Steve Albini in the 80s was one of the most recognizable figures of the underground rock scene. First writing confrontational and scathing articles for various zines; then as a member of the most abrasive band to ever use a drum machine, Big Black, Albini became well known for his outspoken philosophies on the indie scene and the recording industry as a whole.

He extends his beliefs to his work an engineer/producer; Albini refuses to take royalties on a band’s album, he is willing to record anyone who is able to pay him (from Jimmy Page and Robert Plant to a no-name garage band from Toledo), and doesn’t consider himself a producer and in fact, despises the occupation, believing the act of a person outside of the band taking the reins of a band’s recording is an “insult” to the musicians. Instead he insists on being called a “recording engineer” if anything, and usually eschews any credits on the record packaging.

But what’s really amazing about Albini is that he lives up to what he says; rarely, if ever, has he compromised his beliefs for any reason. He often talks of how he wishes to record the way the band actually sounds, no more, no less. Albini isn’t interested in special effects or even doing dozens of takes to get something to sound right. He often has a band play live in one room as they would in concert or at a rehearsal, which, if you think about it, makes a lot more sense than placing each musician in a different room and having them play the hell out of their one part until it sounds exactly right. No matter how perfect it may sound, rarely does it capture the raw sound of a live performance. Albini on the other hand, has become an expert on recording techniques and microphones in order to be able to record pretty much anything that is thrown at him. Ultimately, this may make for a crappy album. If the band can’t play or if their songs suck, that’s not really Albini’s problem. If they suck, they suck, and what Albini claims is that he will capture their suckiness as accurately as possible.

While Albini claims he doesn’t “have a sound”, and that he wishes to leave no fingerprints on a recording, he’s mostly right. When you hear a recording Steve Albini has worked on, you might not realize it immediately. But put on your headphones and listen to Guided by Voices’ “Sheet Kickers” off their Under the Bushes, Under the Stars LP (which Albini recorded under the name “Fluss”). Starting off with a booming bass that sounds like the cabinet is right behind you; Robert Pollard’s voice comes in, completely natural and laced with minimal reverb, a sharp contrast to the lo-fi heavily reverbed vocals on his earlier recordings. But what really stands out on this track (and often every track he does) is Albini’s recording of guitars and drums; the guitar attacks the listener, sounding violent and completely unprocessed. But the drums are the highlight: Albini makes drums sound exactly like they sound when you’re in a huge, empty hall they’re extremely loud and primal, but he manages to mix them so they’re not completely overbearing. If it’s not GBV’s best song, it may still be their best sounding song.

Or check out Slint’s chaotic “Ron,” the lead track from their Tweez LP, featuring a sneaker-melting riff with some bizarre percussion that sounds like a metal chain being violently banged, combined with lead singer Brian McMahan asking an unresponsive Albini if he should change his “fucked up” headphones before launching into a blistering vocal. At under two minutes, the track captures Albini at his best; absolutely unrelenting.
However, I take Albini to task saying that he won’t make a crappy band sound any better if they’re already crappy.

Case in point: Bush’s “Swallowed.” Bush pretty much sucks, as everyone knows. They are to Nirvana what The Monkees were to The Beatles (only The Monkees are actually pretty great). But I’ll be damned if “Swallowed” doesn’t sound damn entertaining playing through my headphones. The bass line on the verses rumbles like an earthquake aftershock; the slamming, visceral drums and the viciously squealing guitar lines wailing on the chorus make me giddy; Albini’s production is so visceral and urgent, I find myself wondering if maybe I should reassess Gavin Rossdale’s level of suck…nah.

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