During the first half of the set, he played a 12-string acoustic guitar. The second half was electrified (no amp, though-- just one of those guitar sound emulator boxes that I'd describe better if I understood how they work.) Much of this second part was also accompanied by techno backing tracks, songs from and along the lines of the experimental stuff on the Modulate album. He had told Kevin backstage that the techno stuff was "all he was really interested in these days." There was, perhaps, a bit less interest on the part of some audience members, and I'd say the reaction was mixed. Some people really got into it though, and it was kind of fun to watch little pockets of thirty-something alterna-types getting into the spirit of things by busting out the dance moves, many of them adorably awkward. I didn't try to do any dancing, as that would have been wrong, but I did think the techno-y portion of the show was great, all the more so for being unexpected. And really, I would enjoy listening to Bob Mould sing in pretty much any context.

The best part for me, though, was as so often before the beautiful, moving, unadorned rendition of "Celebrated Summer" that closed the second encore. It's hard to explain exactly why, since it doesn't have that much to do with the literal content, but I always get a little choked up when I hear this song, particularly when caught up in the immediacy of the solo singer-songwriter presentation of it. I'm getting a little choked up just remembering it now. I guess that's how the emotion/memory/experience/art collision gradually builds its power over time. Or maybe I don't understand it all that well, at that. Whatever: I'm content to enjoy the mystery.

Kevin Army's set was great, too, in a (for me) slightly different way that I think is worth mentioning.

I've met Bob Mould a couple of times, but I really only know him through his music. One of the strangest and most powerful things about the singer-songwriter/audience relationship is this disconnected but oddly genuine-seeming intimacy you can feel towards someone you don't actually know. I know from the experience of being on the other end of it that this intimate "knowledge" of another tends to be inaccurate, sometimes wildly so. Knowing a person in person just happens naturally, while knowing someone through their songs takes some work and diligence, and there's no real way of knowing whether any inferences you make or impressions you get about the real guy are true. It doesn't matter whether or not they are, really. I can hear Bob Mould's often cryptic or buried lyrics, feel genuinely moved by them and try to explore why; in the process I may learn something about him, or I may not. His songs have meant something to me, so I feel this sort of affection not just for the songs but for him personally, which is the most natural thing in the world, but which is in a way kind of turning the concept of "affection" on its head. What I'm getting at is, it's not the same as a real relationship with a real person. But it can sure feel a lot like one.