Shellac
The Futurist

THE REVIEW

Silver letters on a black background. 779 copies printed for 779 friends for this 1997 EP named The Futurist.

Two very long tracks, one per side, containing dozens of other of that sharp and geometric music that only Shellac know how to make. They work by subtraction, if they could, they would make an album with just one chord, they play silence, and here the voice disappears too, that seemingly monotonous but so communicative voice that dispels any doubt about what it intends to communicate at a given precise moment, but there appear inserts and collages of sounds, stuff, and objects that seem to come from the future and the result is strange, unexpected for what Shellac usually aim for. A bare music, aiming at the essence, but dressed in the Future.

It seems like a private matter, so private that it bears the name of who can listen to it right from the cover. The recipients of this gift to music are not us, but people like Lou Barlow, Kim Deal, Tad Doyle, Dave Grohl, Jason Lowenstein, Ian Mackaye, Brendan Murphy, Jeff Nelson, Jim O'Rourke, Bruce Pavitt, Guy Picciotto, Cris Novoselic, Agostino Tilotta, Sasha Tilotta, Mike Watt, David Yow plus relatives and partners. Elitism, simple arrogance or pure misanthropy? No answer, but it would be nice to have a spectacled uncle from America with a nerdy face who enjoys playing the scalpel whenever and however he likes and writes your name in silver on the cover of a twelve-inch record.