Modest Mouse

I don’t trust Isaac Brock. Nor do I think he’s a liar. I’m just taking him at his word.

When interviewing him for the 33⅓ book on The Moon & Antarctica, he warned me, as he just did again five minutes ago, that I’d get different answers to different questions on different days. So there’s really no point in asking Brock what An Eraser and a Maze (2026) is all about. (Hell, even the way he writes music in the first place is beyond anyone’s grasp—including his own: He just gets out of the way. “The awake part of my brain isn’t even really involved. There’s an entire different fucking factory in my head that does the good shit. I just do the day-to-day stuff.”)

Here’s a theory. (Literally.)

My fellow armchair physicists weaned on a steady diet of Wikipedia pages might have heard of the Block Universe Theory, aka Eternalism. To recklessly oversimplify, the idea is that all of time—past, present and future—exists simultaneously. The passage of time itself is an illusion. And, well, I believe that the same is true of An Eraser and a Maze—because you can indeed hear every era of Modest Mouse coexisting at once on it. Past, present and, yes, future.

For example, “Absolutely Necessary Never” is a bass and synth-driven journey that takes the DNA of “Tiny Cities Made of Ashes,” removes a bit of the apocalypse, and snorts it all in a 1980s club bathroom. It also happens to be a new Modest Mouse classic.

“Speak ‘N Spell (Or Not)” feels like a hybrid between the guitar work of early Modest Mouse records and the bombastic choruses of Good News for People Who Love Bad News.

The occasional transitions between songs harken back to The Moon & Antarctica.

The guitars on “Look How Far …” would have sounded right at home on We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank.

None of it feels like it’s retreading the past. It’s just existing simultaneously, which is apropos, and probably obvious, given the creative ether from which it all springs.

The players, of course, also embody Block Universe, hailing from various eras of the band, their spirits hidden throughout the record. The late Sam Jayne, of Love as Laughter, a friend and compatriot, is sampled at the beginning of “Life’s a Dream.” The late founding member Jeremiah Green can be found in spirit on “Stoner Party,” featuring a chant that the band would rowdily break into from time to time. Green discovered the phrase written on the wall of an abandoned house while hood ratting around once. There is a synth on “Absolutely Necessary Never” from longtime collaborator Tom Peloso, and percussion from Ben Massarella, a staple since The Moon & Antarctica. Contributions also come from Benjamin Weikel, the drummer on Good News for People Who Love Bad News. There is lots of fantastic work from current members Higbee and O’Connor, and the role of drummer is held by a coalition of people, including the current touring drummer for the band, Damon Cox, Janet Weiss of Quasi and Sleater-Kinney, and a variety of others.

Modest Mouse began working on this collection of songs immediately following The Golden Casket (Brock remembers starting “Absolutely Necessary Never” on the back porch of the studio as they finished the record). Brock then started working with Jacknife Lee (U2, The Killers), who continued helping produce the record, along with the up-and-coming producer Suzy Shinn (Weezer, Dua Lipa, panic at the disco), as well as a track (“rotten fruit”) produced by Justin Raisen (Charli xcx, Kim Gordon, Lil Yachty).

As for the thematic glue that holds it all together, while Brock is no fan of overexplaining or overintellectualizing a record (apologies), what he will allow: With 2021’s The Golden Casket, he was trying to manufacture  silver linings for people, himself included, during the pandemic.

“For this one, I just tried being real honest with myself. Even though every goddamn musician says that when they put out a record. I mean, go ahead and listen to the three-minute mark of any interview between a musician and Terry Gross. What I mean is that I just turned my filter off more and just let it all happen.”

I believe him.

As Brock told The Seattle Times following the death of Green in late 2022, “I imagine there’s going to be a ghost in the house for quite a while.”

Having lost so many people in his life over the past few years, Brock had been thinking about mortality. A lot. And he seems very comfortable with it.

The record’s liner notes detail, “Love and remembering …” followed by a list of people that is incomplete. With a cigarette burning on his porch, he said he hopes those left behind find something useful in this collection—not something “glibly optimistic,” nor “this is my darkest hour,” but. Something.

He’s probably considering deleting this right now as he reads it (in your past), but hell, it helped him, too. It strikes at the heart of his intangible process.

“Thoughts, emotions, feelings, all that stuff … you’re like the soup, and it’s not always easy to pick out the ingredients. I don’t dwell on things much. I don’t grieve much. I’m not sure I’m a person. I feel like I should have more feelings than I do. But then, you know, I’ll sing stuff. And I’m like, Oh, there it is. Oh—it’s in there.”

An Eraser and a Maze might mark the end of a timeline. Or the start of one. Or maybe both at once.

Either way, the best part of the record, to me: It still manages to surprise. Hell, in a couple points, it even confounds. It feels familiar, warm, yet wholly alien in a cold world.

And in a past, present and future that often feel devoid of surprise and the brilliance of contradiction, thank god for Modest Mouse.

[Zachary Petit]