To all trains it is a Shellac disc. Expected, thankfully, obviously, unapologetically, unnoticed Shellac disc. A 180-gram Touch and Go Records—“made with 100% recyclable material that is PVC and phthalate-free and uses 79% less CO₂ to produce”—a Shellac record.
Of course, the crucial difference with this particular Shellac record, their sixth, is that frontman Steve Albini died of a heart attack at the age of 61, just 10 days before its release. It's hard to shake off the tragic circumstances clouding it, especially when it culminates in a track called “I Don't Fear Hell” where Albini delivers the smiling lines, “Something something something when this ends/Jump into my grave like a lover's arms/And if there's a heaven, I hope they're having fun, because if there's a hell, I'll meet them all.'' To all trains it's not an album clouded by death: It's just another example of how someone chose to live their life.
Frontman of Big Black, Rapeman and finally the math-rock trio Shellac, Albini spent 40 years dedicated to a unique vision of underground rock music that was spare, free of overdubs, made with analog gear and constantly screaming with a guitar tone that it started slowly. and slowly evolved into metal Morricone. Fiercely reliable, Shellac were the Honda Civic of alternative rock — modest, reliable, generally affordable. You knew the drill. There was a new album every now and then, but never too often, whenever the mood struck prolific studio engineer Albini, prolific mastering engineer Bob Weston and hard-working drum instructor Todd Trainer.
Most of the things that made Shellac a great band in 2000 and 2007 and 2014 were already firmly in place on their 1994 debut. At Action Park: the grunt 'n' skwonk, the buzzing repeat, the best-sounding drums. It's still here, too. Unlike similar minimalist rock bands like the Ramones, Motörhead or AC/DC, Shellac never had to worry about falling prey to the creeping influence of modern production techniques or genre trends. Shellac's songs would oscillate between vicious and scathing (2000's 'Prayer to God'), hypnotic and scathing (2007's The End of Radio), or funny and scathing (2014 “All the Surveyors”), but no one was ever going to file a complaint with the Better Business Bureau about the label's ingredients.
To all trains of course it treads the same path and, given circumstances, would probably have been appreciated just a bit more than Shellac's excellent sixth record. At a scant 28 minutes, it's the shortest and most immediately rewarding – no instrumentals and none of the lingering post-rock delights of 1998 Terraform or 2007 Excellent Italian Greyhound. Elements of the Minutemen have always lurked in Shellac's music, but they're particularly evident in the groove-spiel of “Chick New Wave,” the punchy pauses of “Days Are Dogs,” and the friendly screed “Scabby the Rat,” which plays like a funnier, less anxious version of him Double Nickels on the Dimeof “West Germany”.
