In memoriam: Steve Albini was a punk rock icon who walked and talked the truth
When we were kids playing in rock and roll bands, we always dreamed of coming up with the cash to record at Electrical Audio. There were tiers of cost – one to get into the door, one to book either day or night sessions, some with junior engineers, and then, if you could swing it, to record with Steve Albini. For us, just the idea of being in the same room with those who’d recorded the Pixies, PJ Harvey, and Nirvana? Insane. We were in hardcore and punk bands; we weren’t trying to be the noise he was so aligned with; we just wanted to be able to say the guy who made “Scentless Apprentice” sound so raw did it on our heavy chugged nonsense.
There are people in the canon of life that I’m drawn to, those who go their way, who don’t give a single fuck about the norms of society or industry. Steve Albini was one of those guys. He was a devout priest of the underground. He didn’t play rock n roll fanboy. Instead, he stood for punk rock ethos, being a good person and staying true to the conditions of hard work and a little luck.
He was opinionated, brash, but always on the right side of history. His hot takes might have made people mad in the moment but in the end, he was an oracle of seeing through the bullshit.
Albini got a chance to record Robert Plant and Jimmy Page and didn’t let it go to their head; he didn’t make a career based on that record. Instead, he took the payday and invested it back into his career. A lot will be said about how Albini was someone who didn’t call himself a “producer”; instead, he was the guy who made your favorite bands sound cool. A lot will be said about his influence on the last Nirvana record, In Utero, and rightly so; it’s a noisy, messy masterpiece. Sure, he was known as the “Nirvana guy” for some, but what Alibini did was smart. He didn’t let his legacy be one record because he’d had a hand in making so many, but to use that power to sell some gear that he used to keep his bill paid and his studio running in the age of laptops being able to record literally anything. He made those choices because what’s a mic on a record when he could sell it and fund maybe recording the next band that breaks out?
But for a lot of us, Steve Albini was a Chicago dude. He was one of the punk rockers who moved to town and made Cook County his home and remained a dyed-in-the-wool Chicagoan, bemoaning anywhere based on the love of working-class culture but also calling bullshit on the music industry, hype, and just about everything else.
Steve Albini is one of the rare cases where the labels of “icon” and “legend” aren’t misplaced monikers. Instead, he’ll go down in the Hall of Fame of Cool, remaining one of the figurative voices of the underground music scene. The world received the Pixies, Sufer Rosa, and The Jesus Lizard’s sacred noise with his guidance. He played in Big Black and Shellac, two legendary Chicago punk bands that are so unique to the voice of the city, of the attitude.
Losing Albini sucks. He had stuff to say. He wasn’t short on the opinion that there are snares of bullshit everywhere. And now, he’s gone, just like so many of our heroes we lost too soon. This weekend, crank up the KISS on the stereo, go to that garage show, play Nirvana loud in the bar, or make your kid listen to the Ramones ad nauseum. We’re worse for wear without that guy telling you your favorite band sucks. He was probably right.
Featured photo by Bauke Koster
