Now as most of us chaos enthusiasts know, punk never died when everyone said it did. It has lost its way at times and became obscured by the awfulness of the majority of pop music, but artists kept the ethos alive after the first wave.
Older punks than I, particularly in the Austin, Texas area, were saddened to hear that Gary Floyd, frontman of Dicks, passed at 71 from heart failure. Gary was a gay, mountain-sized communist who dressed in outrageous drag costumes at a time when there seemed to be a hypermasculine quality to a large part of the punk scene. He sang songs about cruising, shitty cops and American wargasms. Here he is in his heyday.
liked Dicks a lot, so it was a bummer. They were a little before my time so I came to them late. They were extant from 1980-1986.
But nothing, nothing could prepare me for the gut punch a few days ago when Steve Albini’s ticker turned on him and killed him at 61.
I’m not going to link to any journalism about him, because somewhat to my surprise EVERYONE, even CBS news, wrote of his death. So you can learn a bit about the man from them. Most of the outlets will only tell you about his work with mainstream hard rock acts like Nirvana. Other, better ones will tell you about his love of analog and vinyl, his work ethic, hatred of the music industry and popular music in general, his unwavering integrity, his somewhat shocking musical output and championing of DIY indie acts. You would be surprised at the number of bands that you love whose sound was produ…er, engineered by him.
Personally, I consider him to be my generation’s Jimi Hendrix when it comes to guitar. He invented his own distinct sound that no one I know of has been close to duplicating (Annie “St. Vincent” Clark did an impressive job here). It’s hard to describe in words- it’s like someone running a buzzsaw against a pane of sheet metal. The sound is achieved through his use of heavily trebled distortion and a neat piece of old tech you can’t get anymore, the harmonic percolator. In addition to these pedals, instead of the traditional way of depressing your fingers firmly above the frets, he would only lightly put his fingers upon the neck, bringing about a completely different output.
I don’t know the best example to show you how it sounds, but perhaps his first band’s last concert is a good place to get an idea of how coruscating and inimitable it truly was. Around the forty-five minute mark he begins to bleed all over his shirt from scraping all over his guitar so violently. At the end, he pulls the plug from the guitar, rubs the jack in his hair, and plugs it back in and the extra electricity makes the guitar pop and feedback even more. Then he yells into the strings, using the guitar as a vocal instrument. It was a fitting end to what everyone should understand was the most significant punk band of the 80s. Big Black was probably a lot like The Velvet Underground in terms of influence-that is to say, everyone who heard them either wanted to pick up an instrument or form a band.
Their records were great. Most of Big Black’s songs would tell the tale of an America gone horribly wrong, and Albini would write riotously funny liner notes to fill out the songs’ narratives. For their final record, Albini committed commercial seppuku by titling Big Black’s last album Songs About Fucking, but he wasn’t finished unnerving people with his musical output. His next band was to be named Rapeman, which was the title of a Japanese manga comic. This collaboration, with 1/2 of legendary Austin band Scratch Acid onboard would end in acrimony, but
not before it produced the full LP Two Nuns And A Pack Mule and the live
EP Budd. In later years Albini would express regret for naming the band. It has not stopped me from enjoying the record, nor should it stop you. Here’s a sample, containing one of the most explosive rimshots in punk history courtesy of Rey Washam.
Albini shifted gears to something less in-your-face with the formation of Shellac with professional punkers Bob Weston and Todd Trainer. His sound became more disciplined but still retained the teeth of his earlier music. Their first album, At Action Park is widely regarded by many, but predictably I prefer this little hilarious ditty from their third record, 1000 Hurts:
Shellac kept busy for until about 2014, where their new output seemed to have ended. But we got news that they would be returning to the studio this year, and they completed a record, To All Trains, to be released 17 May 2024. I am glutted with listening material currently, but I always have time for new Albini. But he will not be here to see his new creation unleashed.
He was educated as a journalist, and so in addition to listening to his music I read him regularly in ‘zines like Forced Exposure. Some of his essays and letters to editors are the stuff of legend, slaughtering sacred cows with his uniquely sardonic wit. I have some of his work lying around here at home, but much of it is lost to time. I’m sure there’s a percentage of his writing within my own.
I grew up idolizing Steve Albini. I even met him once at CBGB when he toured in support of Bricklayer Cake and his buddy Pete “Flour” Conway. My friends and I were completely soused and we stumbled into the band waiting area near the infamous bathroom. Needless to say, we were completely obsequious. He picked on us a little for being so wasted, but with a grin-not meaning any real harm.
While a bit older than I, he was contemporaneously of my generation. He could have been a big brother. Listening to the seething violence of his music transported me to another place far from my sleepy, humdrum hometown. It’s hard to quantify how big of an influence that skinny dude from Chicago was on me. So it hits a little close to home to note his passing-it only reminds me how much time I have left and how much and how quickly time has gone by. How little I have accomplished. I should pick up my fucking guitar in tribute and whale on it before I can’t.
It’s the end of a musical era with the loss of a true elder statesman. May his studio Electrical Audio, the Abbey Road of American punk, carry on bringing out the best in hard working, talented indie bands.
And remember kids:
Fuck digital.
The Illogical Seminary 