“Mouth” As The Soundtrack to Being Infected While Out and About

Among Bush’s often underrated oeuvre is a song from their 1996 album, Razorblade Suitcase. Although “Swallowed” was its lead single—garnering the most attention—“Mouth” would later gain traction after being released in 1997 on a Bush remix album called Deconstructed and being featured heavily in the trailer (and the film itself) for An American Werewolf in Paris that same year. The song’s particular suitability for the movie stemmed from, obviously, how one ends up as a werewolf—that is to say, through a bite-filled mauling.

But beyond that, “Mouth” sounds endlessly well-suited to soundtrack a day out amongst the hordes. Though many continue to act as though the pandemic isn’t still “a thing” (and like a new one won’t come to roost)/it never even happened at all (much as those who endured the 1918 flu pandemic needed to party the next decade away in order to forget), the after-shock of coronavirus, paired with the sudden remembrance that it’s flu season, makes “Mouth” an all-too-relevant song. And, incidentally, it also shares album space with a track called “Cold Contagious.” So clearly, for whatever reason, “spread” was on the mind of Gavin Rossdale in 1996—perhaps it had to do with meeting Gwen Stefani the year before and worrying that their long-distance relationship would get him caught in the act of cheating by giving her an STD.

With an accompanying video directed by John Hillcoat, the scene opens at ground zero of contagion: a diner. Specifically the now-defunct Jenny Rose Restaurant, located somewhere between Death Valley and Joshua Tree. To play up the tie-in to An American Werewolf in Paris, Julie Delpy, who portrays Sérafine Pigot in the movie, appears out of nowhere to extract Gavin from his languid musing over the menu (despite already having food and coffee). Do they know each other? Is this a stranger’s hookup? It’s all as nebulous as the decision-making behind the werewolf visual effects.

Maybe, in taking him by the hand and getting him to drive her through the desert, the retroactive point is to accentuate how free one can feel when they’re not traumatized by recently enduring the effects of a pandemic. In other words, the late 90s were a blithe time. Even in the sense that AIDS had “calmed down” (at least in the eyes of the straights) and it was once again a seeming free-for-all. Mouths on mouths, bodies on bodies, whatever.

Nonetheless, a sense of foreboding lurks throughout the mid-tempo “Mouth,” especially as Rossdale opens with the lyric, “You gave me this.” Something about it smacks of Isabella Rossellini as Dorothy Vallens in Blue Velvet screaming, “You put your disease in me!” That’s what we all do every day to one another, just by daring to go outside. To walk around, ultimately slack-jawed as we cough, touch our noses and then touch something else, talk loudly (in public and usually on the phone) for no good reason and generally radiate carbon dioxide. That’s all a mouth is, in the end. One big carbon dioxide/contagion-emitting hole. The human body a sack of emissions designed seemingly only to harm fellow flesh husks with its propensities for attracting and “giving back” disease. Particularly now that we’ve hit the official eight billion mark in bodies. So, indeed, “nothing hurts like your mouth…” running all over town and breathing whatever old- and new-fangled disease you’ve contracted and seen fit to spread.

Other accusations related to infection are manifest in the lines, “Pollute my heart-drain/You have broken me/Broken me/All your mental armor drags me down.” Would that one had some physical armor to actually battle contagion, beyond a mask—for, as many vigilant mask-wearers have experienced, it hasn’t kept Miss Rona from sinking in regardless. Especially since mask-wearing isn’t enforceable and not everyone will do it. And, unfortunately, donning a hazmat suit is something that only Tyra Banks appears to be able to pull off.

Just as “Comedown” from 1994’s Sixteen Stone would become synonymous with Fear, so “Mouth” would with An American Werewolf in Paris. And yet, it’s a song with more newfound resonance in the current moment. The only thing one can hear on repeat in their mind (once they’ve made the correlation) while confronting the public space—seeing all those maws ajar. Utterly uncaring and immune to what they’re taking in or giving out with that gob of theirs, so long as they get to where they’re going and they buy what they want to buy while doing it.