What are we doing now

J Mascis

What are we doing now

Sub Pop

06 March 2024
Web Exclusive

By Michael James Hall

J Mascis' fifth solo record is pretty much what you'd expect and exactly what you'd expect. If at this stage in the game, after 40 years as Dinosaur Jr.'s bandleader, we don't know what we're getting from grunge's cool uncle, we've done ourselves and him a disservice.

Accompanied by Ken Mauri (The B-52's) on carefully placed keys and Matthew “Doc” Dunn on gorgeous pedal steel, Mascis offers a comforting wander through a set of soft, fuzzy tracks that lead to the acoustic, sprinkled liberally with hallmark of excessive soling.

Neil Young is the easiest reference point here, Mascis largely due to the affecting chord changes, melancholic crooning and orchestration. You'll sink into the laid-back, lush “Right Behind You” and the luscious delights of “Can't Believe We're Here” like a warm bath.

Lyrically, minor changes for Mascis. He's confused and remorseful throughout: “I used to laugh but I'm lonely,” he mutters on the eerie walk of the title track. Further, on the autumnal “You Don't Understand Me,” Mascis finds himself on the short end of the deal again, “Couples see me, couples try / It's not enough to get me through, you've been waiting all this time. ”

These are the kinds of concerns that Mascis has done for decades, and while, during a mid-album dip, this can feel repetitive, even tiresome, the golden glow of his playing and sleepwalking can't help but charm.

Of course his shattering solos make their way into every track, always flawlessly played, always moving and always the most authentically expressive of his work. However, it's Mascis' raspy voice that drives surprisingly high in the mix. He gives one of his best, most precise vocal deliveries (the performance would be an exaggeration) on “Set Me Down” and falsetto on “End is Gettin Shaky.”

There is nothing to challenge the mind, nothing to confuse or shock What are we doing now, just a bunch of familiar hooks, sad words and sepia riffs, a thick blanket of missing warmth. (www.jmascis.com)

Author Rating: 7/10