What Do We Do Now opens with the flurry and bounce of Can’t Believe We’re Here which bares all the hallmarks of one of J Mascis’ formative influences, The Cure and the track lovingly jaunts along with the kind of low key breeziness that Mascis’ and his band Dinosaur Jr are famed for, before a welcome electric guitar solo rips things up right on time. On his fourth solo album proper, Mascis introduces a full band for the first time and the addition of such renders the album closer to his work with Dinosaur Jr than any solo album has previously. The main distinction between the two being that his solo work is more in touch with the folk and country influences present in his songwriting, whereas much of his work with Dinosaur Jr. bares an interest in heavier sonics, of the punk, metal and psych-rock variety. Personally I’ve always found a helpful analogy to be that of Neil Young with Crazy Horse or the Santa Monica Flyers or Promise of the Real, and Neil Young solo. Mascis, like Young is a gifted, idiosyncratic and prolific songwriter. One with both an unusually crooked, croaky but endearing whine and a penchant for the bittersweet and melancholic, with such tenderness often delivered in a style that is both parts heartfelt and nonchalant. Title track What Do We Do Now opens with a heavy roots-crunch reminiscent of Young himself, before giving way to one of those gloriously stoned melodies Mascis has been effortlessly delivering throughout nearly four decades. And while Mascis can often appeared tired (such is his relaxed drawl), his music is anything but, it’s hazy and dazy yes, but full of life, love and energy. His songs glisten with soft dappled light, often erupting, or sometimes favouring a slow unfurling, to gradually come into view. Offering moments of clarity amidst the blur, a shot of bright white sunshine through a mass of grey cloud. What Do We Do Now follows Mascis’ previous solo efforts in displaying signs of parired-back maturity for the songwriter, and there’s a pleasant subtlety to the arrangements. Both the exquisite Right Behind You and You Don’t Understand Me develop with a refined, graceful drift one would associate with an elder statesman, albeit one from the dawn of the alternative rock and grunge eras. There is still the trademark irreverent, attitude of his early years but rather than burnt through entirely with ear-bleeding distortion, here the disgruntlement is also wrapped up in and cradled by acoustic guitars, pedal steel and rolling piano motifs. Side two offers a trio of tracks with more of a rock-edge to them, Old Friends, It’s True and Set Me Down introduce faster tempos and the familiar immediacy of his rockier side. There’s a ramshackle looseness that the side one hinted at, but here tracks are flavoured more heavily with the beloved rip of Mascis’ guitar shredding. Something we’d be missing were it not present, and the solos here are, as one would expect, unflinching, heart-wrenching epics. There are few guitarists in alternative rock with a tone, style and natural gift for melody that is as instantly recognisable as Mascis. And there are few guitarists as unafraid to revel in and celebrate the rockist notions of the solo, and Mascis proves he is a master of using the solo to emote that which words cannot. Penultimate track Hangin’ Out is one of the best I’ve heard from Mascis in some time. It moves, develops and comes to life with an elegance that would suggest something monumental, yet never does the track over egg it, it’s neither saccharine or throwaway, neither trashy nor overly nice, it simply just is. We get bursts of electric guitar here and there, twangs of steel guitar, a rhythmic build and the threat of an impending climax, but really we’re just floating, carried by its infectious melodic pull until the track burns out naturally following the glorious solo outro. -Richard
