Sorry, Somehow
I can’t for the life of me tell you the first time I heard of Hüsker Dü. The band at least, I can nail down a reasonable timeline for when…
I can’t for the life of me tell you the first time I heard of Hüsker Dü. The band at least, I can nail down a reasonable timeline for when I knew of the game. I might have even owned a copy while still in single digits.

I’m fully aware of the irony of not recalling details about a group whose name means Do You Remember? in Danish and Norwegian.
In general, I have a good memory and an ability to recall. I can tell you the first episode of The Simpsons I remember watching — It’s a “Streetcar Named Marge” if you’re curious. I remember seeing Marge try to stab Flanders.— Or when I discovered a love of Motown —On the bus to kindergarten. I attended Critchfield Elementary in LaPorte, Indiana. It’s not too far from Chicago, in the north of Indiana. I suppose I was a temporary region rat. I think we were able to get the signal from there — I don’t remember hearing The Beatles in that era, just The Supremes and The Four Tops. I can tell you my first NBA Game — November 28, 1997, Bulls/Pacers. Got to see Reggie Miller, Michael Jordan, Scottie Pippen, Dennis Rodman and others.
Where I heard of Hüsker Dü might have been reading up on Green Day’s American Idiot. I was obsessed with The Who in the mid-2000s, particularly Quadrophenia. Another album was mentioned as influence: Zen Arcade. That album was described it as a “kind of thrash Quadrophenia.”
That’s a description that both intrigued and terrified me. I assumed with a name like that that they were some kind of metal band.
Or it have might have been from the same source as where I heard of The Replacements: Chuck Klosterman.
Seems fitting the two are intertwined, both bands originated in the same scene and shared a friendly rivalry. Or at least one that lacked the open rancor of Blur and Oasis roughly a decade later.
The Replacements came first, chatter on a message board I belonged to about reissues of their first couple albums. I ordered Let It Be, it seemed like the optimal starting point for the band. They were on the listening list for a class I was taking the spring semester of 2008 during my freshman year of college: Z301, Rock Music in the 70s and 80s. And so was another band: Hüsker Dü.
I’d never heard any of their music at this point, all I knew was all the umlauts intimidated me. I assumed that because Spinal Tap made use of the umlaut that they were similar.
In some respects, I wasn’t far off the mark, the group’s early hardcore, wasn’t dissimilar to thrash metal. Different routes taken for the same result. Musical convergent evolution.
The first song of theirs I heard was “Pink Turns To Blue,” a Grant Hart song. It wasn’t like anything I expected. I got Zen Arcade that November. Hüsker Dü CDs weren’t exactly easy to come by for me, not even in my college town, though at the time I wasn’t acquainted with all the records stores around. And they weren’t readily available on iTunes, at least the albums I wanted.
The next year I got more and more Hüsker Dü and the work of their contemporaries. I got a copy of their live album The Living End. And then I got a copy of Our Band Could Be Your Life, my favorite chapters were on them and The Replacements, my favorite bands of the era. Members of my Holy Trinity of College Rock along with R.E.M. and all three signed to Warner Bros. or a Warner subsidiary when they went to a major label.
I found others who loved Hüsker Dü like I loved them.
When I found out Grant Hart passed away last week, I thought of all the people in my life who shared my love for them and I texted them. I told them I thought of them when I heard the news and they said the same.
When it comes to loving bands and artists, I often feel a sort of survivor’s guilt, particularly if I discover the music after the artist has passed on within my lifetime. Or if I neglected to give their body of the work the deep listen it warranted.
It’s a silly notion. My enjoyment of their work doesn’t really affect them in any way. I guess it’s some foolish desire to make the people in your life feel appreciated even though in most cases being a fan of someone is really a one way street.
I love Hüsker Dü. I own more Hüsker Dü t-shirts than I own for any other band. Hüsker Drew is a go to pun, one that incorporates my first name.
I love saying their name with the proper, Scandinavian pronunciation. My paternal grandmother was Norwegian, from North Dakota, world’s away from the Twin Cities in terms of culture, but it somewhat makes me feel a little more connected to those bands even if it’s only a very slight one.
When it comes to Hüsker Dü, Bob Mould tends to get more of the spotlight, he’s had an active career after the band called it quits nearly three decades ago. He had more output than Grant Hart with arguably though more hits and misses.
A man of contradictions as those who knew him and eulogized him —more eloquently than I — have said. As one memorial said, Hart would deliberate over a song, wanting to get just the right word for a verse. But he was also prone to not follow through on work.
Any time an artist you admire passes, it’s an opportunity to revisit their work and remember what it was like falling in love with them in the first place.
Many of the most played Hüsker Dü songs in my iTunes library were written by Grant. They’re also some of the most played in my library overall.
It’s rather astonishing the number of great songs he wrote. Let alone the iconic album artwork he produced for the band.
When I make a mixtape for someone I have a crush on, more often than not the Hüsker Dü song I include is by Grant Hart whether it’s “Books About UFOs” or “Green Eyes.”
Like Alex Chilton passing away before the Big Star show at SXSW in 2010, it’s simply criminal that Grant died before the Savage Young Dü box set was released. At least people got to stream it before he died.
But that’s life, it’s unfair and we don’t always get the ending we want or deserve.
Everytime I stare at the cover of my LP of New Day Rising that sits at the front of a crate of records at the foot my bed, I’m asked a question.
And I have one.
I do remember.
I’ll never forget you, Grant Hart.