Bob Mould and David Lowery have three things in common. Both began by fronting seminal Eighties bands with Nordic names (the pioneering post-punk Hüsker Dü and the eclectic-experimental Camper Van Beethoven, respectively); both translated their indie credentials into commercial success with their subsequent, gastronomically monikered bands, Sugar and Cracker; and both have released new albums that attempt to come to terms with their first bands' legacies.

In Lowery's case, this means revisiting his roots. While Cracker's earlier albums borrowed Camper's catchier qualities and disregarded their eccentricities, Gentleman's Blues occasionally throws sobriety to the wind and goes on a whimsical bender. Average indie-rock numbers such as "Been Around the World" (sappy) and "The World Is Mine" (happy) give way to the daft arrangements and goofy lyrics of "Lullabye" ("Only when I laugh does it hurt/The doctor says, 'Please, son, remove your skirt'") and the odd oom-pah-pah of "I Want Out of the Circus." Hidden tracks include the sound of numbers being punched on a touch-tone phone. Thanks to such spates of inspired lunacy, Gentleman's Blues is Lowery's most interesting effort since ... well, since Camper Van Beethoven.

Bob Mould also revisits his past on The Last Dog and Pony Show, but the album is more of a wake – in the most festive sense – than a reconciliation. Blending Sugar's hard pop with the rueful confessions of his solo efforts, Mould has fashioned a passionate tribute to his twenty years in music. The opening track, "New #1," swims in the kind of swooping guitars and love/hate lyrics that made Sugar's debut, Copper Blue, so listener friendly; "Who Was Around?" is a moody, solo-era Mould-gazes-at-navel plaint. And the fiery vocals, hammering power chords and anthemic chorus of "Taking Everything" would have done Hüsker Dü proud. The album strikes its only off note with "Megamanic," a jokey faux-rap pastiche that never reaches its punch line.

Mould claims that this is his final rock album before he switches to an acoustic singer-songwriter format more fitting for a man of his vintage (he's thirty-seven). That's a pity, because The Last Dog and Pony Show and, to a lesser extent, Lowery's Gentleman's Blues prove that old rock legends needn't die, fade away or become self-parodies. They just need to learn from their history. (RS 794)

NEVA CHONIN