Bob Mould and Mark Eitzel
Swedish American Hall
February 28, 2009
Review by Vicky Walker
Better Than: All those weedy so-called "emo" musicians who wouldn't recognize tragedy if it bought them a beer.
Misery loves company, it's said, so I'm not surprised to see a sellout crowd at the Swedish American Hall for the myrmidons of melancholy, Bob Mould and Mark Eitzel. Round-shouldered young men in dark clothing huddle next to young women in sharp bangs and paisley-swirled frocks. Balding older men stand at the back, feet planted, arms folded, stubbornly refusing to step aside for incomers. Several rows of folding chairs in the main hall have transformed it into a school assembly for overgrown ruffians. The century-old wood paneling and soft lamps make it warm and cozy, bathed in a warm fireside glow.
