Fugazi

Few bands in the history of rock can boast a track record comparable to that of Fugazi. The Washington DC group was one of the most revolutionary musical forces of the late twentieth century, and “Repeater” (1990) is the peak of an enviable career, an unquestionable milestone in rock music. Indeed, “Repeater” perfects the so-called post-hardcore style (a project in which the band would be joined, with almost uniformly superb results, by Jesus Lizard and, to some extent, by the lesser-known Naked Raygun), building a bridge both toward the new post-rock currents and toward some of the genres most in vogue in the '90s: crossover (whose dynamics it anticipates in part) and the emo-core so widely practiced today (almost always with results that pale next to those of the founding bands, Fugazi first and foremost).

Over their long career, Fugazi experimented with and refined a highly distinctive hybrid style, to the point that their music can be defined as the sum of the hardcore of Minor Threat, the jazz-core of Minutemen and the slo-core of Slint; yet it can't really be called hardcore, being at times too cerebral (Minutemen), at times too minimalist (Slint).

The astonishing thing is that the album seems intent on smothering all these (enormous) musical roots by picking up ideas that New York no wave had already made its own more than a decade earlier. And the result, for anyone encountering this world for the first time, is unsettling to say the least: hardcore abandons (at least in part) the extremism of impossible speeds, and Picciotto and MacKaye's guitars manage to converse continuously even as the two build the steepest of sonic walls (see the title track).

Ultimately, what really strikes you is that Fugazi managed, more than ten years ago, to create what still stands as the most innovative way of approaching hardcore.

Another fundamental point: hardcore (and punk more broadly) is often identified as the rock subgenre in which technical-compositional craft typically takes a back seat to emotional impact. With Fugazi, however, none of that holds true: their music is as distant and cerebral as it is meticulously composed and played to perfection. The Washington DC band is among the few in this genre that can boast exceptional instrumental technique, allowing them to conceive extremely varied, articulate and complex pieces, in which tempo changes, melodic fragments, accelerations and decelerations, pseudo metal solos, hardcore rage and post-rock contemplation chase one another. The vocals at times trace melodies that, at other tempos and volumes, could rightly be called pop, at times erupt into devastating screams, at times seem to spit out words almost like rap. And everything becomes so inscrutable, conceptual, remote.

One might well ask what became of the rage of Black Flag, what became of the cathartic poetry of Hart and Mould, what happened to the politicized fury of Dead Kennedys. None of that remains here: post-hardcore is already post-rock, because it seems to contemplate reality without being able to act upon it, an approach of semi-apathy that, while giving up adolescent passion and impetuousness, gains in maturity and awareness.

Ian MacKaye and Guy Picciotto, veterans of the seminal experiences of Minor Threat and Rites of Spring, are the band's two souls. As is often the case, they are as seemingly distant and irreconcilable as they are sublime when they come together to create something as one: while MacKaye, deep down, can still be called a hardcore singer (with his raspy, violent voice, a legacy of the Minor Threat days), Picciotto, with his falsetto, possesses one of the most intense voices in rock history and is able to imbue the songs he sings with incredible pathos.

But let's turn to the record itself. Released in April 1990, “Repeater” is the band's third studio work, following their first two EPs, the self-titled debut and “Margin Walker” (later collected on “13 Songs”), all-out hardcore masterpieces in which the group's defining traits were already visible: the alternation of the two voices, political lyrics, and that distorted, dissonant, jagged twin-guitar sound, yet overall composed and calculated, never impulsive.

“Repeater” continues down this musical path and embodies its maturation, managing to elevate it to a higher plane: what was once a naive explosion of youthful fury is now ennobled, becoming something more considered and calculated. The record, in fact, is not simply an anthem to rebellion, it's much more than that: behind every track lies an individual and his relationship with society; each song, a genuine concentrate of tension and anguish, digs deep and unflinchingly into this intricate relationship, amid sounds carved out by a solid rhythm section and adorned by Picciotto and MacKaye's guitars, now restrained, now devastating.

The overture goes by the name of “Turnover,” a play of accelerations and decelerations, rattled by the tectonic tremors of Picciotto's guitar. It's the perfect introduction to what will be the album's alienated, tormented, dissonant atmosphere. The start is slow, the ending explosive, jagged, scorching; the utterly despairing chorus is among the finest in their entire catalog.

The title track – sung by MacKaye – is the perfect distillation of the album's theme, as well as one of its best and fiercest tracks: the leader's raw, guttural vocals set against a wall of abrasive, distorted guitars. Here MacKaye lays bare his entire philosophy and his bleak view of the brutality of Western society, where the law of the strongest reigns and the individual is reduced to powerlessness. “Down by law, I've got this nasty habit/ When I need something I reach out and grab it/ Once upon a time I had a name and a way/ But to you I'm nothing but a number,” he sings in the verse.

On the instrumental “Brendan #1,” the lion's share of the work falls to the rhythm section (as ever, flawless at carving out pauses and surges), which leaves the guitars room to sketch an apocalyptic backdrop.

“Merchandise” is the most immediate thing to be found on this album, being the track closest to traditional song form, a form the band repeatedly upends and transcends. Musically, it's an anthem of striking impact, with MacKaye acting as the mouthpiece for a crowd with nothing left to lose, shouting a rage-filled slogan (“We owe you nothing, you have no control!” is the ferocious refrain).

More ostensibly controlled is the following “Blueprint,” structurally complex and intricate to the point of defying any easy pattern: it opens with a melodic, solo-guitar crescendo, continues with Picciotto's vocals, and closes with a cathartic finale.

On "Sieve Fisted Find" we're halfway through the record and the tension keeps rising. Picciotto's vocals move from passionate and childlike toward something closer to a sob, while the rhythm grows ever more frantic in the epic finale. The brief "Greed" ranks among the album's most direct tracks, with MacKaye's screamed vocals inhumanly hammering out a simple line - "You wanted everything, you needed everything" - like a punch in the gut.

On "Two Beats Off", yet another display of class, the band moves through multiple styles as Picciotto masterfully intones a nursery-rhyme melody, clinging to Joe Lally's pitch-black bassline. It's a formula that would later be (over)used in crossover, a genre this track effectively anticipates by several years in its most widespread form.

"Styrofoam", a more straightforward track, picks up and deepens the title track's themes with the same wild, throat-shredding intensity. Vocally and guitar-wise, Fugazi behave here like sonic terrorists - the jolt triggered by the exploding choruses and the relentless screaming is that strong.

In keeping with the album's restless mood, "Reprovisional" reworks a track from the "Margin Walker" EP ("Provisional", indeed) in a more dramatic key. The melodic opening clashes with the noise of the solo and with Picciotto's vocals, now huskier, brushing against despair in the final line.

"Shut The Door" closes the album and marks its point of maximum tension, built from constant contractions and pauses, with an alternation of melody and noise in both the guitar work and MacKaye's vocals - now (gracelessly) melodic, now screamed from the pit of his lungs. The impact of this closing track is comparable to the bombing of a city, with the defenseless listener playing the part of the houses, with no hope of being spared.

"Repeater" was reissued on CD together with the three songs from the "3 Songs" EP, which add little to the masterpiece's formula. The first of the three, "Song #1", conventionally structured, is a two-voice anthem where all the band's trademark traits resurface. Its message can be summed up in the closing lines: "Life is what you want it to be/ So don't get tangled up trying to be free/ And don't worry what the other people see/ It's nothing." The band's two leaders trade off to perfection. The instrumental "Joe #1" advances slow and merciless, its sizzling guitars slowly setting the listener alight. It's a track loaded with pathos.

Closing things out, "Break In" restates everything said so far, with a change of pace: Picciotto throws himself into an unstoppable, breakneck nursery-rhyme delivery at a hundred miles an hour.

Beyond the (extremely high) quality of the individual tracks and their formal perfection, "Repeater" has gone down in history as one of the supreme statements of post-hardcore, influencing (and anticipating) trends of the decade to come and leaving behind a manifesto of the late-century citizen's unease before a society that should protect them but instead subjugates them. In the years that followed, Fugazi renewed and at times elaborated on and expanded the vision of "Repeater", but this remains probably the only record where all of the band's strengths appear in perfect balance.

Ride the wave of great music

Add OndaRock to your favorite sources on Google Discover. Don't miss our reviews, milestones and latest news straight in your feed.

Follow on Google

29/10/2006