“Hey, can you hold on?”
Before I can answer, the sound of clunks, shuffles, and squeals peel through
the receiver.
“Sorry! His hair is drying all kooky!” Kristen Hirsch jumps back to conduct
this oh-so-serious promotional interview for the Throwing Muses’ new album,
Limbo, and the short, select-city tour accompanying it. The twice-over
rock mom is no stranger to road life with child; early fans might remember son
Dylan on her hip, some 10 years ago. This time out, she and 5-year-old
club-veteran Ryder have just jumped out of the shower. Hirsch has good news:
She’s five months into pregnancy with baby due this winter.
“I feel great; could use some sleep, though,” Hirsch chirps. “I’m pretty good
at being pregnant.” The inherent stress of her condition doesn’t affect her
attitude in the least. She turns any talk of hard life on the road to her son’s
perspective: “He’s cool on tour, on the bus; I mean, as long as [he doesn’t]
know the difference…”
This pragmatic glee oozes into her theme for 1996: “This is the best place the
band has ever been. This record is the most realized.”
Limbo‘s dry vocals and clean guitars are far from the lush, affected
productions of Muses past. “There’s something about showing a face without
makeup.” Hirsch grins audibly, “It was clear from the outset: these songs
needed clarity. We have no reason to do anything that the music doesn’t ask us
to do.” Which is not to say that this is not a demanding album. Between the
Beto Hernandez (Love & Rockets comics) cover art and Hirsch’s
equally jarring songwriting, faithful fans have little cause for worry. “This
is not ear candy,” she says.
With all of this self-confident contentment, is Limbo such a good title
for the Muses new record? Hirsch assures that I’m probing too deeply, “It’s
Limbo because I don’t like to title records. It fits on the CD!” she
jokes. “Actually we decided on a title track.” She rethinks her options, “It
is a funny little dance! And it’s somewhere in between…” —
Kate X Messer
This article appears in August 30 • 1996 and August 30 • 1996 (Cover).