J Mascis
Tied to a Star

2014 is the year of good albums: many confirmations, few surprises.

Is inspiration waning among both new and old generations? And so it happens that the latest musical effort of the veteran J Mascis is among the best releases of this year, more precisely among the non-masterpieces of this year, which in his case does not mean a missed masterpiece.

What else could we ask of good old Mascis?, to whom we are very fond (Mascis—I know, it's an overused image (the one of the uncle, I mean), but I swear it came to mind before I found it written elsewhere, it seems it's a universal feeling—Mascis is the good dear uncle who shows up late for Sunday lunch with a wrecked car, he's the one who taught you to say "affanculo" and smells of beer). What, then, do we ask of the essential Mascis?, who for better or worse is one of those who not only marked a generation but also ferried rock during a tough phase of its existence (the uphill path that led the eighties to the nineties). From dear Mascis, we certainly do not ask for masterpieces in the Year of Grace 2014, but gems of sincere, straightforward, and understated splendor. And with "Tied to a Star," following the convincing previous effort ("Several Shades of Why," from 2011), Mascis does not retreat a single step and delivers to us a work worthy of his fame.

And for those of us, like me, musically shaped in the early nineties (with the backdrop of grunge and all that alternative stuff that was in vogue during that period), it's inevitable, listening to Mascis, to feel at home, lulled and warmed by the reflections of those restless yet perhaps happy days (T-shirts worn over shirts, ripped jeans, white tennis shoes; and then the cold autumn mornings along tree-lined avenues, the smoke coming out of your mouth as you headed to school; inscribing clichés on the formica desks, wandering around in the afternoon just after "finishing" homework; and again: taking the train on sunny spring afternoons to go elsewhere and buy CDs because you couldn't find a damn thing in our city; running, hand in hand, chased by enraged dogs for trespassing on some private property (ok, I'm dramatizing); and again: writing messages on scraps of paper because there were no cell phones, circling eight times around the girl you liked hoping for a returned glance because there was no Facebook; and finally: all those silly things and living the present unconsciously, with a whole life ahead, but without the wisdom/desperation to seize opportunities, even if at the time everything seemed so difficult, yet also possible, with simply eternity ahead, before the damn Prodigy, before black rappers in limousines).

But beyond the reminiscences, "Tied to a Star," more than anything, shows us what a man sitting on an amplifier and his guitar can do: emotions from the artist's heart directed towards the listener's heart, without any mediation. And J, as the years go by, is always the same, the same drawling, sing-song, sly voice. Like a good ex-(indie-noise)rocker with long and frayed white hair, without altering himself, he opens the wardrobe of memories and opts for the attire that suits him best: that of unpretentious folk with simple melodies, which is then the obligatory stage, sooner or later, for all those in America who own a plaid shirt and an electric guitar (love me some Neil Young...).

The electric guitar remains, insinuates itself, whistling-crackling-buzzing as if the same noise fury that characterized the first steps taken by the Little Dinosaur could not be contained under the fragile shell of an acoustically self-imposed rigor as a new code of expression; as if Mascis just couldn't behave well, act mature all the way, alienated/misfit/incorrigible big boy firmly adhering to his non-hero poetic. Ten ballads, then, which are lullabies of intimate and moving lyricism that are tinged with soft colors and assume the contours of naïve images (those of the cover by faithful illustrator Marq Spusta) evoking a childish world (not devoid of fractures) to which all of us (musical children of the nineties first) would like to return (damned nostalgia!). Instrumentation obviously stripped to the bone, where Our Man takes on all instruments (including drums in its sporadic appearances), here and there aided by friends, some on the piano, some on guitar, or more simply behind the microphone (among others, Cat Power lends her voice in "Wide Awake").

In short, there's no point beating around the bush: starting from his particular rant, which is both neurotic and childlike naiveté together, and an unmistakable trademark, J Mascis is always J Mascis, suspended between melancholic songwriting (see the beautiful opener "Me Again"), "lighthearted" rock tracks that could very well be outtakes from the Dinosaur Jr. repertoire ("Every Morning" above all) and jolts of Ego that indeed resolve into echoes of a reconciling spirituality (the nervous "Heal the Star," complete with a relaxing tail of ethnically-tinged percussion). And if I can say two more words about “Heal the Star,” which is my favorite, I’d like to add that for me, there's nothing more exhilarating than a quirky falsetto suddenly overlapping with the ramshackle rise of a distorted guitar (which, for the record, dirties the strings, almost torn, of the acoustic guitar, even epic in this context!). And then the intense "Stumble," another peak of the work, where the usual falsetto, supported by expertly electrified arpeggios, delivers final chills down the spine. The fact remains that episodes like the hypnotic "Come Down" (placed in penultimate position) put the patience of listeners unaccustomed to such whining sounds to the test (because in the long run, that emblematic voice constitutes a cross and delight in J Mascis's art).

In the year of non-masterpieces, therefore, that veteran Mascis probably snags a spot on the podium of the best releases of 2014.