Of all the things Albini ever did, I still find this the most amazing and inspiring, the most out of step with our prevailing tendencies to commit ourselves to our beliefs until we die with them. Albini's early interpretation was not far from that of the modern incel, really, but he realized it wasn't too late to change the work he needed. He wasn't quiet about it either, talking about his transformation like some punk rocker Tony Robbins. He knew he wasn't the only one who needed some self-reflection.
I don't want to give a false impression of the modern Albini as some shrinking violet, as someone who is too paralyzed and can offend someone to say how he really felt. He was a true pioneer of being a hater, naming names worthy of scorn on record reviews and seminal music industry scenes decades ago. And she remained, until her very last day, one of the funniest moms on the planet, willing and able to make fun of anyone or anything she thought deserved it-Steely Dan, the Grateful Dead, Sphere, every politician, whoever came to Chicago.
He could tell a silkscreen conference a few jokes about being ripped off a Farrah Fawcett poster and get Bourdain to laugh at “jagoff” while wearing a Jaconuts t-shirt. But when he overstepped, he was now able to apologize. If the opinion was strong enough, he seemed to realize that his language need not offend to be effective. Albini often ridiculed nostalgia. he knew that not growing means, in essence, dying.
Next week, Shellac will be released To all trains, possibly the last album of the long-standing brilliant band. A decade ago, not long before the release of the trio Man Incredible, Albini admitted how much he enjoyed playing with Bob Weston and Todd Trainer. “Being at Shellac is the best thing I get to do every year,” she said The Quietus. “But on a day-to-day business level, I have bills to pay. I have responsibilities to take on.” So he couldn't just play. He had to work.
No one outside Shellac's inner circle has heard of it To all trains Yet. “There will be no commercials, no press or radio promotion, no electronic promotion, no commercial or review, no publicity stunt, and otherwise no free lunch,” the band wrote in announcing the album in March. (They meant it too; I asked enough times.) This is perfect. After all the obituaries, tributes and speeches Albini might have teased out with a little snippet-tweet have faded away, what's left is an album devoid of advanced promotional promises or expectations, captured over four years of long weekends in a studio. built entirely by punk rockers. What will remain is the work, as Albini would have wanted.
