I knew you when you had something to say," Bob Mould sings on "I Hate Alternative Rock," and he sets himself up perfectly. His first post-Sugar solo album (and his third overall since the end of Hüsker Dü) has all the typical Mould ingredients: buzz-saw guitars; forceful, staggered rhythms; somber acoustic reveries; lyrics full of alienation and disgruntlement; and his unmistakable whine buried in the mix. But genuine inspiration is in short supply.

The overdistorted wall of guitars that Mould mastered a decade ago has become the standard sound, albeit slightly modified, of alternative rock. Match that with the endless heavy-handed bellyaching, and Mould comes across more like a morbid nuisance than an astute chronicler of bad times. He sounds increasingly like a 70s rock star harping about the pressures of fame, except in Mould's case, it's a matter of watching shinier, happier protégés claim his gold mine. His rage is justifiable, but it isn't much to listen to. (RS 734)

ROB O'CONNOR