Sunshine Rock

This LP captures him very much on the up. ... A delightful heaviness to songs like "Irrational Poison" and "Sin King" that gives the whole thing real heft and drive, protecting it from whimsy. [Mar 2019, p.32]

This is his biggest, brightest, most crackling and electric album since his Sugar days. [Apr 2019, p.86]

Among the album’s most ferocious songs is “Thirty Dozen Roses,” a hairshirt thrasher about being a “lousy prick” which steamrolls over questionable puns with a Hüsker-ish hardcore attack. The most delightful might be “Send Me A Postcard,” the album’s sole cover. ... It’s totally awesome, tortured and joyous in perfect balance, and it does what Mould’s music has always done, even at its bleakest--exorcising demons through rock noise.

Sunshine Rock does exactly what it says on the tin. A rock album that sparkles; a taut collection of Bob Mould cuts that fits timelessly into his ever-expanding legacy.

Sunshine Rock is the fourth installment in one of the most satisfying chapters of Bob Mould's career--no small statement considering his legacy--and the tender ferocity of these songs is something no one else could do quite this well.

A solo album that is both deceptively effervescent and dependably well executed. [9 Feb 2019, p.55]

At 12 tracks long, and finishing just under 37 minutes, Sunshine Rock is relentless. It’s heavy without being dark. It’s catchy without being light. And while the bones of the album are Mould and his electric guitar, he has very carefully added different touches, like strings and keyboards, that enhance the tracks without being distracting. Sunshine Rock is an album worth hearing.

Heavy at heart, but eminently hummable, Sunshine Rock is an affecting, uplifting set. [Mar 2019, p.92]

That tension between conception and execution makes all the good energy of Sunshine Rock feel hard-earned and genuine; scars and all, it’s the sound of somebody who has weathered battles and worked to survive.

The lyrics paint a picture of discomfort and restlessness, which grows over the course of the album into a fully formed portrait of personal strength, creativity, and hard-eyed refusal in the face of the harassment of time.

While not everything here measures up to the album's highlights, this is still an enjoyable and mostly solid effort that doesn't stray too far from what Mould has done best over the last few decades.

Rather than singing from inside the darkness, he steps back and tries to find glimmers of hope and, dare it be said, happiness. The dozen songs offer a more forgiving perspective on time, memory and the past and how to live with and move beyond it.

Bob Mould is not pulling up stylistic roots on Sunshine Rock, but it’s still breezier than his average, thanks in part to the use of an 18-piece string section on much of the album. [Mar 2019, p.62]

A brighter, bolder rock record than one might expect at this stage of his storied career.

Mould’s newfound optimism is nonetheless an interesting realignment from the revered artist.