30 Years of 'Pony Express Record'
An interview with Shudder to Think in 1994 ignited a budding journo's aspirations
Most days, Facebook is where I see some combination of cute friends’ kids content, uncute right-wing reposts from randos I’m too lazy to mute or block, and obituaries that make me anxious about my own mortality. But today, ye olde algorithm served me something delightful: one of my all-time favorite records, Pony Express Record, the 1994 album by Washington, D.C. post-punk geniuses Shudder to Think, was turning 30.
Okay, so this also made me anxious about my own mortality. How could a seminal album of my own lifetime be older than some of the other parents at daycare?
But I inhaled, I exhaled, and felt transported into my teenage self, a guy logging untold hours in the Tower Records on Rockville, Maryland’s Rockville Pike, devouring as many magazines as the staff would allow me to read without paying (although I saved my shekels to buy Raygun, above all else) and bopping between listening stations until the hair around my ears was pooled with sweat.
In 1994, “alternative” music was firmly mainstream. In fact, that fall was when it really went wild, something I tracked in real time in the form of Green Day tickets I’d purchased. Originally set for the original 9:30 Club (capacity: 200), the show kept getting bumped up in venue size over three months until it finally landed in the 6,000-capacity Patriot Center. The lacrosse bros shouting homophobic slurs at opening act Pansy Division came as no surprise.
Oh MAGA, if those bros had been at a Shudder to Think show to see Craig Wedren in his Pony Express glory. Silk shirt sideburn struts and all, his voice a glammy cocktail of falsetto synagogue cantor and sex line operator. Nathan Larson manhandling his low-slung guitars with angular strokes while hocking loogies over his pointy devil goatee.
Finding Shudder was my favorite reward from those endless Tower Records sessions. I had no cool older sibling or cousin to imbue their college rock knowledge upon me. I lived squarely in the burbs. Spotting that Shudder-shaped tip of a D.C. scene iceberg was it for me. Soon, I was writing for ‘zines in the city, digging even deeper into indie music of all flavors, and on my way to what became a major chapter of a career at SPIN.
And watch this space — there’s more to come in the near future on the topic of music discovery, nostalgia, and fandom for men, ahem, dads of a certain age. Hence the “Father of Mine” title.
But there’s one more Shudder to Think anecdote: Craig Wedren helped me find the confidence to talk to rock stars. I cold-approached him after the first of a two-night stand in September 1994 at D.C.’s Black Cat, told him I worked for my high school paper and one of my classmates was a family friend of his, and asked for an interview. He told me no problem, come back tomorrow, I’ll put you on the list.
So my pal Andrew Zuckerman brought his camera and I brought my pad, and we produced this feature, from the October 1994 issue of the Charles E. Smith Jewish Day School’s The Lion’s Tale. It’s completely cringeworthy to read a 30 year old piece of my writing, but it’s completely endearing to recall Craig’s generosity to a teen who was barely holding it together with nervousness, sweating through his XL French T-Shirt.
Craig Wedren of Washington's Shudder to Think talks about his band's journey to success
By Peter Gaston
CES/JDS’ The Lion’s Tale, Oct. 26, 1994
Craig Wedren's only problem in the early morning hours of October 1 seems to be that his answering machine is broken. Wedren, perched upon a cheesy green vinyl sofa in the basement of the Black Cat, has been greeting, hugging and kissing friends, family, and fellow members of Shudder to Think for three hours.
Wedren and Shudder have just completed their two-night stop in their hometown of Washington, D.C. after a long road trip, and Wedren's answering machine difficulties might prevent him from seeing his friends who are constantly dropping by the sofa and asking to meet him.
Stuart Hill, Shudder's bassist, cofounder and the only long-haired, rock star-looking member of the band, approaches the sofa. Wedren, whose tall, lean figure, jet black hair and long sideburns make him seem more Guess jeans model than rock frontman, cracks his loving grin, and extends his ring-filled fingers to shake Hill's hand.
Wedren introduces Hill to everyone in the room. Wedren explains that he wants to get together with Hill the next day, but that he cannot be reached at home due to his answering machine difficulties. A plan is worked out. Once again, Wedren, who seems so sincere and laidback in conversation, flashes his smile, then rises to embrace him.
This scene portrays the usual atmosphere after a Shudder show, especially here in Washington. For two nights, the band played to their hometown friends and fans, the ones who have followed them from their debut in 1988, through their days on the Fugazi-founded Washington independent label, Dischord Records, and now to their present stature.
Pony Express Record, the band's third full length album and its debut on major label Epic Records, hit the stores on September 13. With recent national exposure on the Lollapalooza festival's second stage, and on tours with such bands as Smashing Pumpkins and Fugazi, Shudder's new album should get increased attention.
Even with the newfound success and fame, the warm, open environment backstage remains. "Everything is an extension of how I was brought up," says Wedren, whose parents showed up after the show. "Sometimes people are scary, and we're all aloof sometimes, but generally this is how things are."
Wedren, Hill, guitarist Nathan Larson, and drummer Adam Wade played two fierce nights of tracks from the new album as well as old Shudder favorites. Larson and Wade, who replaced guitarist Chris Matthews and drummer Mike Russell soon after the release of their last album, Get Your Goat, in 1992, add new, distinctive traits to the traditional Shudder sound. Larson stabs and pierces with his roaring guitar while Wade's beats are constantly changing yet always tight.
Pony Express Record is the first album recorded with Shudder's new lineup. Well represented on the album are the familiar sounds of Wedren's high-pitched, often times operatic vocals and quirky lyrics accompanied by Hill's smooth basslines, but the contributions of Larson and Wade make Pony Express Record the hardest Shudder album to date.
"Sometimes I guess that it's just two completely different people," Wedren says of Larson and Wade. "I'm in such a different place now and Stuart [Hill] is in a different place now so it's hard to say what changed with Nathan and Adam." He ponders for a moment, grins once more, and says, "I guess we have more nice clothes. No, really, I think that our sound is more fully realized than before."
The new album is mixed with Wedren's vocals in the spotlight so the power of Larson's guitar and Wade's drums is somewhat hidden on several tracks. On stage, however, these two elements break through and dominate.
Down on the green sofa, it is fast approaching 3:00 a.m. and more people have come to visit. This time, Amy, a programmer at MTV, has joined Wedren on the sofa. She is obviously a good friend, and she and Wedren begin to reminisce about Lollapalooza. "There were these Buddhist monks who were the biggest stars in the whole thing," Wedren remembers. "If you were down or some-thing, you would just spend some time in their bus and everything would be okay."
Wedren has some fond memories from Lollapalooza, including playing Judas Priest's "Livin' After Midnight" with Smashing Pumpkins and hanging out with the bands. Wedren says that he and his bandmates were stupendous friends with Stereolab, and that they loved Shonen Knife, the all-female Japanese punk trio. "They were adorable," says Wedren.
Wade stops in and reminds Wedren and Amy about their hula hoop contest on Lollapalooza. Wedren introduces everyone again to Wade. As Wade prepares to leave, there is more hugging and handshaking.
With Amy's presence in mind, we begin to discuss the video for "Hit Liquor," which has begun to get airplay on MTV. "It's all about my birthday," says Amy. Wedren explains that Amy's birthday party was thrown by her friends on a boat called the Frying Pan in New York. "It gave us an idea for a really sick video," says Wedren, who concocted the video plot with Larson. The band filmed their video aboard the Frying Pan, and they are pleased with the outcome.
The video will introduce Shudder to a whole new group of people, but many Shudder fans began their interest in the band when they heard Shudder's version of Victoria Williams' "Animal Wild" on the Sweet Relief benefit album which featured such artists as Lou Reed, Pearl Jam, Soul Asylum, and Evan Dando of the Lemonheads. All of these artists colored Williams' songs within the lines on the albums, but Shudder's track is scribbled all over.
"We didn't know what anyone was doing," says Wedren. "We got a few Victoria Williams songs, went to a practice space, and we were like, ‘What are the chords?’ We just decided to bust it and see what happens." What happened was the creation of a unique interpretation of a folk song, and the most memorable track on Sweet Relief.
Wedren has a deep affection for "Crazy Mary," the Victoria Williams song that Pearl Jam contributed to Sweet Relief. "It is a beautiful song. I wish that Eddie Vedder would do more things like that because he was great on that track," Wedren says.
It is quiet now backstage, and Wedren takes a moment to ponder the journey of his band from its indie years to the verge of major label success with Pony Express Record.
"The only pressure we had on this album was from us. There was no pressure from the label. They were like, 'Go, do the weird thing.' The pressure was so intense that before we went into the studio, I had this psycho-physical breakdown. I lost my voice for three months and I just walked around my apartment in my ex-girlfriend's bathrobe," recalls Wedren.
Overall, Wedren seems quite content with life. He is a man who loves to think and discuss anything, so he leaves with something profound. "Maybe we could be bigger of we played in space. I mean, no one could smoke at the show because the smoke would just sit their in front of your face and you couldn't breathe," Wedren ponders, and he joins Amy in exploring this notion for a moment.
Wedren rises, and begins to leave.
He turns, giving me an intelligent glance accompanied by his grin. "I am you, you are me, we are each other," he says.
Shudder to think about it.
Someone start a GoFundMe "Send Craig Wedren to Space!"and I'll donate!