But in terms of his influence on other musicians, Steve Albiniis the most important alternative rocker Chicago has ever produced.
The skinny Montana native moved here 12 years ago to studyjournalism at Northwestern University. But he soon abandoned hisnotebook for a more active career in rock.
Throughout the '80s, Albini played furious, hard-hittingpost-punk with two trios, Big Black and Rapeman. In the '90s, he'sbecome a much in-demand record producer, thanks to the in-your-facesound on albums by the Pixies, the Breeders and many otheralternative rockers.
Big Black's noise guitars, jackhammer rhythms and lyrical talesof America's underbelly continue to inspire cutting-edge rock bandssuch as Helmet, Tar and the Jesus Lizard, as well as industrial dancegroups such as Nine Inch Nails and Ministry.
Albini's uncompromising attitude is mimicked throughout theunderground rock world, and his influence is sure to keep growing.
The local independent label Touch & Go recently reissued theentire Big Black catalog. Albini has landed a coveted gig producingP.J. Harvey, and his writing is included alongside Lester Bangs,Greil Marcus and Tom Wolfe in the new Penguin Book of Rock & RollWriting.
Although he just turned 30, Albini is one punk who hasn'tmellowed with age. Shooting three-cushion billiards at a NorthwestSide poolroom, he talked nonstop for two hours, offering typicallyfeisty opinions on a range of topics.
The major record labels are "thieves," he said. Mostalternative rockers "would sell their souls to get on a major label";his former label, Homestead/Dutch East India, is "absolutelycriminal," and the only bad thing about living in Chicago "is thelunkheadedness and belligerence of the police department and therevolting corruption of city government."
Although he frequently apologized during the interview "forbeing so testy," it was obvious he didn't mean it: Being testy is what Albini does best.
Quiet, spacious and clean, the Chicago Billiard Cafe on IrvingPark Road is his favorite place to meet interviewers. He arrivedshortly after it opened at 10 a.m., carrying his own cues and wearinghis familiar leather jacket, close-cropped haircut and John Lennonspecs.
"It's the closest thing to therapy I have," he said as hesettled in at his favorite table. (He didn't ask me to join, and Ididn't volunteer.)
Outspoken on almost any topic, Albini was uncharacteristicallymodest when it came to talking about Big Black's influence.
"I'm pretty embarrassed that Ministry keeps putting out ourrecords," he said. "But other than that, when people talk aboutbands being influenced by Big Black, I think it's more that bands arevoicing the influence of that era of music.
"The records in their reissue form are selling far more thanthey did in their original incarnation. At the time the Big Blackrecords came out, they were ahead of their time in quality, theme andstyle. And they're not ahead of their time now.
"Using my own criteria, I don't think they're as importantnow." A window to his darker side
From the beginning, Big Black served as Albini's alter ego, anda window to his darker side. The name itself was the opposite of hissurname, which means "little white."
Eloquent, soft-spoken and extremely intelligent, he became araving lunatic onstage. He would wrap his guitar strap around histiny waist like a belt and flail away, controlling the drum machineby stomping on a foot pedal and screaming until the veins would popout of his neck.
The soul of Big Black always was the two-guitar attack by Albiniand Santiago Durango, described in liner notes as "guitar skinng" and"guitar grrr." But it was often Albini's lyrics that garnered themost attention.
Although he has dabbled in rock criticism for the Chicagofanzine Matter and the Boston magazine Forced Exposure, early effortsat journalism convinced Albini that he would have more freedomplaying music than being a writer.
But a flair for sensational reporting surfaced in songs liftedfrom bizarre headlines. "Jordan, Minnesota" was about a townwidering of pedophiliacs. "Pigeon Kill" chronicled a ritualpigeon-poisoning celebration, and "Kerosene" depicted a boredarsonist.
Other favorite topics included redneck truckers, ganglandslayings and dictator Benito Mussolini.
"I don't mean to be constantly negative in saying that peoplehave the wrong idea about things," Albini said, the pool ballscolliding with a crack.
"But Big Black's lyrics have gotten entirely too much attention.I get the impression that people think about our songs in the sameway they think about a pop song: That there's a subject and a literalset of lyrics. And that's not at all the way we did things.
"The lyrics to us were really just an extension of the mood wewere trying to establish with the music." Advocates of subversive behavior
This approach puts Albini in a tradition of rock songwritingthat started in the '60s with the Velvet Underground's voyeuristicdescriptions of heroin and sadomasochistic sex. But many criticsattacked Big Black for advocating the behavior it portrayed, andRapeman was picketed in the United Kingdom for having a sexistmonicker (the name came from the hero of a Japanese comic book).
"I've run afoul of that several times when the subject matter ofa song is distasteful to some people," Albini said.
"They make the argument that if you have something like that aspart of the subject matter of your song, or Rapeman as the name ofyour band, then you are an evil person glorifying violence or thedomination of women.
"If I wrote a song about a macho idiot, that doesn't mean I'm amacho idiot. That fact that I'm not a macho idiot makes it possible for me to make theseobservations," he said.
"Our stuff was observations from the somewhat detached point ofview of crazy people, people who weren't us. The kick for me wastrying to figure out how close those people were to me."
Such opinions are delivered with a razor-sharp wit that can beeasy to miss. Critics rarely mention that, in addition to beingfrightening, Big Black could be very funny, and all of this toughtalk came from a guy who's about as threatening as Martin Short.
Detractors also fail to recognize that Albini's anger is rootedin idealism. He is the first to admit he's disappointed that punkrock never took over the world. But he seems disingenuous when hesays he isn't playing in a band because punk has gotten toocommercial.
Big Black disbanded in 1987 when Durango enrolled in law school.Albini returned with Rapeman, featuring drummer Rey Washam andbassist David Sims (now a member of the Jesus Lizard). But thatgroup broke up in 1989 because of the usual squabbling, and he hasn'tmade music since.
"The current mode of behavior of rock bands I find absolutelyrepulsive," he said. "The majority behave in a way that I'mdisgusted by. I don't associate myself with those people, and Idon't particularly want to be thought of as part of that continuum.
"If I ever do anything again, I'll do it for my ownentertainment," he added, sipping a cup of coffee and staring at thepool table. "And if I do, probably the last thing I would do isadmit it to someone who was going to print it in the newspaper.
"It would draw attention to itself, and it would be impossibleto do it with a clear conscience." Life's been good
More likely, the guitarist realizes it would be difficult tomake new music as extreme or as trend-setting as his earlier work.Besides, working behind the scenes has been very, very good to SteveAlbini.
Albini makes 200 records a year, mostly in Chicago or atPachyderm Studios south of Minneapolis. His earnings have helpedpurchase a house on the Northwest Side, a $4,000 car with a $2,000stereo system, and his own 24-track recording studio.
He pulled out a black log book and ran down a list of recentprojects that included the Didjits, Dolemite, Union CarbideProductions, the Jesus Lizard, Scrawl, Boss Hog, Thinking FellersLocal 282, Fugazi and Shadowy Men on a Shadowy Planet. This week,he's in Minnesota engineering the sophomore effort by the heavilyhyped English trio P.J. Harvey.
Albini prefers the term "engineer" to "producer." He ofteninsists that he not be credited on albums he worked on and maintainsthat working with a band doesn't mean he supports its music.
In fact, his contribution to the Penguin Book of Rock & RollWriting, reprinted without his knowledge from Forced Exposure, is acollection of "eyewitness record reviews" that tear into bands he'sworked with.
"In the same respect that an auto mechanic can do a good jobworking on someone's car without delving into that person's morals orethics, I can do a good job on somebody's record without endorsingthe music," he said.
Albini refuses to take royalties on albums. Instead, he workson an hourly rate like a plumber. His fee depends on the band'sability to pay and whether a major label is involved.
"A conventional rock producer is paid a percentage of the retailprice of every record that's sold, so it's to their benefit to make arecord that's as commercial as possible," he said.
"I work a certain period of time, I get paid for the time that Iwork, and it doesn't matter one whit to me whether the record sellsone copy or 10 million copies."
Most of the bands Albini has worked with praise his businessskills and his professionalism in the studio. The ones that don'tusually broke his no-credit rule and were severely chastised inperson or in print.
"He's really great, and he's really, really nice. He's like abig teddy bear," said Rose, the first-name-only bassist in the PosterChildren.
Albini produced half of the Champaign-based group's first album,"Flower Plower," and all of its critically praised followup, "DaisyChain Reaction."
"He documents bands' sounds really well," Rose said. "The wayyou sound when you practice and play live, that's exactly what you'llsound like." A very selective producer
Albini usually has some affinity for the bands that approach him(they tend to be loud/fast rockers). But he quickly rejects the oneshe doesn't like.
"When, for example, Pantera faxes me and wants me to do a seriesof in-your-face remixes for them, it's no effort for me to say Icouldn't stand it," he said.
It's rare for anyone in the music business to turn down suchbig-name work. Albini is lucky, and his success doesn't quite jibewith his harsh attitude about the music business.
He often sounds like someone who's been jilted by his true love.But if punk rock really broke his heart, why is it still his career?
"Everybody likes to do something he's good at," he said. "I'm agood recording engineer, and I enjoy doing that far more thanphoto-retouching, which is what I was doing before."
He claims he'd chuck it all and go back to a day job if thereweren't any bands he was comfortable working with. But he seems tolove the business of making records.
It's hard to imagine him stopping, and that's to our advantage.
"People who are genuinely doing whatever they're doing from apure motivation, a real legitimate creative impulse, will beremembered and will be influential," he said.
"People who are doing things for other motives will be forgottenor ridiculed."
He packed up his cues and donned the leather jacket. "That'sthe way it's been all through history," he said.
"Great records eventually sell a lot."
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