AVC: Have your feelings on the records—from Hüsker Dü to Sugar to your solo stuff—changed much over time?
BM: Zen Arcade caught everybody off guard. Flip Your Wig, when Grant and I took over from Spot [SST's house producer], I thought that was probably a great moment. The two after that? Eh. Workbook, great album—such a huge sea change, all shifting, the whole shift in everything. You know, '91 was sort of a... I had to go out and play like 120 shows just to keep myself fed. Out of that rose a couple great records. That was an amazing—'91 and '92 were just brilliant. Since then, it's really been trying; the hubcap record [a.k.a. 1996's solo album Bob Mould, which has a hubcap on the cover] tried some different things. I think now honestly, this one's probably the best one since Copper Blue. It beats Dog And Pony, it beats hubcap. Hubcap is a completely meticulous record; every note is perfectly exploited. This record has a lot of wake-up-in-the-morning vocals, a lot of sloppy-ass guitars that sound cool. This record has a lot of machines. Everything's cool; I'm not trying to make a perfect record any more.
AVC: Some people had a pretty negative reaction to Last Dog And Pony Show.
BM: I remember the rap was that I was sleepwalking. That's what I remember, walking away from it. People were like, "He's sleepwalking." I'm like, "All right. Let's see if [Modulate] wakes you up."
AVC: You've mentioned your blog a couple of times. Reading it, it's hard not to think of the intensely private man who was outed against his will in that infamous Spin article a decade ago. How do you think he would react to your blog?
BM: That person would be really pissed off. That person would just be like, "Who the hell cares, and how the hell dare he think anyone's interested in that?" Again, it's a comfort level, and I think it's indicative of where we are all positioned in our culture. You know, the idea of the reclusive artist who just sits like Ted Kaczynski in a box and writes stuff, I really don't know if that's a valid thing. That's not where I'm at. I guess I feel like I'm living now, and I'm not hung up on mortality or immortality either way; it is what it is, right at this moment. And I think being more in the moment, I'm more willing to share the moment instead of clutching it as if it's some treasure that needs to be unearthed 100 years later.
AVC: It's not as if every single detail of your life is up there for the entire world to see.
BM: Yeah, you know, I'm pretty careful with it. I have a couple rules: "Am I making a fool of myself?" and "Am I hurting any of my friends?" If I'm not okay with those, I need to edit it. But generally I think it's pretty fun stuff.
AVC: When you look at your career, do you still feel like you have a lot left to do?
BM: I'd like to, ideally. I don't know. I'm 44; it's like I've been listening to music since I was 4 years old, I've been writing songs since I was 9 years old, I've been making records since I was 19 or 20 years old. I'm 44 now; I feel better than I did when I was 34. I've got more clarity now. I wake up in the morning, and I write my blog, and then I go upstairs, and I work on music. And I do that every day. That's what I do. I don't check in once a week and think, "Oh, I've gotta come up with something now." I'm always writing. I was just in a coffee shop in Chelsea last night, just killing time, waiting for a friend, and I sat and wrote enough for three good songs. I love it. This is my life. It's all I do.
AVC: Were they lyrical or musical ideas?
BM: Everything. Somebody asked me how I'd done these different things and what's left, and I was like, "Man, I've got all kinds of drinking stuff. Maybe I'll get a really bad drinking problem and fall into my blues groove." I mean, I've got tons of stuff left I can do, and that's the beauty of life. You can do anything you want—and I'm half-joking, and I'm half-serious. I literally have held off the blues; I kept the blues out of my life knowing that it's for later.
AVC: It's really interesting to hear you sound so optimistic. One interviewer circa Workbook called you "the most depressed man in rock." That's quite a title.
BM: He's never met Stephin Merritt, obviously. [Laughs.] I'm not the most depressed man in rock, not anymore. I'm grateful to still be in the race.
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