One of the most respected and well-known recording engineers
of our time, Steve Albini—who manned the decks for such canonical
albums as Nirvana’s In Utero and Pixies’ Surfer
Rosa—insists he doesn’t have a signature sound. On the phone
after midnight from his Chicago-based Electrical Audio studios, the
sharply idiosyncratic Albini is off and running after me for suggesting
so. He is like a disgruntled scholar, fed up with the cultural
misinterpretations of his work. As he sees it, these things are
clear.
“The root of that notion is that I somehow have a template that I
force bands into, and it bothers me that that’s a perception.” Albini
explains. His protest is more than a judicious protection of the
studio’s business, but a genuine response to feeling pigeonholed.
Albini went on to note his work on everything from country to free
jazz, noise and beyond.
“I can’t imagine anyone coming into a record store and saying, ‘Give
me any record you have as long as Steve Albini worked on it,'” he says.
Rick Rubin or Phil Spector, Albini is not. Instead, the long-time
Chicagoan strives to take on all prospective clients regardless of
stature or style, and often finds himself working six days a week. (In
part to spend more time with a girlfriend who he will marry in
September, Albini says he recently gave up working on Tuesdays.)
Despite his grumblings, however appropriate they may be, it’s
impossible to fully divorce Albini from “the sound.” As described by
Ben Ratliff of the New York Times, Albini’s “aesthetics dictate
big drums, big guitars, and small vocals.” It exhibits a diamond-cutter
clarity, the thud of heavy cinder blocks, and very little gloss. Even
when the music itself is dirty and gnarled, the recording emerges from
a place of almost impeccable cleanliness with incredible punch.
Few bands embody this aesthetic more than Albini’s own, currently
Shellac, which has been together since 1992. The heavy minor-chord
abrasions and angular rhythms are pounded out, as Albini sing-rants
from a place Pitchfork‘s Matt LeMay dubbed “pissed-off geek.”
And while the band began with in-jokes as their predominant lyrical
material, they have expanded slightly inside the oft-violent framework.
(“Prayer to God” from 2000’s 1000 Hurts is one of the most
profound, cathartic, shout-along responses to jealousy and heartbreak
ever laid to tape.)
While there’s not a new Shellac album on the radar, this short tour
will feature some new material. And though their tours are sort of a
vacation from work, Albini insists Shellac is more than a way to blow
off steam. “It’s not a livelihood for any of us, but it’s very
important to us,” he explains. “It’s as important to me as a wife and
family would be.”
As much for his engineering as his music, a devout community has
formed around Albini, which allows Shellac to perform and record at
vast intervals and still maintain an audience. And although he is often
regarded as prickly and contrarian, Albini does indeed take pride in
sharing his studio knowledge (on his website message boards Albini has
racked up over 4,500 posts) and fighting the good fight (whether
writing a scathing critique of the music industry, or combating unfair
ticket-pricing practices).
“I’m proud of the fact that Electrical is a useful resource to the
rest of the external recording community as well,” says Albini. “It’s
not just my private little domain. I’m not like Dr. Evil up here at my
control panel petting my cat. Although I am, occasionally, at a control
panel petting a cat.”