Flashback by Cory Casciato
The Metropolitan
Hearing Big Black for the first time is like suffering a head injury. First, the brutal, mechanized rhythms punch a hole in the brain. Seconds later, the vitriolic lyrics begin infecting the wound. But, before the disease sets in the searing squawk and roar of the guitars sear the edges, cauterizing the wound. The patient will live, but the damage is done. They'll never be quite the same.
Big Black gave the world some of the most genuinely passionate, challenging and scary music it's ever seen and Songs About Fucking was both their best and final studio album. It takes a unique talent to make an album full of songs about mental illness, casual murder, and the brutal power dynamics of sexual relations (plus a Kraftwerk cover) work without sounding cheesy or contrived. Big Black pulls it off in style.
The lyrics, delivered in yelping howls by guitarist/frontman Steve Albini, explore the darkest corners of the human experience with incisive clarity and the blackest of humor. Behind these blistering screeds, a cyborg rhythm section-comprised of human bass player Dave Riley and a drum machine named Roland-pounds out freight-train rhythms while guitarists Santiago Durango and Albini torture their instruments until they scream in submission. The overall effect is a revelation-ugly, caustic and perfect in a way that's never been seen before or since.
Much could be said about Big Black's enduring influence and Albini's later contributions as both a musician and producer/engineer, but ultimately none of that matters as much as the music. Over fifteen years after its release, it still sounds as fresh and unique as it did the day it appeared. The bottom line is this: any record collection without this album has a big black hole that needs to be filled immediately. |
