He’s got surfer shorts on, and I’m wearing jeans. We’re barefoot, and walking just at the edge of the surf–half the time the tide reaches our feet, the other half of the time it doesn’t. There’s all this brown seaweed been washed up. He tells me he’s figured out every riff, ever–except for this one on a particular Mudhoney song.
Later on, I’m in a record store, and I see White has a split single with Mudhoney, each covering the other’s tune, and I think, “Ha! the sonofabitch figured it out!”.