87. Mudhoney

The Forum

30 May 2015

What’s better than seeing Mudhoney, the godfathers of grunge, the fuzz-drenched fire starters of Seattle’s early ’90s garage apocalypse, tear up the Forum? Seeing them with an ex-Kerrang! journalist, who just so happens to be pals a former NME scribe, current Mojo contributor, and actual author of the definitive Mudhoney tome.

So, there we were, three of us doing the gig-goer’s sacred pre-show ritual: drinks at Kentish Kitchen followed by a tactical shuffle to the back of Kentish Town’s most sonically unpredictable venue. One of our friends, being five foot nothing, spent much of the night heroically choosing between watching the band or getting intimately familiar with the bald spot of the bloke in front of her.

The band was feral. Mark Arm didn’t so much perform as detonate, unleashing a barrage of gloriously unkempt riffs and garage-rock snarl; a man emptying a clip of distorted anthems into a crowd who couldn’t get enough. Thirty songs in just under ninety minutes, a set that came at us like a caffeinated jackhammer with ADHD. No ballads, no breathers, just banger after fuzz-drenched banger, delivered at the velocity of a pissed-off ferret in a blender.

Post-gig, our ex-journo mate managed to locate an old music-biz mate, who gallantly guided us through the labyrinthine back corridors of the Forum to the green room, where the band, sweaty, buzzing, drinks in hand, were in that post-show sweet spot of adrenaline and exhaustion. Technically, we had backstage passes. In reality, it was us, a bucket of truly questionable complimentary booze, and a room full of very affable Seattleites who just happened to be legends.