Brian Collins on Hüsker Dü’s “Eight Miles High” (1990)(Rdio, YouTube)You can’t help whatever music initially grabs you just after you get your driver’s license. When you’re in that time, at that age, high school is EVERYTHING. That time in your life pours the foundation of the little house of your musical awareness. And then you build upon that foundation throughout your early adulthood, and maybe that foundation turns out less than ideal for the weird postmodern tar-paper shanty you go on to build on top of it, but still, there’s no place like home, and this one’s yours. Until you are 35, that is, when Hüsker Dü enters your life and tells you to burn down that shanty (and every shitty metaphor attached to it) for the insurance money.“Eight Miles High” is a song first released by The Byrds in 1966 that is allegedly about an “airplane trip to England.” It is probably also a shitty metaphor about being really high, but Hüsker Dü burn all that business to the ground here, too. I like to divide Hüsker Dü’s version of “Eight Miles High” into three parts: “Intro,” “It’s On,” and “Whoa.” In the first part, Bob Mould’s vocals are frantic as hell, but still somewhat sincere to the original—recognizable but gruff and with really loud guitars. In the second part, you start to feel like there’s something else going on here and things are… building. He has a giddy “hup-hup-hup” part that mimics a “two-three-four” countdown, and you kind of stop what you are doing and wonder if now is a good time to stage dive from your couch. If you know the song’s lyrics by heart (or are reading along) you can still make them out in his singing here, barely. The tempo seems to quicken and we’re more frantic now, and if he just left it right here and finished out the song at this intensity it would be a helluva well-executed cover with a proper Hüsker Dü stamp on it. But no. The third part—ie, “Whoa”—is where you quit your job and buy a guitar, where your forearm hairs stand up, where you put on your running shoes and take a jog that involves leaping rooftops in single bounds and climbing trees (no-hands) and setting off car alarms and tossing improperly parked vehicles out of the way with your left hand, the right being busy fist-pumping. It’s where Mel Gibson is yelling “FREEEDOOMMMMM” at the end of Braveheart, except it’s Bob Mould yelling and it’s better and with power chords and a backbeat. Whoa.I still haven’t figured the best time or context for listening to these guys. Some albums/songs work well as nighttime music. Some make fantastic driving music and some songs are really good to run to. With the exception of overly-motivated yard work, I think Hüsker Dü is music I just want to live to. I want to be 40 years old and enter a work meeting with a guttural Bob Mould yell, just so the attendees know where I’m coming from. I want to call the cable company and tell them the internet is down (again) the way 1984 Bob Mould would. I’m not sure what the 1984 Hüsker Dü version of walking my dog is, but I want to do that every morning before work. Gonna start tomorrow.In 2012 I discovered Hüsker Dü, pavers of the paths of so many bands that have been dear to me since I got a driver’s license. I am way late to this Hüsker Dü party, and I’m still really excited about what other party’s I might also be late to, but this is a good one and I’m going to linger here awkwardly for a bit.Brian Collins tries to make nice things on the internet by day, and mows sidewalk grass in Atlanta’s Reynoldstown neighborhood by night.
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Brian Collins on Hüsker Dü’s “Eight Miles High” (1990)
(Rdio, YouTube)

You can’t help whatever music initially grabs you just after you get your driver’s license. When you’re in that time, at that age, high school is EVERYTHING. That time in your life pours the foundation of the little house of your musical awareness. And then you build upon that foundation throughout your early adulthood, and maybe that foundation turns out less than ideal for the weird postmodern tar-paper shanty you go on to build on top of it, but still, there’s no place like home, and this one’s yours. Until you are 35, that is, when Hüsker Dü enters your life and tells you to burn down that shanty (and every shitty metaphor attached to it) for the insurance money.

“Eight Miles High” is a song first released by The Byrds in 1966 that is allegedly about an “airplane trip to England.” It is probably also a shitty metaphor about being really high, but Hüsker Dü burn all that business to the ground here, too.

I like to divide Hüsker Dü’s version of “Eight Miles High” into three parts: “Intro,” “It’s On,” and “Whoa.” In the first part, Bob Mould’s vocals are frantic as hell, but still somewhat sincere to the original—recognizable but gruff and with really loud guitars. In the second part, you start to feel like there’s something else going on here and things are… building. He has a giddy “hup-hup-hup” part that mimics a “two-three-four” countdown, and you kind of stop what you are doing and wonder if now is a good time to stage dive from your couch. If you know the song’s lyrics by heart (or are reading along) you can still make them out in his singing here, barely. The tempo seems to quicken and we’re more frantic now, and if he just left it right here and finished out the song at this intensity it would be a helluva well-executed cover with a proper Hüsker Dü stamp on it. But no.

The third part—ie, “Whoa”—is where you quit your job and buy a guitar, where your forearm hairs stand up, where you put on your running shoes and take a jog that involves leaping rooftops in single bounds and climbing trees (no-hands) and setting off car alarms and tossing improperly parked vehicles out of the way with your left hand, the right being busy fist-pumping. It’s where Mel Gibson is yelling “FREEEDOOMMMMM” at the end of Braveheart, except it’s Bob Mould yelling and it’s better and with power chords and a backbeat. Whoa.

I still haven’t figured the best time or context for listening to these guys. Some albums/songs work well as nighttime music. Some make fantastic driving music and some songs are really good to run to. With the exception of overly-motivated yard work, I think Hüsker Dü is music I just want to live to. I want to be 40 years old and enter a work meeting with a guttural Bob Mould yell, just so the attendees know where I’m coming from. I want to call the cable company and tell them the internet is down (again) the way 1984 Bob Mould would. I’m not sure what the 1984 Hüsker Dü version of walking my dog is, but I want to do that every morning before work. Gonna start tomorrow.

In 2012 I discovered Hüsker Dü, pavers of the paths of so many bands that have been dear to me since I got a driver’s license. I am way late to this Hüsker Dü party, and I’m still really excited about what other party’s I might also be late to, but this is a good one and I’m going to linger here awkwardly for a bit.

Brian Collins tries to make nice things on the internet by day, and mows sidewalk grass in Atlanta’s Reynoldstown neighborhood by night.

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