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Rating: Let's start with the epilogue: I shook hands with Steve Albini. It doesn't seem real. The very man of "Colombian Necktie," "Kerosene," "Hated Chinee," etc... An icon of independent rock made in the USA, known mostly for his numerous and important productions, but too little for his work as a singer/guitarist/composer.
In the 80s, he spread the noise verse from Chicago to the rest of the States with Big Black, and then went on to "invent the 90s" with a handful of tracks penned by Rapeman. In the last two decades, leading Shellac, he has slowed down his releases but nonetheless provided his very personal version of what contemporary critics have called math-rock, a noise rock with sharp edges and geometric constructs.
To be honest, in my humble opinion, the average quality of the 4 LPs that Shellac have spread from 1994 to 2007 remains quite lower than what Big Black and Rapeman did between 1983 and 1989. But it's obviously a matter of personal taste. And on the other hand, it's not easy even for Albini himself to achieve such high levels repeatedly.
On the other hand, last night Steve was playing practically in my backyard, and I just couldn't miss it. Maybe I'm not crazy about Shellac because, deep down, I'm a fan of Albini, while Shellac is not "Albini + 2 random collaborators." Shellac is also the band of Todd Trainer, a sadistic and maniacal drummer with a gaze as smiley as it is eerie. Extremely lean, even more than Albini, with a sunken face, Todd is what one would call a "dominant" drummer: every hit that he delivers to his drums (whether it's the bass drum, snare, cymbals, anything) is executed to achieve the maximum ear-shattering effect.
Each beat is so pronounced that it seems to live its own life, isolated from all others forming the rhythmic figure. Last night Todd was the first to step onto the stage, to move his drum-kit forward, close to the audience, and, democratically, aligned with the other two musicians. Then Bob Weston enters, a chubby bassist with icy eyes. Finally, Steve, whose entrance is the quintessence of anti-stardom: a quick nod to the audience, then straight to setting up cables and preparing the ammunition.
They exit the scene, keep us waiting for a few minutes, then finally return and kick off with the best possible opener: "My Black Ass"! And let's go with the mosh pit! (Though I stayed out of it: I'm out of shape). Then it's "Canada"... The band is in shape, the acoustics are perfect. Between songs, the three exchange glances of understanding, smiles, clarifications, but during the execution of the pieces, they give everything they've got (even if it's just t-shirts) and don't hold back at all.
Todd breaks some drumsticks, Bob churns out relentless bass lines and accompanies Albini in song; Steve, as usual, thrashes around in the limited stage space granted to him while roughly handling his guitar, straplessly, reaching the microphone breathlessly just in time to sing. A generous, humble, incandescent performance.
The jamming that introduces "In A Minute" was inspired. At one point, Bob asks a couple of questions to the audience, while Steve fools around with the guitar and makes fun (in Italian) of the sound engineer: it is the intro of "The End Of Radio", Todd Trainer's personal show, who walks around the stage with the snare on his head, playing it masterfully. Among the most intense pieces, the classic "Prayer To God". (I don't publish the tracklist, partly because I don't remember the order of the songs and partly to avoid spoilers for possible upcoming performances).
In the final piece, Bob and Steve dispose of bass and guitar, while Todd continues to hit hard; slowly, the cymbals disappear, the bass drum disappears, the snare disappears...and Todd is left with nothing else to beat. When we say "deconstructing rock"! Shellac does it for real, without a metaphor! The performance was excellent. My only personal regret lies in the simple fact that I don't love Shellac as much as Big Black or Rapeman, so it's evident that the emotional involvement couldn't be at its highest levels.
Moreover, I would have expected a few more tracks from "At Action Park," their oldest but also the best album: perhaps, given their skills in semi-improvised jamming, a "Pull The Cup" or a "Song Of The Minerals" would have further enriched the performance. But we know, Albini is someone who never looks back but always to the future.
After almost an hour and a half of concert, the magnificent three sign autographs, sell t-shirts, answer questions. I swear I've never seen such availability from such an important rock group. Disarming. I approached Steve Albini simply to shake his hand, but as I do, Steve bows his head towards me as if waiting for a question from me.
I was really caught off guard. If I knew it was like that, I would have prepared a list of technical questions! So, completely unprepared, all I could do was to congratulate him on everything he has done in almost 30 years of music: "Congratulations for your entire career, from Big Black and Rapeman to Shellac". He thanks me sincerely and bids me farewell. And I head home, with a pounding heart and a hand still soaked in Albini's sweat, the same sweat I shed every time I put some of his tracks in my iPod.
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