Mudhoney - Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge (2LP) - Light Blue/Red Vinyl

Before the grunge wave went global, Mudhoney snuck in a record that reminded everyone this scene was built on garage grit as much as doom-laden sludge. Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge landed in July 1991 on Sub Pop, a sharp pivot from the murkier throb of their debut toward something leaner, cheekier and steeped in 60s snap. Recorded at Seattle’s Egg Studios with Conrad Uno, it sounds like a band chasing a different kind of raw: fewer tar pits, more blown-out garage, with a cheap keyboard wheeze here and a jagged surf twitch there. The title nods to the old music-class mnemonic for the treble clef, which fits because so much of this record is about clarity. Not polish, just the thrill of a song that hits square on the nose.

Mark Arm spits melody like it’s a dare, and Steve Turner threads needles with leads that cut without bloating the mix. Dan Peters, who famously sat in with Nirvana on Sliver, plays like he’s carving the beat into stone, and Matt Lukin glues the whole thing together with a bruised, rubbery bass tone. You can hear the band deciding that fuzz doesn’t have to swamp. It can crackle, even sparkle, while still leaving a film of oil on your fingers.

Let It Slide is the obvious entry point. The hook is as big as anything Mudhoney ever swung at, but the song still lurches with that mischievous attitude that made their early singles feel dangerous. Good Enough rides a riff that jangles and snarls at the same time, and it’s one of Arm’s sneakier vocals, sly and a bit wounded without ever turning plaintive. Into the Drink feels like a bar fight with a surf band, reverb flickering around that rhythm section stomp. Fuzz Gun ’91 does exactly what it says on the tin, a short shock of noise that reminds you these blokes always kept one foot in the squall. Generation Genocide opens like a garage door going up on a humid day, the air heavy but moving fast.

Uno’s production at Egg Studios gives the guitars a wiry brightness that set this apart from the Jack Endino-made landmarks that defined early Sub Pop. It matters, because Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge arrives just before the whole world decided Seattle sounded one way. Mudhoney were already tugging at the sleeves, looking back to Nuggets compilations and teenage kicks. The organ peeks and tambourine shakes aren’t costume pieces either; they round the corners without softening the punch.

The record’s place in the timeline adds a bit of lore. Sub Pop was in a tight spot early in 1991, and this album’s relative thrift and strong sales helped keep the lights on until the floodgates opened later that year. Critics clocked it straight away. UK weeklies championed its wiry energy, and later reassessments have only boosted its standing. The 30th anniversary reissue on Sub Pop in 2021 put the spotlight back on these songs, and it still felt fresh. That says something, because nostalgia tends to sand edges off, and there are plenty of edges here.

If you’re chasing Mudhoney vinyl, this is the one that never lingers long in the racks. The Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge vinyl pressings have a bite that suits the album’s quicksilver feel, and the jackets look great alongside the classic Sub Pop spines on a shelf. Folks who buy Mudhoney records online probably already know to pounce when it pops up, but if you find a clean copy at a Melbourne record store, don’t overthink it. There’s a reason Mudhoney albums on vinyl keep their value. They get played.

What sticks after the fuzz clears is how human these songs feel. Not myth, not a blueprint for a movement, just four players leaning into a shared pulse. You can almost see the Egg Studios room in your mind, small amps cranked, a floor tom ringing a bit too long, laughter bleeding into a take. So much of 1991 has been framed by scale and spectacle. Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge is the counterpoint. It’s the sound of a band remembering that attitude and economy can be the same thing. For fans digging through vinyl records Australia wide, it’s a keeper. And for anyone meeting Mudhoney for the first time, it’s a perfect handshake: firm, a little greasy, and exactly right.