(Translated from my original Italian text by ChatGPT and Piero Scaruffi)

Shudder To Think were one of the punk-rock bands that most strongly attempted to reinvent the genre, even incorporating electronics and noise. They were formed by Craig Wedren, who in high school had recorded with his classmate Nathan Larson several avant-garde tapes inspired by John Cage and Ornette Coleman. Alongside them were drummer Mike Russell and guitarist Chris Matthews.

The beginnings were not promising. Curse, Spells, Voodoo, Mooses (Sammich, 1989 - Dischord, 2003) presented yet another group of disciples of the Husker Du and Buzzcocks “popcore,” although this time they came from the capital of intellectual hardcore, Washington, featured a shrill singer in the tradition of David Thomas, and adopted the “emo” poses of Rite of Springs. Between the lines, one could already glimpse some abrasiveness worthy of the Fugazi, and even some art-rock ambitions. Punk audiences remained indifferent to the excessive cerebral nature of the project.

That was indeed the group’s vocation, as revealed by Ten Spot (Dischord, 1990). The band sounds like a psychedelic hardcore version of Rush and Yes running wild through the catchy melody of Jade-Dust Eyes, the crude chant of Rag, and the rhythmic fractures of About Three Dreams. The Shudder To Think trace a harmonic path that bypasses hardcore conventions along a bizarre trajectory, only to suddenly take off into the heavy metal of Corner Of My Eyes. At times, the group’s delicate and elaborate phrasing (vocal virtuosity, luminous guitar counterpoint, inventive rhythms) brings them close even to R.E.M.. At the center of their vignettes is already Craig Wedren’s voice—his way of performing poetic texts by rising and falling across the staff, articulating syllables and notes, singing against himself by alternating baritone and falsetto across different octaves. It is his trembling vocal acrobatics that animate Heaven Here, Summertime Train, and especially Vacation Brain.

The EP Funeral At The Movies (Dischord, 1990) marked a decisive turning point, which was also a natural evolution. Ride That Sexy Horse incorporates avant-garde techniques (tape loops, minimalism) with a spirit halfway between Bongwater and Flaming Lips. Lies About The Sky could make Sonic Youth jealous in the austere and casual way it injects experimentation into the rock song format. The pop melodies of Chocolate, Day Ditty, and Red House are grafted onto the exceptions, not the rules, of harmony. Wedren’s pompous vocal style offsets the atonal quality of the music in a surreal way. Supported by equally complex instrumental scores, his ethereal vocalizations take on an almost metaphysical value, like the mad and innocent deliriums of David Thomas amid the dissonant noise of life.

The group had found its true voice, and Get Your Goat (Dischord, 1992) merely fine-tuned the approach, further moderating the hardcore impulse, emphasizing guitar “noise” in the vein of Dinosaur Jr. and My Bloody Valentine, and indulging in tempo shifts and progressive-rock dissonances. Among the (highly erudite) sources of songs like Goat and Baby Drop are cited Partch, Cage, Thelonious Monk, and John Zorn. Improvisation, polyrhythms, and Wedren’s falsetto crooning alone would be enough to lift Shudder To Think out of the hardcore crowd. Tracks like Love Catastrophe and The Hair Pillow sound as if the Beach Boys were singing Bach accompanied by a progressive-rock band. The more aggressive and adventurous pieces, such as Shake Your Halo Down and Pebbles, even recall Family and early Genesis.

Thanks also to the arrival of Nathan Larson on guitar (ex Stigmata-A-Go-Go), and a new drummer, Adam Wade (ex Jawbox), Pony Express Record (Epic, 1994) displays an even more booming and refined sound: X-French Tee-Shirt and Chakka perform acrobatics with time signatures and riffs. The bizarre yet catchy No Rm 9 Kentucky and especially Hit Liquor made them known outside the hardcore circuit. The songs on this record are almost too intricate—and above all too self-consciously so—to be truly great music (somewhat like their idols King Crimson). The only visceral moment comes with 9 Fingers On You, but it almost feels like a mistake. The rest is not inspiration, but artifice.

One might almost say that Rush are the best reference for describing the artistic trajectory of Shudder To Think: a band that began in hardcore but arrived at a “progressive” variant of it, one that is both experimental and commercial.

But the band had another path in store. First Wedren, who until then had been the group’s “voice,” became ill. Then Nathan Larson released an album under the name Mind Science Of The Mind (Epic, 1996), accompanied by Mary Timony of the Helium and Joan Wasser of the Dambuilders. When Wedren recovered, he had become more of a composer than an author.

The Shudder To Think comeback was not up to their earlier repertoire. 50000 B.C. (Epic, 1997), with Kevin March of the Dambuilders on drums, is perhaps their first mediocre record. The band abandons its experimental ambitions and plays a banal summary of power-pop history, from Cheap Trick to Green Day (Kissessmack Of Past Action). For every Call Of The Playground that recalls their past glory, there is the embarrassing pop arrangement of All Eyes Are Different.

Wedren and Larson wrote the music for the film High Art (Velvel/Bottom Line, 1998) by Lisa Cholodenko in a sparse, atmospheric style reminiscent of Luna’s rock.

First Love Last Rites (Epic, 1998) is another soundtrack, but the music is this time organized according to the logic of rock albums rather than film scores. The idea is to imitate one of those radio stations that play “oldies” all night long. The result is a journey back in time to 1950s white America—the Brill Building era and teen idols. To give voice to it, Shudder To Think (Wedren, Larson, and now Stuart Hill) enlist a large group of guest performers: Jeff Buckley sings the aching doo-wop of the Drifters in I Want Someone Badly; Matt Johnson of The The mumbles blues on Jelly On The Table with turntable crackle; Nina Persson of the Cardigans delivers the tender Appalachian Lullaby; and Wedren himself imitates a dancehall slow ballad in Diamonds Sparks And All and a Johnny Cash-style country lament in Lonesome Dove.
The aggressive side of those years is represented by Liz Phair, who submits to the pop cadence of Erecting A Movie Star, and Billy Corgan, who shouts through the wild rock’n’roll of When I Was Born, I Was Bored.
In the middle ground, Robin Zander smiles through the Merseybeat of Automatic Soup, and especially Mimi Parker delivers a stunning interpretation of Phil Spector-style girl-group hymns in Just Really Want To See You (counterpointed by Alan Sparhawk in a Neil Diamond tone). Perhaps no revival album has ever imitated the originals so faithfully.
The band had just specialized in melodramatic power ballads and suddenly found itself wearing the costumes of the Brill Building era. Thirty years earlier, they would have become millionaires.