Former Hüsker Dü guitarist/vocalist Bob Mould, and his early ‘90s power trio Sugar were well-poised to show everyone in the post-Nirvana/post-Lollapalooza age who did it first. Rounded out by bassist David Barbe and drummer Malcolm Travis, Sugar produced only two albums and an EP for Rykodisc/Creation before quietly disbanding in 1995. It’s a small legacy, but now that we’ve hit the 29-year mark after the release of the first Sugar LP Copper Blue, today’s diaspora of retro-mania dictates that the occasion has to be marked with a reissue. Storied indie label Merge did the honours, and it does not skimp on doing justice to the semi-forgotten band’s miniscule catalogue.
Of the two Sugar LPs, the first is the unequivocal go-to listen. In fact, Copper Blue is a phenomenal, nigh-essential record, one the NME honoured as its Album of the Year for 1992. It was also Mould’s biggest-selling record, and managed to finally get him decent airplay on MTV and modern rock radio alongside his second- and third- generation offspring. Even if Copper Blue doesn’t break any new ground for the man (it’s more of a robust refinement than another reinvention of underground rock), Sugar’s debut holds its own against the mightiest instalments in the back catalogue of Mould’s previous band by virtue of being the most consistent album the guitarist has ever written. What began as a selection of 30 possible tracks was winnowed down during the production process to a lean ten-title CD — all killer, no filler — that showcases a well-rehearsed and simpatico ensemble burning at its very brightest.
It’s hard not to fall for archetypal allure of Copper Blue’s buzzing guitars and mountains of overdubbed vocal harmonies — in a sense its Nirvana’s Nevermind six years early, released a year later. Its opening four-song salvo of the churning “The Act We Act” and the singles “A Good Idea”, “Changes”, and “Helpless” is indomitable, a faultless sequence bound to win instant converts even now in today’s fractured Alternative Nation. Yet the album’s true peak is in its latter half, where the acoustic breakup lament “If I Can’t Change Your Mind” is ingeniously paired with “Fortune Teller”, a blazing riff-o-rama that’s the record’s most exciting moment. Sure, there are points where the songs get locked into repetitious cycles, where sections feel like they are alternating ad infinitum. Mould handles what could have been a song-writing shortcoming by spinning it into an asset — his deliciously hooky melodies make the repetition compulsory, and in “Changes” and “Fortune Teller” he releases the tension built up by those endless verses and choruses by breaking them up with roaring bridges.
For such a short-lived band, Sugar never wasted a moment on record. A comparison can be made with Nirvana, another ‘90s alt-rock band that made such consistently astounding work on borrowed time. Unlike Nirvana, Sugar didn’t sell millions (though it sold more than Mould could have ever dreamed of when he was touring the U.S. in a van back in the ‘80s). Maybe it should’ve, and could’ve. That line of thought only ends in hypotheticals, though. What isn’t idle speculation is putting Copper Blue on the stereo and hearing a dues-paying underground hero serve up song after song as exciting and as stellar as any of the other momentous numbers he has been responsible for in his storied career. What a way to show the kids both in 1992 and in 2021 how it’s done, Bob.