"Touch me, I'm sick!"
When screeched by frontman Mark Arm, the titular line from Mudhoney's signature 1988 single can almost be seen as a rallying cry for the entire Seattle grunge scene that the band helped foster — one that would soon go worldwide. It's a nasty, defiant little f—- you to both the status quo squares and the cocky swaggering sensuality of mainstream rock at the time.
While Mudhoney didn't reach the grunge superstardom of some of their Seattleite peers, the group has never lost its underground cred and outlasted almost every band from that era. The group's 1988 album Superfuzz Bigmuff still holds up as a genre classic, but there's a real nobility to sort of being the grunge vets who still keep at it with a workmanlike resolve. To further drive home the workman bonafides, not only has Mudhoney exclusively released LPs via Sub Pop for its entire career, but Arm also works as the manager for Sub Pop's warehouse. Mudhoney is the real deal.
All that said, "Touch Me I'm Sick" resonated a little differently when 2020 rolled around. While the COVID pandemic shook the entire music industry to the core, the seriousness of the situation rang especially true for Mudhoney. That's because bassist Guy Maddison had to deal with his other job — registered nurse at Seattle's Harborview Medical Center, a Level I trauma center.
Essentially, Maddison was at ground zero for the pandemic in the United States. It was more than a little bit of a harrowing experience, some of which he detailed via a podcast with journalist Matthew Hall called Emergency Room: The COVID Diaries. Cautiousness might not be a very punk rock trait, but if most bands were playing it safe regarding social distancing at the time, Mudhoney was understandably extra cautious.
"Guy was working in the hospital. He never got COVID when he was at Harborview, and he was in the thick of it. But they had protocols for wearing their gear and stuff like that," says Arm. "But, you know, like, I was a little nervous and like getting together with him for sure. He's in the shit!"
As a result, the band mostly communicated at the time via Zoom meetings that had nothing to do with music. By the time the guys got back together again to record Mudhoney's new album, Plastic Eternity, it was clear that things were shifting in a major way. Maddison and his family decided to move back to his native Australia. Guitarist Steve Turner decamped to Portland. Arm and drummer Dan Peters might still be Emerald City dwellers, but Mudhoney can no longer accurately be categorized as a full-fledged Seattle band.
It's certainly been an adjustment for Arm. Not only can he not just hop in the practice space with his longtime pals on a regular basis, but he has to do the unthinkable... actually listen to Mudhoney.
"I don't normally listen to records after we're done with them. But since we're not able to practice till Guy gets into the country from Australia, I've been listening to it and kind of like vocalizing along with it on my commute, which is probably really embarrassing," acknowledges Arm. "But it's so I'm not just like starting from scratch yelling on the tour."
But that distance doesn't mean Mudhoney doesn't still rock.
Recorded from odds and ends over nine days at Crackle and Pop! studio in Seattle, Plastic Eternity still buzzes with the aggression and levity devotees have come to expect from Mudhoney.
The tone of feeling out of place in a mad world gets driven home from the jump on the abrasive "Souvenir of My Trip." Always one to employ cutting, angry humor, Arm finds his pocket with the dark snark of "Severed Dream in the Sleeper Cell," sings from the perspective of the climate dealing with climate change on "Cry Me an Atmospheric River," and embodies the character of an indignant and obstinate macho Ivermectin dosing dude on "Here Comes the Flood."
But the band also stretches beyond its typical comfort zone at spots on Plastic Eternity. "One or Two" centers on an acoustic guitar part in open C tuning and sounds akin to a pre-Dark Side of the Moon Pink Floyd track. The political snarl of "Flush the Fascists" is built around an oddball two-note synth loop groove. And perhaps most unexpectedly, the album actually closes with a funny song that's *gasp* sincere... and about dogs.
The tune "Little Dogs" finds Arm genuinely musing about his love for tiny pups, which offer a respite from all the other horribleness in the world which is more often Mudhoney's lyrical focus. (The tune honestly feels closer to a song one would expect from fellow humorous Seattle punks Wimps, which is a high compliment.) It's honestly heartwarming to hear the grunge forefather sing so sweetly about taking little dogs to the beach, protecting them from owls, and how easy it is to distract them. It's not something that necessarily fits the rest of Plastic Eternity's motif, but that's because it was an unexpected little treat even for Arm himself.
"['Little Dogs'] was another thing Dan wrote and kind of arranged it to be instrumental. And I had all the songs on my phone and was playing them on my commute, and I just started kind of free forming over the top of that on my way home. And it just struck me as so ridiculous and funny to sing a song about your little dog that is waiting for you when you get home," says Arm. "And I was like, 'How is the rest of the band going to respond to this?' [Laughs] Luckily, everyone seemed to think it was funny as well."
"We've always kind of felt like we can do whatever we want," adds Arm. "We tend to do a certain thing, but the only thing that's holding you back from doing something else is yourself."
Even after 35 years in the band, it's clear Arm hasn't lost his sardonic punk rock spirit. Because whether separated by continents or making sweaty noise in sold out rock clubs, Mudhoney will always be sick.
"We don't have an image to protect," Arm says with a laugh. "It doesn't matter to us." ♦
Mudhoney, Hooveriii • Fri, Oct. 13 at 8 pm • Sold out • 21+ • The District Bar • 916 W. First Ave. • sp.knittingfactory.com
