What Do We Do Now

These days, the most surprising thing about J Mascis’ solo albums is how regular they’ve become. When Mascis released Several Shades of Why in 2011, a quarter-century into his career, it was an anomaly—his first solo record of original material and an acoustic showcase for some of his most vulnerable songwriting. Ever since, he’s made it a regular habit, chasing each new Dinosaur Jr. album with a mellower, more leisurely solo record a couple of years later, as if part of some creative detox ritual. Since the original Dino Jr. lineup launched its improbably long, drama-free reunion, they’ve committed to, if not a healthier diet of communication and compromise, at least a shared understanding of their strengths, with Mascis writing to the terse sensibilities of his bandmates Lou Barlow and Murph. That’s led to some excellent records—five of them in a row, an incredible streak—but it’s also limited most of the shaggy exploration that Mascis brought to the band when he ran it as a de facto solo project in the ’90s and freely granted himself the right to indulge in gaudy funk or throw in a trumpet. Like 2018 predecessor Elastic Days, Mascis’ fourth solo album, What Do We Do Now, plays like a traditional band album, albeit in a decibel range considerably lower than Dinosaur Jr.’s skyscraper amp towers. Acoustic rhythm guitars ground the record with a bright shimmer, and Mascis accompanies them with a full drum kit, keyboards from Ken Maiuri (a fellow Massachusetts native and current member of the B-52’s), and, most unmistakably, the searing electric guitar solos that he pointedly left off of his first couple of solo records. Those wailing, emotive guitars remain one of the most expressive instruments in indie rock, but their impact is dulled when they’re unrooted from Dinosaur Jr.’s default volume and propulsion. The first time they torpedo through opener “Can’t Believe We’re Here,” jolting the track to life, the effect is undeniable. When they repeat the maneuver on every song, almost always at the midway point, the thrill wears off. Mascis’ best solos exude spontaneity. These feel more like muscle memory.To the extent What Do We Do Now is less satisfying than Mascis’ previous solo releases, it’s because it has less to reveal. Mascis has written so many songs about the same needs and frustrations—his failures to communicate, to be understood, and ultimately accepted—that they can’t help but bleed together. Still, the album’s light touch and content disposition make it a very easy listen, especially when Mascis leans into tenderness. On the title track, he sings about longing to kiss and squeeze you, a line that might scan as barbed amid the tension and murk of a Dinosaur Jr. song. Here it’s just another pleasant thought on an album whose instincts are always for familiar comforts.