Mudhoney

Having been dumped by Reprise Records and reacquired by Sub Pop (the label that launched the quartet more than a decade ago), Mudhoney seems less concerned about commercial success than ever — no small feat for an act that’s built a whole career on evading limelight hype. In fact, Translucent goes out of its way to keep everyone but purists at bay. The band’s first studio release since 1998 begins with a nearly nine-minute quirk-rock think piece that sounds closer to Sonic Youth than anything dredged from the Green River. But anyone still listening beyond this haphazard opening is rewarded with suck-you-dry drumming, shag-carpet riffs and frontman Mark Arm’s discontented nasal yowl.

Then the horns kick in. Hearing heavy brass honking as the band blazes away requires some adjustment, but it doesn’t alter things as much as one might think. The departure of longtime bassist Matt Lukin really doesn’t matter, either — the bulk of Translucent sounds exactly like every other Mudhoney record, which is reassuring in this period of overblown powerpuffing. Appropriately, Translucent ends as it started — with a lengthy experiment that only the faithful will appreciate, perhaps the perfect metaphor for Mudhoney’s entire existence.