It's been 10 days since I saw the news, randomly, glancing at my inbox, seeing a "breaking" email from Pitchfork, referencing Albini. It was just a glimpse, and I thought nothing much of it, perhaps it was a tour announcement (the day before, Shellac had been announced as opening act for OFF! on the Chicago stop on their Farewell Tour). But then I looked again and it's fair to say my world fell apart.
The last album I reviewed properly on Flying Houses was Dude Incredible and so of course, the most fitting tribute is to review To All Trains, which is the follow-up that we all waited nearly 10 years to hear, the longest gap between any Shellac album. The review linked above once again exemplifies the evolving nature of the writing on this blog. I don't entirely disavow it ("Wingwalker" is still my favorite song), but would make certain stylistic changes. Regardless, it showcases my enthusiasm for the band at the time.
There were a few other music items on the blog since then, but no proper album reviews. There were lots of reviews of books written by musicians, but there was only a Top 10 Albums of 2017 post, and a review of a Pissed Jeans concert. I sort of migrated over a bit to Instagram in 2019 and made a post in March 2020 after the Shellac concert at Lincoln Hall, so there's a pic and a caption in my timeline. There's also this Shellac concert review from 2016, and really I'm not happy with any of them. I will try to do better here.
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I did not do better here. I was advised by a friend that he was unsatisfied with this post. He was anticipating a "meditation on the specifics and deep, metaphysical quandaries this person represented, embodied, and cultivated in your internal world. It's not that there wasn't any of it, but it mostly felt like broad strokes without a lot of flesh and muscle and blood vessels added to the scaffolding."
I did not do that for several reasons: (1) This is one of thousands of articles/items serving as a "personal obituary," and I did not have the benefit of meeting Albini in person (only Bob Weston, who was very nice); (2) I could easily write more of an essay on the task of disavowing earlier poses and wrongheaded statements, but plenty of these other items focus heavily on that, and generally do it quite well, and I do not ignore it entirely; (3) My friend took particular issue with the "album review" below, and I agree with him that it is not a very good review of To All Trains. I will edit as I see fit over time. If it seemed to get short shrift, it's because I'm still sitting with it, and it's quite hard to pretend like you understand what many songs by Shellac are about, and moreover, I am wary of being long-winded, and moreover, this friend is "not and never [has] been a fan of the band" and to him "those guys were never truly punk."
Now a lot of people would take issue with that last statement (Steve Albini isn't Ian MacKaye, but Electrical Audio is to record studios as Dischord is to record labels), but I believe he meant in the general way they sound, and while I agree with that to an extent, I do believe To All Trains is their "punk" album, even if only 1 or 2 songs actually approach that aesthetic. I am sorry that I do not write well about music, but I have a great deal of respect for the artists and sometimes just want to turn people on to things they might not have otherwise found.
With Shellac, you would only discover them if you wanted to, and they certainly were not interested in developing a huge following. They played in places they wanted to visit for fun (and most famously the Primavera Festival each year). They played in Chicago once every year or two, and I'm sad I only got to see them in 2016 and 2020, missing that insane pop-up concert they did at Reckless Records in 2019 (I did see them in 2007 at the Touch & Go 25th anniversary Block Party, which also included a mini-Big Black reunion complete with firecrackers, but that was before my appreciation for them ran deeper). Suffice to say, like the Fall, they are unappreciated, but unlike the Fall (who flirted for one brief moment with pop charts), they did not clamor for anyone's attention, or care if anyone didn't like their music. They knew what they did was good, even if a lot of people would never "get it." I don't think you have bad taste if you don't get it--to each their own--and it is really fucking sad to think that the band has come to a necessary end, that whoever might "discover" them in the future won't be able to see them play live, which was the ideal experience with them--but I absolutely think anyone that has *not* heard them, should give them a listen, if only because what they did was different, original, unique and no one can ever replicate the genuine article.
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The other Shellac-related posts above in pp 2-3 adequately relay my entire listening history with them. They don't, however, offer any analysis of the overall thrust of Albini's career, perhaps because it was difficult to contextualize at the time and yes, changes happened, as many obituaries and remembrances and homages and tributes tend to mention.
He talked more shit than almost anyone else. And it was easy to get the wrong idea about him. He stood up for what he believed in, and stuck it to the music industry, regardless of whether it would register. As many items note, he rejected royalties from records he recorded, and rejected the title of "producer," preferring "engineer." You could still buy his services for $900/day in 2024 (I believe). This man was one of the greatest producers in the history of rock music (Phil Spector is the closest comparison in terms of impact and influence on the medium), and he remained affordable and available to hundreds of young musicians looking for proof of "cred." He was a community organizer of sorts. I believe he sponsored a 16" softball team and I am only sorry I couldn't find my way onto it, or that I didn't go to Electrical Audio as a 22-year-old and ask for any type of work, anything to find an entryway into this ethical enclave, at a certain remove from the crummy industry it served, a world of creativity and freedom.
Much has been made about his disavowal of earlier statements, and acknowledgement of privilege, and support of trans rights and other "liberal" causes, and the mea culpas offered on Twitter, and I have nothing to add except they are proof that his heart was always in the right place, and that sometimes you need to scale back rhetoric to protect the most vulnerable amongst us. No one ever defended "wokeness" better. If anyone could have stood up to the most monstrous people in our society and call them out for what they were and why they were wrong, it was him. He never would have wanted to be President, but he would have made a damn good one.
For me personally, his death is a reminder to make the most of our time here. When I read Our Band Could Be Your Life for the first time in 2003, I was inspired. First I wanted to be a writer, then a filmmaker, then a writer again, then a musician or manager of musicians, then a writer, and then finally a lawyer. When I went to law school, for Legal Writing, we had to use a pseudonym for our first assignment, to ensure anonymity in grading. My name was Santiago Durango, who became a lawyer after Big Black broke up. I didn't get the best grade on that paper (nor on the one authored by Saul Goodman--but the one by Mynheer Peeperkorn, on First Amendment Retaliation claims, got an A).
Albini did not like lawyers. At least once, he referred to us as "parasites" (who hasn't?). To defend his own statement that Juggalos were misunderstood, he wrote, "Less annoying than Deadheads by an order of magnitude. Very few lawyers and CEOs for a start."
Albini died the same week as Jim Simons, an influential Wall Street mathematician that laid the foundation for "quant trading" and became a hedge fund manager. He made billions, and made billions for his clients. He lived to be 86. Query which man did more good for the world. The one that made himself available and affordable, and that helped so many people realize and actualize their lifelong dreams, creating a document of their time spent together--or the one that piled money on money and potentially created even more unfair advantages for the most rich and powerful on Wall Street? Both have strong legacies (Simons donated billions of dollars to philanthropic causes) but the one that didn't make front-page news was ultimately the greater champion and hero.
He would probably question my life choices, and now that he is no longer with us, I will be haunted by his ghost, reminding me of my own mediocrity as a human being. But I also know he wouldn't want to make me feel bad. He would want his death to be a motivator for others, a reminder to follow their calling, and to make great things and do great things. It is tragic that this happened the way it did, but if solace can be taken from anything, it is the immortality of art. Albini is gone, but he will always be with us, too, and he left so much behind for our benefit.
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I don't fear Hell.
The baseball team is undefeated.
This is one of the last lines in To All Trains, and posits one of the burning questions I had about Albini. I know he loved baseball and considered it the only worthwhile sport (all other sports were either trying to score the most points before the clock ran out, or volleying something back and forth over a net, he once opined on The Best Show)--but was he a Cubs fan? This information is probably readily available but I'd rather keep it a mystery and pretend that he was in fact "one of us" (though my sense is that he might prefer the White Sox, or prefer to have no allegiance to either). The night he died, Hector Neris ended up getting the win for the Cubs over the Padres, but not before giving up a hit and walking a man while we clung to a 1-run lead. Neris is nicknamed "Heart Attack Hector" due to his penchant for escaping jams that he creates himself. I don't believe that Neris' performance had any impact on Albini that night, but it is an ironic coincidence (at least for the demographic subset of fans of both). (Sometimes I conflate events like this, or the night Carlos Zambrano threw a no-hitter in Milwaukee--which was not against the Brewers and played like a home game--the same night David Foster Wallace, another erudite master of a medium whose influence will continue to percolate for decades, left this world, far too soon.)
The lyrics for To All Trains don't yet pop up on Apple Music but some of them can be made out. Much will be made of the "haunting" quality of many of the songs and lyrics. At least four of them are pretty directly foreboding and uncomfortably prescient ("Tattoos," "Wednesday," "Days are Dogs," and of course, "I Don't Fear Hell.")
Listening to it again, last night (5/23), while no one will consider this to be his Blackstar (released the same day Bowie died), it doesn't seem entirely clear, but it seems likely, he knew what was happening to him, and knew that this very well might be the last Shellac album (he would be pushing 70 around the time the next one would be anticipated). Their music has always been keenly intertwined with the subject of death (and land, and sex, and music, and time, and ghosts, and heaven--all coupled with doses of humor and irony--and a song about real squirrels and now one about a symbolic rat), but it feels like there is more of a morbid edge to this than all others. At the very least, it grapples more with finding some kind of peace and acceptance in coming to terms with mortality, albeit indirectly. Albini never made "gentle" music of his own, however, and while perhaps a song or two are about his coming to terms with his past reputation, it's still abrasive and puzzling (in a good way, of course, and Shellac cannot be defined by any genre, but "math rock" felt relatively close).
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All that being said, this is Shellac's "punk" album. It's 28 minutes long and there are 10 songs. Opening track "Wsod" is possibly about Albini's side-hustle as a professional poker player competing in the World Series of Poker, but I have no idea what most or any of the songs on this album are about. The song's bass line bears a slight resemblance to a certain Green Day (or Papa Roach) song that still gets played on the radio, and it ends with one of the loudest parts of any song they have ever done, sounding a bit like the Jesus Lizard and not for the last time. Effectively the album announces itself as another Shellac album, at this point, and you know the rest will be on par with all of their previous work. It's hard to say what the song or lyrics are about but I've seen some random thing that it is an inside joke referring to the WSOP as the WSOD because it should be called the World Series of Dick-sucking. I cannot verify that but the ending line, "Give that man a medal," is conceivably related to his championship victory.
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Yesterday (5/30/24), I randomly came across a post on Facebook or X from the Kreative Kontrol podcast. This podcast has interviewed Albini roughly once a year, sometimes twice, for the past 11 or so years. And before the release of Dude Incredible, he went through each song with the host and described the inspiration or idea behind them. They did the same for To All Trains on 4/23/24. The podcast is two hours and twenty minutes long and opens up with 45 minutes of the host (Vish Khanna) offering his remembrances of Albini, reflecting on their relationship, which primarily involved randomly calling Electrical Audio and asking for interviews and later blossomed into a friendship.
Suffice to say, this episode offers the truth, and these interpretations I have written, above and below, make me feel incredibly stupid. I will add in the truth to highlight said stupidity.
Basically, I am not far off on "Wsod" but I am not sure Albini got a medal for winning the WSOP, and the lines are "Aspired to bronze/but I'll settle for lead/Passed off as gold for the tourist trade, awarded after testing/Urine, blood and hair/Those three always come as a set/Get that man a medal/Get that man a medal." So it is actually about giving awards to runners up after winners take drug tests and their "competitive advantage" is uncovered. And it is about wanting everyone to know how willing you are to debase yourself on behalf of someone else (i.e. "that guy would win the world series of dick-sucking Donald Trump," to describe the overly eager fanboys going out of their way to defend their idols, a competition of sycophants).
He also notes, he wanted to scream, "My ass is in a jackpot!" in reference to a baseball umpire who once said that in his own defense to explain why he couldn't control player behavior on the field.
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"Girl from Outside," track 2, is similarly mysterious. Many of the lyrics are non-sequiturs involving a mailman. First, the narrator asks the mailman to sing a song, asking if he carries a tune in that bag. Then apparently the mailman delivers, and is not really a mailman (anymore?), but a singer. From there it jumps to being about "two guys from work, who are not at work" and then something about their favorite song and kicking ass and giving high-fives. Then finally ends on its subject matter--the girl from outside, whose hair looks "really great!" I am still trying to decide what this song is about but I am sure whatever conclusion I draw will be wrong. I do like the idea of yelling at a mailman to sing, and I do actually hear them singing to themselves sometimes.
This is actually a totally straightforward song about a night at a local karaoke bar. The "Girl from Outside" is part of a group of bar-hopping karaoke enthusiasts, not the regulars. The tone of the song does not sound like it is about a fun night out doing karaoke, so I hope my interpretation is forgivable (i.e. thinking it described two guys sitting on a porch as the mailman comes by). And the "high-fives" are a reference to karaoke night at Lounge Ax, a defunct Chicago institution in the 80s-90s, which had a sign that said "no high-fives, except on karaoke night."
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"New Wave Chick" is probably the most "punk" song on the album, and opens up with arguably its most classic line:
I'm through with music from dudes!
It calls to mind "A Minute" from At Action Park or "Spoke" off Excellent Italian Greyhound or "Surveyor" (and to a lesser extent, "You Came in Me") off Dude Incredible, or even "Copper" off of Terraform--the straightforward fast Shellac rock song. The meaning of the song seems relatively obvious but again I am likely way off--most of the best music being made today is not being made by dudes. All he cares about now is "chick new wave." Bob Weston also essentially duets this song with Albini and both complement one another here as beautifully as they always have. That said, I can't discern any more of the lyrics.
As may be conjectured, I have consulted genius.com for some of these lyrics, but I am not printing them all. In short, this interpretation is not that far off, except that it was meant to refer to the female-fronted punk bands in the early 80s, not female-fronted punk bands in the early 20s.
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"Tattoos" probably has the heaviest subject matter of any of the songs, but it is similarly mysterious.
What's the panic with you?
Your urgent need to mingle.
Press the flesh and smell my breath.
Would you just, fucking wait?
I don't see how this part connects to the rest of the song but it does always catch me off guard because I am always panicking about something whenever it comes on (I have listened to it least once a day every day since it has been out, probably about 20 times so far, which isn't hard given its length) and it causes me to reflect and slow down and realize that whatever I am freaking out about is most likely meaningless and not worth agonizing over (like this post, for example).
How many people did you kill
Arguing with that kid?
You got ghosts chasing you now
In your truck
Ghosts got a ghost truck
You say, "Time waits for no one
You couldn't be more wrong
Time is patient like a hunter waiting for you to come along."
Even if I give you the out
Of not knowing what the fuck this is about
We should raise a ghost army.
Volunteer ghosts, enlisted ghosts.
Help the living help the dead with their tools.
We'll tattoo the names of the dead, tattoo the names
Tattoo the names of the dead, on your hands.
Obviously, this song could be about police brutality or genocide or any of the 1,000+ mass shootings that have happened since Dude Incredible, and not letting the perpetrators forget their atrocities, lest they continue unabated. This could also be a foolish and simpleminded interpretation.
I mean, yes, but those concerns were brought into sharp relief during the pandemic, and actually this song is about anti-maskers, and it totally makes sense. COVID denialism doesn't reach the same level of moral culpability as murder, but 2020-2021 was the one time in (most of) our lives where breathing on somebody did bring the possibility of killing them. Of course it makes me think of seeing them on 3/11/20 and how Albini opened up the show by saying, "All of you are very brave," and how Bob Weston came out wearing a mask and how I wrote, "Regardless, I hope to see them again," as the last caption line in my Instagram post, and how that 2020 tour got cancelled after the show I saw, and how the rescheduled tour in 2021 got rescheduled for 2022, and then of course last night, watching some of the Primavera Sound Festival that they are broadcasting on Amazon Prime this year, watching Pulp play, hearing Jarvis Cocker dedicate "Something Changed" to somebody. I didn't hear for sure, but it must have been Albini, because even though you don't think of Jarvis Cocker as the type of musician that would book a session at Electrical Audio, he tapped Albini for Further Complications in 2009, after meeting Albini at the Pitchfork Festival in 2008 (which again, maybe the year I most regret missing, the lineup was so stacked, and so was Lollapalooza that year, and what a travesty its become). They named one stage for Albini this year, in the corner of the festival grounds, and I saw one of the organizers talk about how this was the first year without him and Shellac. Lana headlined Lollapalooza last year and Primavera this year. It's remarkable that Primavera kept this very inaccessible group as their "house band," playing every year for the past 15, when they themselves played only a handful of shows a year. It's a testament to the "unknown" greatness of the band. Let's just say, if I had shelled out for it this year, this would have been even more crushing, and it would have held even deeper meaning as a spiritual pilgrimage. But yes, the song is about the people that panicked over their urgent need to mingle, denying the overall situation and ignoring the idea that immuno-compromised individuals deserve to be protected.
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"Wednesday" is perhaps the clearest "voice from the grave" moment from Albini, along with "I Don't Fear Hell." It is the only "dirge" on the album. It's slow, there's very little melody to it, and the drum fills are the only "energetic" part of the song (it bears a resemblance to "Genuine Lulabelle" off Excellent Italian Greyhound in that).
When they left he was hale and strong
Had all the girls fit to marry.
And what we got back, you couldn't put in your hat
And was hardly fit to bury.
The bend in your back
In the marital act,
Whether or not you plan to marry.
Hump has three meanings, maybe four.
For him, it meant to carry
What he was born with and was given,
What he earned and what he found,
What he figured out for himself,
And what he picked up off the ground,
And at last, what he imagined.
So remember him as he was, hale and strong,
Would never run from a fight
And not the sad thing that blew out his brains
In the kitchen, Wednesday night.
It is hard to say how much of Albini's work in Big Black or Rapeman or Shellac is autobiographical. Of course, we want to say none. Yet one cannot pretend that something like "The Power of Independent Trucking" (opening track from Songs About Fucking, which most consider the high watermark of Big Black after Atomizer) is actually only about how long-haul truckers get their "backbone" and not a metaphor or comment on the music industry. One cannot hear "Shoe Song," and hear Bob Weston scream, "I miss you!!!" and not think of "Good Morning Captain" off Spiderland, which Albini did not actually produce---but he did record Tweez (credited as "Some Fuckin Derd Niffer" on the album) and praise Spiderland as a masterpiece and acknowledge that Slint would never be huge, but would become extremely influential (he wasn't wrong about many things, though most people wouldn't know he was right). It was sad, or perhaps comforting, to see that his mother Gina survived him, knowing "Mama Gina" (who had a sister named Angelina) is not dancing in a heaven he doesn't think there is yet. Excellent Italian Greyhound is about as directly autobiographical an album title as there is, with Todd Trainer's dog Uffizi serving as an unofficial mascot for the band. If I had to say which of the 3 bands' songs were the "most autobiographical," it would be Shellac. I do not doubt that Albini once had a very annoying watch like the one in "Watch Song." From various anecdotes, it seems clear Albini enjoyed pool and may have seen some of himself in "Billiard Player Song." Of course, "Wingwalker," is far more likely metaphorical than actually about the it-girl of the sky that performs ridiculously dangerous acrobatics; it is about sacrificing everything else in your life to be completely and totally dedicated to a project, i.e. the plane, which has a button that can be pushed to decimate all of the people that look like little ants from above (his various monologues during the song live were by turns absurd and poetic).
This song is hard to gauge, but the original title was "Hump Day," and it really is just about the day of the week--and a narrative about a fictional character. A broken character, someone that had been through a life experience that was transformative in a terrible way, with the person becoming different to everyone and around everyone and ultimately making him take his own life (paraphrasing from podcast here). Beyond that it is mostly wordplay with the multiple meanings of "hump."
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"Scrappers" may be the best song on the album, or at the very least one of the best. It is classic Shellac, coming in hard and fast on the heels of the downcast "Wednesday," with a swinging guitar line, punctuated by heavy, syncopated bass thumps soon thereafter, for 1 minute, before leading into the lyrics:
Papa, did you quit your job?
Punch the man, who said those things?
Did you sell the car
And buy a truck
And start the scrapping enterprise?
Papa is that your plan?
Papa what a plan.
Papa is that your plan?
Papa what a plan.
We'll be pirates
The cool night air will fill our lungs
With songs we'll sing each other.
I am small, but you will come
To trust me like a brother.
We'll be pirates! (x6.5)
If you can see the album art, above the band personnel are three photographs, one for each member. The photographs are of pick-up trucks filled with mountains of scrap metal and other various discarded appliances. (Perhaps worth noting, the album cover itself is a photograph of Union Station in Chicago taken by Bob Weston; I will try to replicate the photo at some point in the future.) Basically, the band members are fans of such scrappers, and Albini spoke about how such individuals are present in all places, and how some languages naming them imply a derogatory inference.
What's more surprising, is that this is a very innocent and cute song. Albini acknowledged he was attempting to recreate the sounds included in a children's song that is popular on YouTube, and that the song is from the perspective of a little girl whose father has a regular office job, but has an incident at work and wants to quit and become a scrapper--and the girl finds that idea romantic and exciting, going with her father on scrapping runs and having adventures and being like pirates. It's kind of a ridiculous and fun idea, and accordingly a fun song. Arguably getting to hear them scream, "We'll be pirates!" would be nearly as good as hearing them scream, "Look at me, I'm a plane!" I'll have to see what concerts are up on YouTube, to see how these songs went down live.
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"Days are Dogs" is the most verbose song on the album, unquestionably, opening with a cowbell and launching into 100 seconds of 219 words delivered in vaguely matter-of-fact barking over a spare, simple scratchy guitar line.
I am the last day of your life, lived beyond all expectation
My wives and concubines are all fecund and pulchritudinous
And I hope that that's correct, the way I used pulchritudinous
I pity all the dead, who are not here to witness
The omniscious* creases, sweet baby Jesus
If I can't take it with me, I'll have it all now.
*-this can't be the right word but I can't figure it out.
The song is about how time gets away from you , and you don't get things done that you intend. "Days are dogs distracted by each other's assholes," and it goes from there, he says, and it's a very relevant message in 2024, where the only people that can avoid these types of distractions are the people that have a very healthy ability to put their phone away. He mentioned that the concluding bit is about a disaster at a rock n roll concert in Cincinnati in the 70s, when the band the Who had a concert where people were trampled to death. Going to see the Who, he explained....maybe not even worth killing someone over, and the poor son of a bitch that was in front of you, it's just bad luck you happened to be in front of me. He added that, a lot of things people do for gratification are either for aggrandizement, because they want be known as someone that has done something, or they are incredibly petty trivial shitty little things that they want or have some kind of material desire for.
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"How I Wrote How I Wrote Elastic Man," is a Bob Weston song that references the Fall but doesn't sound like them, though it does have a repetitive guitar part.
I had very little to say about this song at first, despite it referencing one of my other favorite bands. It's a grower. It's grown on me, and it grows as it goes along, and by the end, it has the 2nd moment on the album where Shellac sounds like Jesus Lizard (The ending of "Wsod" sounds like "Nub," and the ending of this song sounds like "Gladiator," from Goat and Liar, both of which Albini recorded).
Before we start
I must explain
This song was once
Called "sauerkraut."
It's another self-referential song within a song, not unlike "New Number Order," but then it shifts beyond its Foucault-like focus, and I really was at a loss to say anything else. Albini noted that it was inspired by a book that Bob Weston was reading at the time, which I believe is Cock and Bull by Will Self, and features the directive to the reader to "begin again," which is reflected in the lyrics of the song. This is another "grower" and ultimately becomes an album highlight, with the way instruments are methodically added on top of one another before dropping to bass and drums in the coda. And that part does sound like "Gladiator," and ironically the Jesus Lizard just announced they have a new album coming out in September and the first single released is an encouraging sign that it will actually be a good comeback album. In an interview with the New York Times, David Yow (who one must not forget, provided the name of this blog) mentioned that Albini told him people were going " shit themselves" when they found out Jesus Lizard was putting out a new album. Of course this news is overshadowed by the sadder news, but as Albini was also considered a "fifth member" of the band, one hopes at least their tour will offer a fitting tribute to his legacy.
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"Scabby the Rat" is a theme song for the inflatable rat that I know has shown up in Jeopardy! clues and should be played at such demonstrations.
Is inflatable.
That's right I said he's inflatable.
Makes the whole room pregnant.
Pow! You're pregnant.
There's not much to say about this song except that it is probably the closest thing to a "pop song" on this album. All the songs are pretty short and at this point, after this many listens, I feel comfortable saying To All Trains is their "leanest" album and has almost zero-filler. Maybe below I will rank some things. The details on the song spilled in the podcast are rather limited to Albini's remembrance of his friend (Rob Warmowski) that ran the Scabby the Rat account on Twitter. This part comes near the end of the podcast, and Albini mentions that this friend died suddenly of meningitis--contracting it on Friday and dying on Monday--and the idea that Albini would have a similar "sudden death" experience, about two weeks after that interview, makes it doubly saddening to hear. But there is a mention of Warmowski and the song serves as a tribute to him and the labor efforts he promoted.
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The last track bears similarities to both "Watch Song" and "Il Porno Star" in how it opens but ends up becoming the most fitting final track in their catalog. I love the whole thing. If I had to guess what Pitchfork will give it, it would be 8.0. (Note: I was 0.1 off)
Obviously the last track is the aforementioned "I Don't Fear Hell," and this is the other dirge on the album after "Wednesday," but it has greater levity, with Albini actually singing, "Something something," and celebrating, "when this is over/leap in my grave like the arms of a lover." It's a very straightforward song that takes on a darker hue given the reality on 6/7/24. There are a couple great moments on it, and though now it seems destined to be tied to his actual untimely passing, there is comfort to take in it as well. Albini was a brave individual and he lived out his days in a way that many of us wish we could. His example is an inspiration. We can all do better, if we take it to heart--the work ethic, adhering to certain principles--and we might lead more fulfilling lives, too, where the everyday experience itself is the reward.
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There's probably more I could say, but maybe that's enough. It's taken me a long time to process this and accept it as reality. Maybe writing this has helped a bit. Suffice to say, I will be undergoing a mental reassessment of my entire life over the coming months, and hope it may end with living one where time doesn't feel wasted, or moments unexperienced don't feel missed. There are many ways to live a good life, but we are beset by a binary predisposition. The choice is often between doing great things--being ambitious, creating something new, breaking new ground--or being content with a smaller life, where you won't set the world on fire, but you will tend to your garden, do no harm and improve the lives of others around you. Albini did both, in a way, and he will stand as a lasting example of the power of standing behind one's principles, compromising for no one, and creating a beautiful piece of art out of our performance as a human being on this earth.
Requiescat in pace
