Mark Arm has allergies. Sitting on the dining room table of Arm's modest Seattle home, among stacks of books and CDs of Mudhoney's new album, Tomorrow Hit Today, are several bottles of prescription allergy medication. They all bear Arm's real last name, which surprises me less than the fact that he takes the same medication that I do. Arm is allergic to grasses and molds; I am allergic to grasses, molds and the allergen that is contained in the saliva of pets. In the few minutes I have been sitting here, Arm's dog has virtually painted my leg with saliva. I'm worried that if the dog doesn't stop using me as a salt lick. I'll have to steal some of Mark Arm's expensive medication.

It's hard to think of the singer from Mudhoney suffering from any malady, particularly one that I share, even though something like 50 million Americans have allergies. I find comfort in imagining that Mudhoney have somehow managed to beat back the human clock and that they don't play by the same rules as anyone else. Certainly, when it comes to outliving their peers in Northwest rock 'n' roll, they have discovered the eternal fountain of youth. They sound exactly as adolescent and as snotty as they did when I first saw them 10 years ago, and, surprisingly, they've recorded their best album ever in the twilight of their career. Even as individuals they appear little changed: A decade of being Mudhoney seems to have only made them more of what they are. Except for a few more pounds and more playing finesse, drummer Dan Peters doesn't seem any different than he did when he was a teenager sneaking into the Ditto Tavern. Guitarist Steve Turner has the same light-hearted laugh he had back when he was some Mercer Island kid sneaking into the Metropolis. Bassist Matt Lukin - who actually looks younger now than he did 10 years ago - still has the voice of an 80-year-old man, but then he was born with that. And Mark Arm seems to stand like some stone monument to Seattle rock (I can see his face on Mt. Rushmore one day). As a foursome, they exist as Mudhoney, some human life form outside the norm, except, I guess, when it comes to runny noses, scratchy voices and that awful wheezing that comes every spring and fall.

And if there is anything essential to being Mudhoney, it's the principle of savoring a good joke. When I finally escape Arm's dog and begin to interview the band members in pairs, I hope they'll look back on their career and attempt to sum it up. They'll have nothing of it. Instead, in traditional Mudhoney style, the conversation turns to self-deprecating humor about porno movies, how Bikini Kill are really just like the Dwarves, the evolution of White Zombie, and aging. Arm is better at the aging routine than anyone else, and when I remind him that I can recall him slam dancing at shows when he was 16, he serves up a warning that at first sounds like a serious admonition: "I have chronic back pain because of slam dancing. Kid's don't slam. The knees are gone. I wish I could chew food." Later, as I ask about the live show, arguing that Mudhoney have always been a better live band than studio band. Arm takes the shtick one step further. "The live show was really good once," he says, his expression not changing a bit. "But that was before my sphincter gave out. I used to be able to breathe fire out of my ass."

Burn it Clean

In 1988, it really did seem that any member of Mudhoney could breathe fire from his ass; they were that powerful and foreboding. The formation of Mudhoney itself was something of the Northwest's first grunge supergroup. Arm and Turner came from Green River (which also spawned part of Pearl Jam); Peters came from a dozen bands including Bundle of Hiss and Feast; Lukin came by way of the Melvins. No band in Seattle history has started with a better pedigree, and proper maintenance has kept the lineage solid. Mudhoney are one of the very few bands in the Northwest to never lose or change a member. The four guys onstage in 1998 are the same four guys you could have found on a Sunday night in 1988 playing the Vogue to 50 people.

Which makes Tomorrow Hit Today all the more astonishing. This is Mudhoney's sixth full-length album, and though fans await it with some anticipation, this is no longer 1988 and Mudhoney haven't been on the cover of NME since that magazine mattered. Yet with the 13 songs on the new album, Mudhoney have crafted their most solid effort ever, one that manages to sound both professional and natural at the same time. Produced by Memphis legend Jim Dickinson, Tomorrow Hit Today is appropriately titled: It sounds modern and timeless.

It's not just the production that makes the new record so different: This time around Mudhoney have come up with a solid set of songs, with nary a loser in the bunch. "It sounds really good to me all the way through," says Arm. "In contrast, some of our records might have a dead spot here or there, and maybe aren't fully realized albums, but this one seems like it is." Whereas previous Mudhoney recording sessions usually yielded just enough material to fill an album plus a B-side or two, this year the band had so many songs it could be choosy. Most of the songs have been worked out live over the past two years, so by the time Mudhoney went into the studio they were very familiar with the material. "We knew what we were doing this time around," Peters confirms.

Highlights include "Poisoned Water," "Move With the Wind," "Night of the Hunted" and "Real Low Vibe." Every title on the album sounds like some old MGM B-movie. Thematically this is a diverse work, exploring what life on the fringes of society is about, all the while constantly mocking society. Though Mudhoney would probably never admit to this in print, the bulk of their songs explore existential themes, or question values and standards. When they suggest that you "try to be kind" they do so in a mocking, sarcastic manner that implies such a result isn't possible. At least that's my two-bits analysis: I'm always more concerned with the power of Mudhoney's melodies than their lyrical content. Most songs on Tomorrow Hit Today have that patented, thudding Mudhoney beat, yet the album still feels more upbeat than previous efforts.

The new album buoys even the band, and though modesty is the second Mudhoney credo (behind humor), the band members are even daring to acknowledge the merit of this record. "This is the biggest sounding record we've ever done," says Turner. "It's also our most expensive." Turner does some quick math and figures out that the recording budget for Tomorrow Hit Today is roughly equivalent to the combined budget of every other album Mudhoney have ever recorded. And that money has paid off with a full, mature sound. "One of my friends left me a message," Arm says, slightly smiling now, "which said, we did it all wrong by doing the best album of our career this late in the game."

Jagged Time Lapse

It never takes too long in any conversation with Mudhoney for the old "we don't know how long we're going to be together" comment to come up. Any quick scan of Mudhoney's interviews over the years confirms that the band seems to hold on to this lack of commitment like a couple that has lived together for a decade without a ring. Even today, Mudhoney get some strength from this: It's like a superstition, that as long as they don't act seriously, everything will work out fine. "We finally put a three-album moratorium on talking about breaking up," notes Arm. Turner says one of the reasons the band has lasted so long is because its members have taken time off from Mudhoney over the years for side projects (Turner even has his own record label, Super Electro, which is issuing the vinyl of the new album). Yet, even Turner seems to be free from this worry, at least for the moment. "Notice we don't talk about breaking up anymore," he says with a chuckle.

Both Lukin and Peters attribute the band's longevity to its comradeship and sensible touring schedule. "By no means are we going to embark on a one-year world tour," says Peters. "That's why bands break up. They get sick of each other."

"We've learned from opening up for the other freak scenes," adds Lukin. "We drink a lot. That's why we still exist. We're drunk so we don't remember how much we've pissed each other off."

Arm and Turner address their longevity with slightly more seriousness, arguing that at least part of the reason the band has stayed together so long is its business dealings. "Some of that is a healthy respect for each other that is manifested in how we deal with publishing. We split it," says Arm.

"That gets rid of major ego battles right there," adds Turner. "The Ramones were fine until they split up the publishing. We've always done that. From my short tenure in Green River, it was already a point of contention with the other members as to who came up with what part of what song, so in Mudhoney we don't worry about that."

Their equanimity in financial matters is matched by the lack of egos apparent within the group. Peters tells a hilarious story of one tour when Mudhoney hired a new road manager who attempted to give Arm a better room than the other band members. "I overheard him saying, 'Well, you're the star.' And Mark was like, 'What the hell are you talking about? The rest of the guys need good beds, too.'" The outcome was that the road manager ended up sharing a room on a roll-a-way. He wasn't hired back.

Some of Mudhoney's attitude comes from their decision to use Bob Whittaker as a manager rather than hire a high-powered firm. It's probably safe to call Whittaker the "fifth member" of Mudhoney, because even though he's not onstage when Mudhoney performs, he's usually not far away (in the bar, most likely). "We trained him," says Turner. Yet even from manager Whittaker, the Mudhoney boys can't expect any pampering. "When we try to ask our manager to do something for us," notes Lukin, "he's like,'You do it. You can dial a phone. You've got fingers.'"

Boiled Beef and Rotting Teeth

It was Whittaker and their Reprise A&R person David Katznelson who brought the band to Jim Dickinson, who has also produced Clawhammer (another Whittaker charity project). Though Dickinson is a living legend, because of his work with the Replacements, Bob Dylan and the Stax label, surprisingly the members of Mudhoney weren't very familiar with him prior to working with him. The band first recorded with Dickinson in January at Stone Gossard's Studio Litho and then followed up in Memphis with more recording later in the spring. "I'm not someone who reads liner notes and memorizes them," Arm admits, "so I wasn't real familiar with him." Turner is the type to read liner notes and eventually he even tracked down some of Dickinson's solo work, which impressed the producer. Mudhoney, in turn, were impressed with how open Dickinson was to trying weird stuff. "He could handle things being discordant and off-kilter," says Turner, who confesses to bringing 30 different fuzz boxes to the sessions.

Though Dickinson regaled the band with wild stories of Dylan, Elvis and Jerry Lee Lewis, Mudhoney were perhaps more impressed by some of the stories they heard from David Bianco, who mixed the album. "He confirmed the rumor that Stevie Nicks had cocaine blown up her ass by her assistant," jokes Arm. "He'd worked on [Fleetwood Mac's] Mirage, I guess. That's one hell of a story." "Jim Dickinson had some great stories but none that good," adds Turner. "Now if we can only get to the bottom of that Rod Stewart 'stomach of cum' thing," Arm says laughing.

So far there have been few urban rock legends surrounding Mudhoney themselves. All but Turner are married, and though they all are frequently sighted at local shows, they are usually the ones chuckling in the corner rather than making spectacles of themselves these days. Arm is probably the most visible if only because of his distinctive profile, his nose being the usual topic for caricatures. "Mark is more shy than you could ever imagine," says Peters, being serious for a moment. "People think he's arrogant, but he's not; he's just shy." "He doesn't have the social skills that you do, Dan," Lukin says, bringing the conversation back to typical Mudhoney verve. As for Turner, the rhythm section simply calls him "mysterious." "There are things we don't know about Steve," says Peters. "Unlike us," adds Lukin, referring to he and Peters, "he's not the kind of guy who knows what his belly button smells like."

You Make Me Die

During the early years, even Turner's belly button odor was fair game in the tour bus. When the band first began as Mudhoney in the late '80s, recording the seminal "Touch Me I'm Sick" for Sub Pop, it spent several years touring in a van so small and crummy that Peters honestly thinks they suffered carbon monoxide poisoning. After the tour, it became his first car.

One of the fallacies about the beginnings of Mudhoney is that Arm and Turner started the band after breaking off from Green River. In actuality, Mudhoney first came out of practices from the Thrown-Ups featuring Turner, Peters and artist Ed Fotheringham, who soon lost interest, according to Turner, when he found out he'd actually have to practice. Peters still remembers one of his first meetings with Arm, in the bathroom line at a club. "He kept saying,'Green River just broke up.' He was really excited about it. Then he cut in line in front of me and puked all over the toilet."

Turner and Arm had met a few years earlier in line at the Showbox to see TSOL. They were both middle class suburban kids, but they had a mutual friend who, for some reason, thought they both were straight-edge and would enjoy each other. Now they look back and joke that they were about as straight-edge as a serrated fishing knife. This matchmaker, sporting a huge Mohawk, introduced the pair, who looked at each other with what was most likely the first in a series of a million guffaws, both getting the joke.

Lukin was the last Mudhoneyian to join and perhaps the most important: As a member of the Melvins he was already a highly respected player in the region and the most accomplished musician (and drinker) in the band at the time. For the first year he commuted from Aberdeen, driving up for practices several times a week after his full-time day job. When Arm first asked Lukin to consider joining Mudhoney, the bass player also suggested Dale Crover as a drummer until Arm shot down the idea. "He said they had this guy named Dan Peters who would have'a lot more star potential,'" Lukin says with a huge grin, staring at Peters.

The chemistry worked and by the time the band recorded Superfuzz Bigmuff, they were the biggest band in the Northwest. A U.K. tour with Sonic Youth soon cemented their international reputation, and suddenly they found themselves as the leading proponents of "grunge," at least as billed by the notoriously inaccurate U.K. music press.

For several years Mudhoney were the best-selling act on Sub Pop, and what many have forgotten is that long before Nirvana broke with Nevermind, sales of Mudhoney albums (particularly Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge) helped keep Sub Pop solvent. "We were almost the last people to get out of there," says Arm of his old label. Mudhoney were owed lots of money at the end and became particularly frustrated when they saw Sub Pop spending big bucks recording the Afghan Whigs when other debts were going unpaid. "I was pissed off that they weren't listening to me anymore," remembers Turner. At one point Sub Pop offered to make the band stockholders in lieu of paying them. Mudhoney declined.

Suck You Dry

In 1992, Mudhoney signed with Reprise and recorded Piece of Cake, an album that the entire band now rates as one of its weaker efforts (ironically, it's the group's biggest selling effort to date). They were happier with My Brother the Cow, but worried they might follow that album with a record that wasn't as inspired. They then took some time off which created a big span of time between that album and this new one. "I think by taking a gap of three years between albums we skipped the Mudhoney curse," says Arm. "The curse being that we seem to be most proud of every other album. There was Superfuzz Bigmuff and the early singles which were high points; first Mudhoney album a lower point; Every Good Boy Deserves Fudge, higher point; Piece of Cake, lower point; My Brother the Cow, higher point. So if we'd done another record right after that it would have been bad. We skipped the suck album."

Turner, ever the rock historian, also suggests that the "market" for a Mudhoney album is probably better now than it would have been three years ago. The band is now so out of style as to be hip again. "We skipped the virtual collapse of alternative rock as we know it," he notes.

But before recording the latest album, the band found itself having to fight with its label to even get a chance at another record. A new regime at Warner Bros. was not familiar with Mudhoney and actually asked them to make a demo tape. They agreed and after some heated negotiations eventually managed to get a budget approved for a much more expensive recording than they had ever done before. For a band that had always operated very efficiently, and used any money left over from its album budgets as income, it was a huge risk.

"We've always done records that were efficient and cheap, getting a good-sounding record, but keeping some money to live on," says Peters. "Now, it's been 10 years and we finally had the resources to take a stab at a proper, decently recorded record and we're not always going to have that. If we would have broken up tomorrow without doing this, I would have been bummed."

"This is probably our last chance to record this kind of record with someone else paying for it," adds Lukin.

There it is again. The eternal Mudhoney fear of the future. When asked what the group might do if this album actually turned into a hit - which in a just world it would, since these songs are perfect for alternative radio - the band shies away from an answer. It is as if even wishing upon a star might bring bad luck. "I don't think any of us worry about that," says Turner, quickly. "If it happens," adds Arm, "I'll be shocked, but I won't be displeased."

If they have a fear of the future, there is one thing the members of Mudhoney are absolutely certain on: If one band member were to leave, that would be the end of Mudhoney. "If one of the members quits, we won't replace them and we won't be Mudhoney anymore," sounds off Lukin as a way of warning. "I'm proud of the fact that our band has been together as long as we have," says Peters.

Whether Tomorrow Hit Today is a huge hit or not, one other thing is certain about Mudhoney's future, no matter how long it may be: Big egos won't be allowed. "In our band," warns Peters, "there is no'brooder in the back room.' There's none of this,'He's having his time right now. He needs the back of the bus.' You can't get away with being pompous in Mudhoney because if you do, you're going to have a hellish six-hour drive on tour."

Every Good Boy

Back at Mark Arm's dining room table I am so pompous as to suggest that this record really could be Mudhoney's commercial breakthrough, the record that finally gives them sales figures to equal their artistic achievements. I must be mad to suggest such a thing to these superstitious fellows (perhaps it was an allergic reaction to the dog). When I propose that maybe even people who hated their other records will find something to like on Tomorrow Hit Today, Arm widens his eyes and begins speaking like a Native American elder. Remember, this band even has a song on the new record called "I Will Fight No More Forever" inspired by Chief Joseph. Maybe Arm is channeling him because he sticks his arm out and looks exactly like an Indian chief.

"Who are these people who would not normally like Mudhoney?" he asks, looking out over the horizon, like a character actor in an old Western. "Show them to me. I do not believe of what you speak. We are wise and patient men." Arm says it with such a straight face and without letting even a hint of a smile crack his face, that I keep waiting for him to sneeze.