Puddle of Mudd Album Recommendations

The old five-point scale has been retired in favor of just rating stuff 1-10, which allows me a much more nuanced final rating. Still don't take it that seriously. Most of these come from my own collection, so the grades skew rather high. Your results may vary if you send me stuff to review.

Each album is given three Essential tracks, my personal favorites, regardless of how weird and inconsequential they are. The Quintessential pick is the one I think best represents the album as a whole, so you can try one song instead of a whole album of songs. Non-Essential picks range from merely disappointing to outright unlistenable.

Puddle of Mudd

[#] Come Clean (2001)

Many much piss.

Reviewed August 1, 2024

Listen, I cannot, in good conscience, recommend this to you as smart or even particularly good music. Puddle of Mudd singer-guitarist Wes Scantlin, as has been documented too many times in the past, is a jarhead, and the lyrics on Come Clean provide no greater insight into the 6¢ and two loose lugnuts rattling in his head: "Looking back at my childhood/Wasn't too bad, but it wasn't that great". I apparently found it highly amusing as a five-year-old to run around screaming opener "Control"'s big, climactic "I love the way you smack my ass". Of course, you can't forget the hugely successful post-grunge "Summer Nights" rewrite "She Hates Me", shortened from its real title—"She Fucking Hates Me". Guess the chorus. There's no shortage of ways you can make fun of the lyrics on this album. They are Stupid.

So what saves Come Clean from Eh status? The instrumental backing, for one thing. Everything has this strangely appealing leaden sheen to it, slightly phased acoustic guitars, surprisingly intricate, darkly melodic basslines, and tribal drums abound, especially on the lighter songs like "Drift & Die". You can chalk that up to the radio-ready jet engine production from hitmaker John Kurzweg more than the band, but it definitely gives these dummy simple, decently catchy pop metal songs the leg up—even if you can make a drinking game out of how many times Wes delivers some variant on the phrases "take it away" and "piss it away" during Come Clean's runtime. Maybe it's the fact that I grew up with it. This is the musical equivalent of Celeste frozen pizzas—mass-produced, not very good for you, and not especially great, but when I'm in a shitty mood, I do somehow crave it.