BY COOPER LEVEY-BAKER
Published 01.17.07

One of the more unexpected trends of the ’00s has been the amazing re-emergence of a host of foundational punk and post-punk acts. Pixies, Gang of Four and Mission of Burma have all swung back into action over the last half-decade. So has Dinosaur Jr.: guitarist/singer Joseph Mascis Jr. (aka J Mascis), drummer Emmett Jefferson "Patrick" Murphy III (aka Murph) and bassist/singer Lou Barlow (aka Lou Barlow).

While these reunions vary in how committed the members are (Pixies have toured incessantly, but remain mum on a new album; Gang of Four lamely decided to re-record past classics; Mission of Burma, meanwhile, has waxed more new music this decade than it did during the ’80s), there’s obviously something in the water.

"I think a lot of bands from that era feel that this is a certain part of history that’s being bulldozed," Murph says on the phone from Maine, after a holiday visit with his sister in Sarasota. He wants to show kids that there was music before Clay Aiken. "I have this obligation to educate people," he adds.

The history Murph wants to share with the younger set goes back to the early 1980s, when Mascis and Barlow played together in Deep Wound, a hardcore quartet from western Massachusetts. After a short local run, that band broke up, as did Mogo, which Mascis and Barlow subsequently formed with Murph and a fourth member. Eventually, Mascis, Murph and Barlow settled into a trio, with Mascis writing and singing most of the songs.

By the time they formed Dinosaur — the "Jr." had to be affixed after The Dinosaurs, a post-hippie San Francisco "supergroup," sued — the three had settled on a sound that was clearly born from punk rock’s womb, but with the tempos slowed way down and the hardcore bark replaced by Mascis’ melodic wheeze. They incorporated the head-banging crunch of heavy metal and the swirling noise of their friends Sonic Youth. Mascis even did the unthinkable: He made wailing away on long guitar solos not only acceptable in indie rock, he made it cool.

The original lineup managed to record only three LPs — 1985’s Dinosaur, 1987’s You’re Living All Over Me (regularly cited as the group’s masterpiece) and the following year’s Bug — before the poisonous atmosphere within the trio forced change.

The tension between Mascis and Barlow in particular is legendary, as is the way that Mascis eventually disposed of Barlow’s services. Rather than come right out and fire Barlow, Mascis pretended that the band was mutually breaking up. Within a couple days, Barlow heard from friends that Mascis and Murph had already arranged a replacement and were going to continue as Dinosaur Jr.

In his 2001 book Our Band Could Be Your Life: Scenes From the American Indie Underground 1981-1991, Michael Azerrad quotes Barlow: "’J’s a real prime, stinking red asshole … He does not get how Murph and I helped him get anywhere that he was.’"

Barlow poured a lot of his angst over his dismissal into what had been a home-recording side project, Sebadoh, a band that itself became a staple of indie rock in the 1990s. Dinosaur Jr., meanwhile, signed to a major label and enjoyed minor successes in the suddenly huge alternative-rock game. In 1994, "Feel the Pain" became the band’s biggest hit, although Murph had already left the group by then. Mascis soldiered on under the Dinosaur Jr. name with a succession of helpers.

The bitterness surrounding Dinosaur Jr.’s disintegration made it all the more stunning when the band announced in 2005 that it would play together again. The reunion was prompted both by Merge Records’ decision to reissue the classic lineup’s three discs and by zealous efforts from a member of Mascis’s management team. After a long stretch touring, playing only tracks from the first three albums, the band cut a new record last year and is shooting for a late spring release.

"The initial spark was similar," Murph says of the recording sessions, "but this album was a lot more open to interpretation than ever before. There’s a lot more of me, my personality. J in the past had really specific, drawn-out drum parts. … really intense, almost like school, you know, like Juilliard."

The band also benefited from recording in the state-of-the-art home studio built by Mascis, a notorious gearhead. There were no time or monetary pressures.

Barlow even penned a couple of the tunes, something he hadn’t done since You’re Living All Over Me. "I just had some sort of loose ideas and nothing finished," Barlow says on the phone from his in-laws’ place in western Massachusetts, "just a couple melodies and a couple chords, and Murph came out to L.A. and we just jammed a little bit. … I didn’t come in [saying], ‘This is it. This is the drumbeat.’ J’s more the mastermind when it comes to his songs."

After Dinosaur’s one-off gig in Tampa, Barlow will prep for another reunion tour, this time with Sebadoh. Again, it was prompted by a reissue project: Domino Records re-released the band’s classic III last year.

Barlow’s activities with Sebadoh suggest that Dinosaur Jr. may not be back together for good, but the trio is committed to the new album and the inevitable support tour. Neither Barlow nor Murph are thinking beyond that.

"It’s kind of like doing music for a living is a precarious thing, but at the same time it keeps regenerating in new and surprising ways," Barlow says, "and I realize now I prefer that to feeling really established."

Even with a 2-year-old daughter to support, Barlow is content to live "album to album."

"With Dino," Murph explains, "it’s kind of by the seat of our pants. I don’t know. I don’t know how long J’s into it."

Later, he adds, "I think especially with us, this whole reunion thing, it’s gone really well. It’s gone better than we expected. We don’t want to jinx ourselves."