do we really want to do this winter thing?”
Q: Your show this weekend is another Blowoff party. How have those volved over the years?
BM: It’s myself and Rich Morel, both singer-songwriter musicians, producers, whatever. We started this party in 2003. The idea was to meet people. I’d just moved to Washington, D.C., and I wanted to meet people. We had a shared love of disco and electronic music, and we just started these DJ nights that, over eight years, have morphed into this big seasonal dance event that we take around the country.
Q: You were somewhat new to electronic and dance music when this started, right?
BM: Going back to my punk rock days, I had no time for disco and little time for ’80s electronic music, which now I know is a shame because there was so much great stuff I was missing at the time. I had to go back and re-educate myself.
Q: The solo show next month will feature you playing songs and reading from the book, is that right?
BM: Yes. [Laughs] I don’t know how I’m going to do that. I’m waiting for a call back from Ray Davies to see how he did it. [Laughs]
Q: Now that you have the book in your hand, how do you feel about it and the process of writing it?
BM: I’m very proud of it. It’s been a lot of work. … It’s not at all what I thought it would be.
Q: What do you mean?
BM: Well, the obvious route would have been: Here’s a cursory look at my childhood and some things I liked as a kid, and then, oh, I was in this band and then another band, and all these wonderful things happened. Everyone who picks this up is going to know that story already. It was clear to me that my job was to let people really know who I am, to take ownership of my life, the good and bad.
Q: This comes out just a few months after Andrew Earles’ Husker Du biography (Husker Du: The Story of the Noise-Pop Pioneers Who Launched Modern Rock). Bandmates Grant Hart and Greg Norton are interviewed in that book, but not you. Is that because this book was under way?
BM: Yes. I haven’t read that book.
Q: You’ve written before. Why not write this memoir on your own? How did Azerrad help shape the story?
BM: Where he gets credit is, as an outsider, getting me to shed the stories that had no bearing on the greater story. And also, things that I’d drop as an aside, he’d be like, “Wait a minute!”
Q: The book has a different tone in the grumpy first half (when your homosexuality was an open secret) than the cheery second (when you were completely out). I’m intrigued by why you felt it so necessary to “bid a farewell to rock” in order to fully pursue a life as a gay man.
BM: I wanted to reinvent myself as a person. For whatever reasons at the time, it was not possible to be fully myself being constantly beholden to my rock ‘n’ roll career. I needed to step off that. I was basically planning my gay identity in ’97-’98, starting to brush up on and then immerse myself in the gay life. I’d never allowed myself that, never had it. The more I sat in the van, the less I was going to have it. I just needed to spend time around other gay people and basically learn how to be one, which I wasn’t getting in punk rock. The two were not going to co-exist. Now I know better, but at the time I thought I really needed to let go of this.
Q: How did the transition from rock to electronic music facilitate this?
BM: Electronic music was the soundtrack of that life. The coffee shops, restaurants, gyms where I was spending time were all playing this music. Instead of going to a rock bar every night of my life and hearing rock all the time, I was in environments hearing keyboards and processed vocals and divas. Once it was in my head — I’m a musician, I wanted to learn how people made that music. It took a number of years to get it. It’s not as intuitive as pop music.
Q: What will your next music be?
BM: I’m still figuring that out. I stopped writing music when I started writing the book. So I’m just getting back to it.