Bob Mould > Matt Walks

He's judging me. (The Guardian)

So, this is interesting.

My piece on the first day of Sasquatch! — the first piece I’ve written for the Emerald — has drawn heavy fire from fans of Bob Mould. During the piece, which I’ll dig into a little deeper in a second, this is what I said about Mould:

“Bob Mould, a forty-something with thinning hair and no other musical accompaniment, hit the stage first. He tore off a brisk 45-minute set, warming up the crowd with his electric, Ted Leo-esque sound. Although he wasn’t well-known, Mould has collaborated with Death Cab for Cutie’s Ben Gibbard and Foo Fighters. The surging crowds, fresh off a full day in the sun, met him with equal intensity.”

Bob Mould, if you didn’t know (and don’t be embarrassed because, surprise, you’re not the only one on this planet), is an influential alternative rocker who was in both Husker Du and Sugar.

Naturally, that paragraph angered Mould’s fanbase, many of whom blasted me across the board. A few of the highlights….

“Oregon Daily Emerald music critic doesn’t seem to know who Bob Mould is.”

“Matt Walks needs to go to iTunes, right now, and download a copy of  ’Copper Blue’ by Sugar. Then, he needs to find a pair of tongs and some grease so that he can take his head out of his ass.” I actually kind of like this one.

“Oof. This is like a blend between an enthusiastic and ignorant high schooler and a uninformed and embarrassing dad.”

“Pretty sure the “about Matt Walks” section should include the words “ignorant”, “lazy”, “teenager” and “has equally clueless editors”…not necessarily in that order.”

“I’m crying..”

And this, from Ted Leo himself: “Holy shit – that id kind of the most fucked-uppedly ahistorical thing I’ve ever seen!” http://twitter.com/#!/tedleo/status/76889150032326656

Yeesh. At least Ted Leo has read my work.

My primary reaction is amazement. The fact that people are still commenting on it — its most recent activity was three hours ago — is a testament to both the power of the internet and the passion of Mould’s fans. My article has been forwarded and tweeted around the world and read by thousands more people than I had ever thought possible. In fact, if it wasn’t so universally hated, my ego might have actually inflated. The story’s subsequent comment thread has morphed into a lop-sided argument between uncompromising music intellectuals and those blessed contrarians who’ve stepped up to my defense (in many cases my friends).

Let me explain the situation at Sasquatch! a little more.

First, I didn’t have a press pass. I told the Emerald that I was going to Sasquatch! after the deadline for applying for one had passed, and I agreed with my bosses to cover the festival from a fan’s perspective. I would type up nightly reports from my campsite and email them off to the newsroom off any kind of internet I could find. I had never been to the festival before, and assuming that I could somehow find internet there was my first mistake. The Gorge is, as a CMS officer told me, “set up in the middle of a crop field in Central Washington. You’re not going to get internet here.” Compounding the problem, my laptop had a limited battery, and I didn’t really have any way to charge it (as it turned out, that wouldn’t be a problem).

After meandering through the District 9 campgrounds, I finally found someone to let me use a few minutes of wireless internet on their cellphone’s hotspot.

I had worked out a system where I would handwrite each article based on my experiences, personal background knowledge of the bands and the Sasquatch! program guide, which contained a brief bio of each artist. Then, I turned on my computer for as long as it took to type up the article and emailed it out to my editor. I didn’t have the opportunity to thoroughly — or, I admit, even briefly — research each band that I saw. In Mould’s case, he was the opening act on the mainstage Friday, and his modest bio in the pamphlet guide didn’t exactly paint him in the same light that the commenters on my story have. I guess when you’re a legend, you don’t say that in your PR blurb.

Regardless, on the third night, someone slashed open our tent and stole my laptop, digital camera and, yes, even our sandwiches. This was probably due to my advertising the fact that I had a laptop as I searched for someone to give me internet. In hindsight, that was a naive, foolish thing to do. At the time, it was the only conceivable way to turn in a piece that I had promised would be in.

The piece isn’t the best thing I’ve ever written by any stretch, but given the conditions under which I wrote it, I’m still proud of it.

Nothing I wrote in that paragraph about Mould is untrue. Well, he’s technically not a forty-something — he’s 50. Other than that, he did sound like Ted Leo, or, as my detractors eagerly point out, Ted Leo sounds like him. He had collaborated with DCFC and FF, a fact pointed out in the Sasquatch! pamphlet. Even the clause that nailed me to the cross, “Although he wasn’t well-known…” was absolutely true in the context under which I saw him. During his set, for whatever reasons, there just weren’t that many Mould fans. The sloping lawn facing the Gorge was pretty sparse, and he didn’t fill the lower standing-room area. Those directly around us were only there to get better spots for Death From Above 1979, The Bronx and Foo Fighters.

The only part of this that actually stings a little bit is that in cyberspace my name is now tied to a piece of musical ignorance. I know music. I do. I have Husker Du on my iPod, for God’s sake. For whatever reason, Mould slipped through the cracks. There’s no other excuse. And for that, Mould fans, I’m sorry. I know the bitter resentment of having a favorite musical artist blatantly misrepresented (it’s that same feeling I get every time people think that Edward Sharpe is a real person).

As much as I’m disappointed in myself for the flame war I’ve ignited, to me, this result is infinitely better than if no one had read or cared about my piece.

Plus, I’ve learned a lot from Mouldgate.

I’ve learned that in this day and age you can’t phone anything in. Every piece, every paragraph, no matter how trivial you deem it, matters. As a journalist, that’s incredibly reassuring and powerful. I’m also reminded that passion plus internet anonymity can be humbling.

Finally, at the most basic level, exhaustively do your research. If you don’t, people cry.