Dinosaur Jr.

There was something different about the resurrection of Dinosaur Jr. even from its abstract beginnings. Before Pavement brought the slacker ethos to its natural, albeit eccentric climax, the reformed hardcore punks J. Mascis and Lou Barlow, along with drummer Murph, sculpted murky, long-range guitar workouts for the laid-back and the incidentally employed. Mascis’ twangy intonation rendered the kind of vocal performance that seemed as surprised as the listener with the craggy and uncompromisingly melodic. Not unlike the generation of grunge bands it inspired, it never seemed meant to last. Well-beloved but critically understated in general, the band was, for a time, the middle-child of indie rock’s late-eighties inception; robbed both of Sonic Youth’s extended-career veneration and the Pixies’ cult-pop status, Dinosaur Jr. was expected to produce a single masterpiece—namely 1987’s “You’re Living All Over Me,”—and languish into its prescribed stoner-rock loveseat. The alleged indignity with which the original lineup dispersed (Mascis reportedly fired bassist Barlow without ever actually telling Barlow after “Bug” in 1988; Barlow would find renewed underground success with his Sebadoh and Folk Implosion projects) made a true reunion unlikely.

That’s probably what made their reunion and resurgence—marked by the astounding “Beyond,” one of the best albums of 2007 hands-down, and now the excellent “Farm”—so satisfying. Dinosaur Jr., the band with a history and even a name that implies a nostalgic relegation to the past, isn’t just making music again. This band is making music as good as its best.

The expectations around every Dinosaur Jr. album are, happily the same as ever: variations on the same things at which the band has always excelled. Mascis’ voice still quakes, perhaps more age-appropriately. Murph’s drums still explode with cymbal-work. Barlow’s bass still fills out each song with wall-like intensity. “Ocean In The Way” glides with the same freefalling, if more sedated grace of the vintage “Sludgefeast.” The more extended pieces, “Said The People” and “I Don’t Want To Go There,” a combined 16 minutes and change and the longest of the band’s career, are hypnotic if a bit indulgent, bristling with Mascis’ enthusiasm for lengthy solo workouts that the fans will always welcome. Their weight is balanced nimbly with a handful of brisk, melodic pop songs among which are “There’s No Here” and “See You.” Barlow’s songwriting contributions, usually comparatively minor, and always a bit heavy-handed thematically, punctuate Mascis’ set nicely, particularly the exhilarating closer, “Imagination Blind.”

But the prize still belongs to Mascis, whose songwriting seems perfectly attuned to the chemistry that the trio had developed, weirdly uninterrupted after nearly two decades apart. Nowhere is this more true than on “I Want You To Know,” a blissfully heavy blast of lovesick joy that’s just as easily straight out of the 80s vaults. In the end, the only difference between “Farm” and its immediate predecessor is the subtle tone of satisfaction; having emerged into yet another creative groove, this record lacks the hints of ragged desperation that made “Beyond” just a shade more wonderful. But don’t call “Farm” a holding pattern. Call it cruise-control.

—Staff writer Ryan J. Meehan can be reached at rmeehan@fas.harvard.edu.