The Pursuit of Passion for its Own Sake

Steve Albini, RIP.

Before we get started, play this track as you read. I’m listening to it as I write.

Steve Albini passed away last week at 61. In case that name doesn’t mean anything to you, Albini was responsible for recording some of the most important records of the last thirty or so years. He was still at it when he died, though I admit I have fallen out of the habit of listening to popular music, so I couldn’t name anything he’s been a part of the last decade. But in my day, he recorded the best work of P.J. Harvey, the Pixies, the Breeders, Nirvana, and my favorite band, the Jesus Lizard. He also fronted several bands — including Shellac, which if you heeded my request above, you are listening to right now.

People will likely remember Albini for his cutting critiques of the music industry, or his quixotic, almost ideological insistence that he was not a producer but merely a studio engineer — someone who helped bands achieve their sound, rather than imparting a sound to them.

Me, I’ll remember him for his ethic — one that still shapes how I approach various things to this day.

The track above, titled “Didn’t we deserve a look at you the way you really are,” is the first song on Shellac’s second album, “Terraform.” It was released four years after the first, in 1998.

That first album, “At Action Park,” was a raucous affair, probably one of the most caustic rock albums ever recorded — and Albini fans (like me) ate it up. Like in most of his recordings, it feels like Shellac is playing right there next to you. The drums explode, the bass snarls like some feral hound, and the guitars are razor blades. You can hear hands move across fretboards and picks hitting strings in the short interstitial silences.

Even today, it’s astonishing stuff. It feels like you’re confronting the limit of something. There’s a big difference between appreciating the beautiful and confronting the sublime. Music, I’ve always found, is the shortest path to the latter — to the edge of reason, which is not always aesthetic.

“Terraform,” is something completely different. There are explosive moments, sure, and the band still sounds very live. But instead of aggressively going for the jugular, the second album is relentless in time. “Didn’t we deserve…” takes the approach to absurd lengths, repeating a tense phrase for what seems like forever, hypnotically developing the theme, hinting at where things might end up — but never letting you off the hook. Still sublime but orthogonal, “Terraform” has very few easy concessions to fans of “At Action Park.” It takes almost perverse pleasure in that independence — independence even from an adoring audience.

Albini was a visionary. Independence runs through everything he did. Shellac released four more albums in slow succession: in 2000, 2007, 2014, with the last one set to land later this week. They put them out when they felt they were ready, and only then. The band was a passion project for its members, not a job. They went on tour to travel, not to promote and sell, booking shows in places they wanted to visit anyway. I had little expectation they’d play in Washington after the record dropped.

Albini built his recording studio and made his living in the same spirit. He was scrupulous about how he ran his business. He wanted to be beholden to no one. He would charge major labels a lot for his services, but strove to make himself approachable — and affordable — to working bands. He clearly loved the art of recording music, and worked hard on not having to make compromises in pursuit of that love.

As regular readers know, I used to play in bands. Albini’s approach was incredibly influential to a twenty-something me. And to a large extent, it has quietly guided me through life since. Working at The American Interest felt like a passion project for fifteen years. Wisdom of Crowds feels exactly the same way. (Recording the podcast has a special musical resonance for me. Recording live shows even more so. I thought of Albini frequently as I learned the craft.) And working at The Post, it’s incredibly rewarding to help authors get their thoughts together just right, in their own voice, leaving as few fingerprints behind as possible.

They say that by trying to make a career out of doing what you love to do, you run the risk of destroying your passion. That may well be true, but only if you do it wrong, if you define success as something else — like wealth or fame. Sustaining a passion, and allowing yourself to pursue it for its own end, at your own pace, and in knowledge that if you are honest about it, it will be a service to others — that’s what I took from Steve Albini, from the example he set.

May he rest in peace.