Mudhoney - Superfuzz Bigmuff (EP) - Mustard Yellow Vinyl

Drop the needle on Superfuzz Bigmuff and you can practically smell the beer-soaked carpet of a late 80s Seattle club. Cut in 1988 for Sub Pop at Reciprocal Recording with Jack Endino at the desk, this six-song blast is Mudhoney at their most feral and funny. The title points to the tools of the trade, the Univox Super-Fuzz and Electro-Harmonix Big Muff, and the sound is exactly that: overloaded, blown-out guitars that feel like they’re eating the speakers. There’s no fuss to it, just a raw, immediate document of a band finding a voice that would echo through the next decade.

“Need” staggers out first, a tangle of feedback and Mark Arm’s rasping yelp, before “Chain That Door” locks into a whiplash sprint. The rhythm section of Matt Lukin and Dan Peters swings as hard as it crashes, which is why these songs have such lift. “Mudride” slows the tempo to a crawl without losing the menace, all bent notes and swampy overtones that threaten to buckle at the edges. Steve Turner’s guitar cuts and spatters through the mix, not in tidy leads but with the kind of ragged hooks you remember for days.

The two tracks that turn the key are “No One Has” and “If I Think.” They show a band that understood tension and release as much as volume. “No One Has” rides a clipped, needling riff into a chorus that feels like a wave breaking, then recedes just enough for Arm to drop another sneer. “If I Think” is almost tender by their standards, a melancholy singalong wrapped in corroded fuzz, proof that melody was always part of the Mudhoney toolkit. Endino’s recording keeps it all in the room, dry and close, so you hear hands on strings and the spill of cymbals. No studio gloss, just the heat of four people pushing air.

Then there’s “In ’n’ Out of Grace,” which opens with the Peter Fonda line from The Wild Angels, the same film quote that would later turn up in Primal Scream’s “Loaded.” Here it works like a fuse, the band detonating into a headlong sprint that breaks down to a bass throb, teases the crowd, and comes roaring back. It’s the song that captures Mudhoney’s chaotic humour and their sense of the absurd. They made a mess on purpose, then made it swing.

Context matters with a record like this. Arm and Turner had already sharpened their claws in Green River, Lukin came over from the Melvins, and Peters hit like a wrecking ball with perfect time. Superfuzz Bigmuff took that pedigree and turned it into a new language for guitar music in the Pacific Northwest. Critics have been calling it a cornerstone of grunge since before the term stuck, and it still shows up on lists of essential Seattle records for a reason. It didn’t blow up charts, it changed bands. You can hear its grime in everything from early Nirvana to the garage revivalists that followed two decades later.

A quick word on formats for the faithful. If you can land an early Sub Pop press of Superfuzz Bigmuff vinyl, grab it, because this music lives best with a bit of groove noise and volume knob abuse. Later editions fold in the early singles and a scorching 1988 live set, which is a handy way to keep “Touch Me I’m Sick” within reach even though it wasn’t on the original EP. Either way, Mudhoney vinyl rewards a loud system and tolerant neighbours. If you’re crate-digging in a Melbourne record store and spot that familiar sleeve, don’t think twice. And if you’d rather buy Mudhoney records online, plenty of shops that specialise in vinyl records Australia-wide keep Mudhoney albums on vinyl in steady rotation.

What keeps this one vital is the wit inside the sludge. Arm’s lyrics needle machismo and scene hype, then turn inward without getting maudlin. The guitars aren’t technical showpieces, they’re colours, stacked and detuned until they smear just right. Endino catches the band with the red light on and no safety net. It’s the kind of document labels try to manufacture after the fact. You can’t. You get it when a band is broke, hungry, and laughing at the same time.

Thirty-odd minutes later, the room feels different. Louder, sure, but also charged. Superfuzz Bigmuff isn’t just a relic from a fertile moment, it’s still a live wire. Play it next to whatever shiny new noise you’ve been spinning and it holds its ground, grinning, daring you to turn it up again. That’s the test any great record should pass, and this one clears it with muddy boots.