band is a great thing. When you’re in one you have yourself a creative outlet and a source of fun. If you’re lucky, it may even provide a little extra scratch here and there. You play for your friends; you play for yourself; sometimes you play in front of people you will never know.


This is where the notion of what a band is changes: in the eyes of people who engage bands solely from the outside. Those of us who have nothing to do with a particular band aside from listening to it ultimately define that band for ourselves. We have no choice. After seeing a band live, listening to a band’s albums or reading a band’s press we have no remaining insight into what that band is actually trying to accomplish. We assemble mental collages consisting of poorly remembered quotes, internet-derived rumours and photographs and revel in the opportunity to unveil it for others, to give them a glimpse at the strangers we admire.


But referring to them as strangers seems inappropriate, distant and awkward. We know them, don’t we? Granted, we don’t know them personally, but we often know a great deal about them. That information means something to us. Granted also is the fact that their music is important to us. It is unique. It moves us. And it is the music which motivates us to learn about the bands we cherish. There is no chicken-and-the-egg debate; meaningful music takes priority, and without it the mythologies and mystiques we create for bands become worthless. Why is it then that said mythology can eclipse a band’s recorded output and become a focal point? It’s a mystery that has plagued few bands. None of whom have proven as significant, as inspirational nor as consistently excellent as Washington D.C.’s Fugazi.


“It came together in fits and starts. Ian (MacKaye, ex-Minor Threat, Embrace and Slinkees) and Joe (Lally, ex-Lunchbox and Pitbull) started playing together in late 1986, just writing songs in the Dischord House basement. They had various drummers sit in with them like Colin Sears (Dag Nasty), Ivor Hanson (the Faith) and Jerry Busher (Fugazi’s eventual second drummer) while Brendan (Canty, ex-Rites of Spring, One Last Wish) was playing with me in a band called Happy Go Licky. Eventually Brendan started sitting in with them [because] we lived around the corner. Pretty soon he was kind of doing double duty with both bands. In September of 1987 they decided to do a show as a three-piece and I just watched from the audience. At the time the idea of the Fugazi was to have kind of an open policy and different people would sit in with the band – some nights there would be a trumpet, other times a percussionist or an organ – it was kind of open door. They asked me to sing with them in that spirit so I ended up doing back-ups, roadie-ing and eventually singing some lead vocals, but I still considered myself a member of HGL and was just kind of hanging with Fugazi. HGL finally broke up in January of 1988 and Fugazi started getting more serious for Brendan. Once they decided to really start touring they generously asked me to kind of formalize my position in the band and I decided to do it...It was exciting to be in a really hard working, hard touring, focused band.”


These are the words of Guy Picciotto (ex-Rites of Spring and Insurrection), guitarist and vocalist for Fugazi. It’s a common story -- the genesis of a band comprised of friends who shared the same scene -- with a remarkable twist. Rather than fade into D.C.’s rich legacy of short-lived harcore bands, Fugazi has spent the last fifteen years growing, in notoriety and in artistry.


And while it has been established that artistry should be given priority over the incidental information it provokes people to find, where Fugazi is concerned these priorities often become juxtaposed. For example, before one becomes aware of the band’s music, he or she almost invariably becomes privy to one of four musically unrelated, completely subjective statements regarding the band’s standards and practices:


1. They are so political.
2. They’re very anti-commercial.
3. They’re such assholes.
4. They’re awesome, man.


Depending on whose mind is at work processing these four statements they could all be true. Yes, Fugazi could be considered a political band. Their lyrics, while not exclusively so, often concern themselves with social and political issues. Sexism, generational marketing exploitation, military profiteering, and gentrification have all been made the subject of Fugazi songs. But the politics do not end with the songs; they begin there. The members of Fugazi live out their beliefs in the day-to-day operations of the band. Annually, they play countless benefit shows, many of which are in support of D.C.’s charitable organizations and community-based initiatives. They are also self-managed. Ian MacKaye (guitars, vocals) heads Dischord Records, one of America’s most successful and influential independent labels and the means through which Fugazi’s albums are released and their tours are booked. Operating a record label may not at first seem like a political act, but consider for a moment that the members of Fugazi have remained vital and successful while also assisting and exposing dozens of D.C. bands all on their own terms. They have lived their lives operating outside the expectations and common practices of the industry that pays their bills. It is a form of defiance, of resistance, and it is an extremely political act.


A closely related offshoot of Fugazi’s political nature is their consistent anti-commercialism, which manifests itself through low ticket prices, all-ages shows, minimal advertising, selective press, no videos and no t-shirts. They partake only in activities crucial for spreading the word about their music and essential to creating it. While these activities go a long way toward eliminating the garishness of the music business, they also provide easy access. Fugazi’s music is open to all but it is never forced upon the unwilling. (Think about that the next time you find yourself wondering, “Why the fuck do I know who Andrew W.K. is?”)


It should be noted, however, that Fugazi did not invent these beliefs. Punk rock, replete with its ideals and its all-ages shows, existed in D.C. long before Fugazi was even an idea. “Human beings are like tea bags and where they are from is like the water they soak in,” says Picciotto. “It can’t help but affect you. More specifically, I think that we certainly consider ourselves a D.C. band – we feel comfortable being part of a lineage that came from here starting with the Bad Brains, continuing through bands like Faith, Void, Nation of Ulysses, Slant 6, etc. That’s our scene.” Fugazi didn’t invent a moral code; they inherited one.


But whether or not they invented it is of little concern to those who associate Fugazi with statement number three. Fugazi has always been unrelenting in their ideals, and this upsets a great many. Shows have been delayed because of unsatisfactory lighting; songs have been stopped to chastise violent crowds; opening bands are asked to refrain from mentioning Fugazi during their sets. Add to this list the fact that you can’t get a Fugazi t-shirt and you can well imagine how a person might become annoyed. When you also consider that Fugazi has never apologized for what some might call pig-headedness, bitterness may be a logical end.


While these estimations of Fugazi are fair and even widespread, there are thousands of people - I’m one of them until I die - who embrace and admire the band for the same reasons others can’t stand them. They love the political slant of the lyrics, they appreciate a safe environment in which to see a live band and they respect Fugazi for upholding their ideals in a soul-less industry. But whether the people defining Fugazi for themselves do so in a positive or negative manner is of little consequence. Fugazi is not their band. It’s not your band; it’s not my band. It’s a band; a band that continues to fuel conflicting opinions regarding its members’ conduct. These opinions are not unlike votes in a federal election: they are valid, they mean something to their owners, but ultimately they are irrelevant.


What is relevant is the band’s music: powerful no matter its volume, glorious no matter its age. It is the sound of kindred spirits -- the actual sound of energy -- all assembled without a central purpose or goal. “We don’t really think about it that way. I think you do a lot of stuff in your life without consciously following a plan or purpose. For us, we were just four people that always wanted to play and each of us had been in a lot of bands before we were even in our early twenties. We all just had something that needed an outlet and we kept working on vehicles to get it our till we ended up with one that lasted.”


And when you considers the many outside activities the members of Fugazi take part in, it seems somewhat incredible the band has lasted as long as it has. Aside from MacKaye’s running of Dischord since its inception in 1980, Joe Lally (bass, vocals) manages Tolotta Records and has recently become a father; Guy Picciotto runs Peterbilt Records and has become a rather busy producer; Brendan Canty (drums) has provided several documentaries with soundtracks while also raising two sons. These outside commitments provide great insight into the members of Fugazi. They are family men. They are businessmen. They are well-rounded artists who require stimulation beyond what Fugazi can offer them. But Picciotto is quick to point out the band’s dedication to one another. “Fugazi is our number one musical priority. Anything we do on the side comes in the time we have off from whatever the band is doing. Obviously, with two guys in the band having kids now, that is a greater priority so we basically work around those family obligations.” He also makes clear that in all their years together, the time restrictions and energy demands Fugazi places on its members has never resulted in resentment. “Fugazi is our main priority because that is what we want to do. It’s not like we were drafted against our will. If the demands of being in the band created resentment in any of us we would simply not continue.” The dedication is obvious, and what the members of Fugazi are dedicated to is truly important: music. And not just music in general, but music that is intriguing, fulfilling and representative of the men who are creating it.


And they are men : old enough to remember the Bad Brains and the Vietnam war; old enough to have perspective; old enough to put to rest artistic reservations and old enough to expect the most from themselves. Their age and experience have provided for levels of growth and success that have eluded most bands. It’s not because of their legend, it’s because of their music. And it’s that music which inspired this article. With the help of Guy Picciotto, who was gracious enough to provide a new zine and an inexperienced journalist with an email interview, it is now time to take a long look at Fugazi; the ceaseless energy, bottomless passion, continuing evolution and, of course, the inimitable songs which have enriched and influenced all who have heard them -- from idiot writers to the members of your current favorite bands.


Fugazi (1988)
Margin Walker (1989)
Three Songs (1989)



“It’s strange to think of 13 Songs as one unified release because the two e.p.’s were recorded under completely different circumstances. The first e.p., Fugazi , was done in the original Inner Ear which was a very, very small basement studio in an Arlington house. We had already done an earlier demo of some of the songs there so we felt pretty loose. We had a bunch of older songs that didn’t end up on the Fugazi e.p. We ended up focusing on newer things, splitting the record vocally between Ian and me as a lot of the older songs were in place before I had much input in the band. It was kind of a concession to achieving a unified identity with the formalized line-up.


“ Margin Walker was done in England at the tail end of a really exhausting three month tour where we had had only a handful of days off. Because of space issues we had to record the drums separately from the rest of the band and then overdub, in a smaller studio, the rest of the tracks, which was hard for us to adjust to having just come off playing live night after night. Still, we did our best.”


That they did. Fugazi’s first two e.p.’s and seven inch, while not having been granted the monumental status of their later full length albums, are essential listening for anyone interested in the band. Despite the lack of a second guitar in the mix (Picciotto would begin playing guitar on Repeater ), everything that has endeared Fugazi to their listeners – the passionate vocals, the grating guitar, the groove, the dynamics, the discord, the urgency – can be found in those early recordings. As a matter of fact, they can all be heard in the first song of the first e.p., “Waiting Room.”


Along with“Waiting Room,” there were twelve other songs ready to be cherished and championed by anyone fortunate enough to have heard them, and during that time (1987-90) a lot of people were listening. Independent music in America was reaching a crucial point when bands such as the Jesus Lizard, Mudhoney and Squirrel Bait were becoming the flagship bands of their respective, growing scenes. People were excited. Suddenly there were a striking number of talented, new bands all making music worth listening to. And even though the early output of those bands was often well received, none of it seemed as fully realized or as indicative of a future sound as Fugazi’s early music proved to be. The band’s prodigious development resulted in surprisingly brisk sales and well attended shows.


“I think we were all kind of shocked at how the early stuff went over. From our perspective, I think we felt like we were still figuring out how to be a band – how to play together – but the records were received like it was a done deal. It was weird; things escalated pretty fast. But for all of us in the band besides Ian, we’d never even been on tour before so everything felt pretty substantially jacked up.”


Picciotto’s remarks bring up a crucial piece of the Fugazi Jenga – touring and playing live. Virtually anyone who has seen the band perform has been floored by the energy, the spontaneity and the chemistry that is shared by the band. Sets have always been improvised, the band has always played for as long as they possibly can, their execution has become flawless and the songs never have to be played the same way twice. “I guess we’ve always considered ourselves first off a live band and to a certain degree the records will always feel like a menu of a meal that is actually served on stage, or the blueprint for something we build more concretely on stage.”


In order for one to truly appreciate them, Fugazi must be experienced live. (Don’t despair if you haven’t seen them yet. I live in Saskatchewan, the Nebraska of Canada, and I’ve seen them twice. Think for minute about what that says about the band.) But for those who will never have the chance to watch Fugazi throw down, the first two e.p.’s are somewhat of a substitute. You get the slicing energy of “Margin Walker” and “Lock Down,” the opportunity to imagine the band’s uncanny improvisations at the end of “Promises” or “Suggestion,” and the chance to holler along with “Song No. 1” or “Bad Mouth.” Also, on the cover of the first e.p., you get a glimpse of what Guy Picciotto is capable of when he isn’t playing guitar. “That photo of me upside down was from a show at Maxwell’s in New Jersey. I can’t remember what the fuck I thought I was doing but I went upside down. Two photographers took the photo at the same time from different angles. Inside the record is a shot of the photographer who is simultaneously shooting the cover.”


That photograph provided more than a representation of Picciotto’s onstage antics. It also captured the hectic, on-the-verge-of-collapse pace of the band. In the span of a year, Fugazi toured relentlessly, wrote and recorded two e.p.’s, a seven inch and managed their time in order to continue writing new material. “The time compression of those days freaks me out now. For example, between 1986 and 1987 I was in four different bands that wrote four totally different sets of music. That kind of productivity was just kind of the order of the day. There was a sense of bursting at the seams a bit I guess. A lot of frustration had build up so once Fugazi started functioning effectively a lot of stuff gushed out of all of us.”


Repeater (1990)


Of that “stuff,” that initial burst of creativity and desire that fed Fugazi’s early days, Repeater stands tall as the band’s first landmark. More would follow, but for the world in 1990, and for many to this day, Repeater was the reason Fugazi was formed. It was, and still is, considered a classic, a cataclysmic collision of influences – internal and external, musical and political – and forward-thinking revolution that would inspire myriad other bands. Repeater is as incendiary, as aggressive and as discordant as one would have expected, but the songs are slower, far more measured and far more complex. It was Fugazi at their most confrontational, but also at their most riveting.


Repeater is as rewarding today as it ever was. The volume swells that begin the album can give you chills; the acidic clatter of the title track is almost frightening. The anthems – “Merchandise,” “Greed,” “Styrofoam” – all testify to the band’s ability to incite while “Brendan #1” and “Shut the Door” allude to what was then their growing power to shape noise into something much more.


And then there’s “Blueprint,” one of the most powerful songs Fugazi has ever created and one of the finest examples of truly powerful rock music I have ever heard. A dynamic, passionate plea for change, “Blueprint” was Fugazi at their most vulnerable and at their most demanding. A terse, but lightly strummed guitar intro gets blindsided by volume. Picciotto’s vocals are lovingly spat into the mix, reminding all who still care, “What a difference a little difference would make.” At that point, the song becomes its own being; breathing, growing and ultimately mutating into a suitable backdrop for MacKaye’s distraught, frustrated bellow, “nevermind.” It was up until then the band’s finest moment and was proof positive of their rapid growth. They had not completely abandoned scrappy, quiet-loud post-punk, but they were becoming the Fugazi most people are now familiar with – powerful, unpredictable, memorable.


But when Picciotto is asked his opinion on why Repeater is held in such high regard, he gives it little thought. “I have no idea. We were just trying to write good songs and make a good record.” He does, however, concede that Repeater showed Fugazi to be improving. “It was the first record with two guitars, so I guess it was a breakthrough in terms of that. Also, the song writing was a lot more communal. We had started practicing in my parents’ basement, which gave us more room to stand up. The Dischord basement had such low ceilings that you could never get fully elevated without your head being sandwiched between the two by fours.”


That cooperative song writing and added practice resulted in a truly remarkable album. Repeater ’s songs, sound and sequencing compliment each other perfectly and have each contributed to the notion that Repeater is indeed special, which brings to mind another reason why Fugazi is worthy of the praise they have received. They made a record that is literally a classic. Repeater introduced people to a more intelligent, angular form of punk that was soon after very noticeable in the music of dozens, if not hundreds of other bands. Aside from its strong influence, it has also proven timeless: the sound is dense enough to keep one excited even after memorizing the songs; the themes of resistance, anti-commercialization and frustration are as important today as they have ever been; the album’s driving forces – love, anger, honesty – are too universal, too ageless to be grown out of. Yes, albums of greater influence have been released – better albums have been released – but you would be hard-pressed to find a more significant album released in the last fifteen years. Repeater showed the world what Fugazi was capable of. It also illustrated the passion, beauty and potential for inspiration that rock music possesses.


Steady Diet of Nothing (1991)


Steady Diet of Nothing taught us all that Fugazi would never repeat themselves. While it was only the group’s second album, Steady Diet consisted of sonically and structurally different songs, new textures and an atmosphere which starkly contrasted that of Repeater . It displayed Fugazi’s ongoing growth while establishing the one constant to be found in each of the band’s subsequent releases: invention. There has yet to be a redundant Fugazi moment; never a rehashed riff, never any reliance on their past sound and an increasingly intense search for new ways to build songs.


Picciotto makes clear the fact that these efforts were not nor have ever been intentional. “We never worked out battle plans like that. There was never a conscious attempt to direct the shape of the song writing. Changes in direction were just kind of unspoken or organic or something.” As unintentional as it may have been, Steady Diet was their first attempt to eschew redundancy, and it was a complete and total success.


But the album’s strength is not found in what it represents, it is found in the songs: a turgid, cacophonous collection that many consider to be Fugazi’s finest. (In fact, it was only a matter of timing - of sequence - that resulted in Repeater being Fugazi’s most widely known album. I was too young to know it at the time, but I can see now that 1990 needed Repeater . 1991 was too concerned with Nirvana to pay deserved attention to independent bands.) Steady Diet possesses all the dynamic, anthemic fury of Repeater while remaining more deliberate. Noise is used more for texture than for release, the pace is even slower than that of Repeater and some of Fugazi’s past vitriol is tactfully sacrificed to make way for prettiness.


This combination of already-familiar traits and newfound variations resulted in a number of magical moments. “Exit Only,” the album’s first track, perfectly encapsulates the drawn-out tension that permeates the entire album. “Nice New Outfit” and “Latin Roots” seethe musically and lyrically; audible venom soon overpowered by the gentle antidote that is “Long Division”. The title track ranks among Fugazi’s best instrumentals and the final three songs – “Polish”, “Dear Justice Letter”, and “KYEO” – feed on each other’s anger, continually gaining momentum until a final volcanic release – “We will not be beaten down” – and then silence; time to digest what just happened.


But the album’s, and perhaps the band’s, finest moment comes much earlier: “Reclamation.” Alternating between dubby thud and noisy caress but remaining intense throughout, “Reclamation” was Fugazi’s first moment of transcendence. There is not a second of “Reclamation” that does not demand or deserve complete attention. It is an engaging, thought-provoking and vicious piece that could literally not be better.


As desperate as it is well constructed, “Reclamation” is most indicative of the sound and feel of the rest of the album. The rhythm section propels the song, but much of the bottom end seems to have been shaved away. There is little to no reverb found in any of the usual places – the drums, the vocals or the guitars. There is a flatness to the album’s sound that makes it seem rather two-dimensional. When asked about this aspect of the recording, Picciotto says, “We made kind of a production decision to go dry. We just wanted to try getting away from slathering the reverb on everything and just go fore a more spare, minimalist thing.”


The sparseness of the sound accentuates the albums other running motif: tension. Steady Diet is a tightly wound batch of songs which seem to take little joy in release. Whereas tensions would break in previous songs and result in catharsis, the shifts found on Steady Diet seem frustrated and almost joyless. “We were tense. We did this record right around the time of Desert Storm and I think we were really depressed by that whole situation. This was also the first time we tried to produce ourselves, so we were feeling a bit intimidated by that responsibility, I think. It was tough because we were forcing ourselves to take responsibility for the faders and dials but I think it paid off in terms of making us more deliberate in terms of how we used the studio.”


Picciotto’s comments place upon Steady Diet even more value. Not only is it a thoroughly excellent album, it is also a time capsule in which we see snapshots of a band expanding creatively while attempting to cope with an superbly imperfect world by absorbing themselves in their art.


In On the Kill Taker (1993)


The first four years of Fugazi’s existence (1987-91) saw the formation of the band, relentless touring and four separate collections of material. It was a labour-intensive and creative period that any band would be proud of, but no band could maintain such a pace forever. In order to retain the energy needed for successful tours, in order to reflect on and re-evaluate past work and in order to avoid burning out, bands ultimately slow themselves down. The period between Steady Diet of Nothing and In On the Kill Taker was the largest ever between Fugazi albums. The band was far from idle during this time, focusing on playing to audiences who had never been given the opportunity to see them. The stockpiled energy from constantly playing live and the significant break in recording frequency fuelled the band and seriously altered their next project.


In On the Kill Taker remains to this day Fugazi’s most ragged and aggressive album. All production techniques employed on Steady Diet of Nothing fell by the wayside. The rhythm section came roaring back to prominence; the bass lines enhanced by increased volume, becoming ever more propulsive; the drumming improved by a more realistic, three-dimensional sound while also seeming more complex than ever before. The guitars scream in every song, crackling with energy even in the album’s quietest moments. The songs are considerably faster, most of them exploding and receding in fewer than three minutes. Also, the songs seem to be less varied. They are either very loud for their entirety, begin quiet and then become very loud or entirely quiet. It is a direct collection of tunes, and by current Fugazi’s standards, quite straightforward. But as has been the case with all their releases, this new direction was unspoken. “I can’t really recreate in my head where the directions of the sound came from,” Picciotto says. “We just write them as they come out. We had done a demo of these songs with Steve Albini in Chicago as well as home demos at Ian’s grandparents’ house in Guilford, so we had a pretty strong handle on the songs before we made the final tape.”


The songs that found their way onto the final tape were, although somewhat less adventurous, energetic, scathing, and loose. It may be Fugazi’s most youthful sounding recording, a testament to the joy each member takes from being a part of the band. “Facet Squared” churns with powerful bass strokes and a blistering guitar attack, building up to a forceful climax without altering its volume. It even has a vocal hook. Fusing dynamic volume shifts with unrestrained desperation, “Rend It” becomes the album’s emotional high point. “Returning the Screw” and “23 Beats Off”, both disquieting and somewhat disturbing in their sound and imagery, move slowly and deliberately, each finally bursting; with great control (“Returning the Screw”) and with total disregard for structure (“23 Beats Off”). On the basic end of the gamut, “Public Witness Program”, “Smallpox Champion”, and “Great Cop”, are all as fast and as simplistic as Fugazi gets, but are granted a long and fruitful shelf-life courtesy the fury with which they’re played and their confrontational, clever lyrics.


Ah yes, the lyrics. How many so-called “political” bands would be so-called without the appropriate lyrics: lyrics which challenge governments, corporations and prejudice, lyrics which challenge the acceptance of various status quos, lyrics which challenge the inner beliefs of those who sing them? A band doesn’t necessarily have to have interesting lyrics to be considered political, and those that do are increasingly hard to come by, but Fugazi’s lyrics have always been political and have generally been fully thought out and gripping. Ian MacKaye and Guy Picciotto have spent considerable time crafting acidic, vitriolic arguments about the world they perceive, ultimately deciding their songs’ messages and contributing greatly to the way the band has been received, but until In On the Kill Taker , the lyrics had yet to be invariable in their power. From the beginning, Picciotto’s lyrics tended to occupy cryptic space, always standing out as poetry while Ian MacKaye’s songs were blunt and didactic. Kill Taker changed this dynamic, with the majority of MacKaye’s lyrics becoming nebulous and difficult to decipher. On the topic of MacKaye’s lyrical growth, Picciotto is brief. “You’d have to ask him. We never discuss lyric writing that much,” but when asked about what makes for great political fodder, he is rather forthcoming.


“I don’t have any set theory about this kind of thing. To me, some of the great political songs are totally straightforward anthems, while some other great political songs are more nuanced. In music there is no set rule, book or program. Songs either work or they don’t and it totally depends on the listener. Some people think our songs are didactic, others that they are too ambiguous. Some think they suck, others love them. We just deliver the goods we come up with the way it works for us.”


Up to and including In On the Kill Taker , what worked for the band had always seemed to work for their listeners, but that pattern would change with the release of Red Medicine .


Red Medicine (1995)


All pre-held notions of what Fugazi was or what they were capable of were shattered by Red Medicine . Some were confused, and continued to follow the band apprehensively; others were mesmerized and had their faith in the band reaffirmed; still others wrote the band off as being out of ideas, which is either ironic or flat-out ridiculous when you consider how many innovations can be found within the album. It is brimming with energy, enthusiasm and experimentation, possessing an odd sequence of both sounds and songs that is as jarring and confusing as it is interesting; it’s probably the band’s best-sounding album, and it is loose. This is the sound of a band who just doesn’t give a fuck.


And I mean that in the most appreciative and flattering way imaginable. Fugazi didn’t stop caring about writing quality material or assembling great albums, they simply stopped caring about the external forces – their recorded past, outside expectations, consideration of how new music will be received – that make recording so difficult. True, Fugazi has never even hinted at caring about such factors, but when you listen to Red Medicine , it is clear that something has been let go, allowing the band to truly expand.


But this is hindsight talking. I was taken aback by what I heard on the album and it wasn’t until the writing of this article – six years after its release – that I truly began to grasp the greatness of Red Medicine . I take some comfort in knowing that I was not alone in my thick-headedness. “I guess it had too many curve balls for people,” says Picciotto. “We never really considered it such an insane departure. But I think for us in the band, we are living within the sonic progression, whereas for people outside the band, they only get the instalment every two years and maybe it was too jarring. Too me it’s more incremental, but like I said, I’m inside the process so it seems completely natural to me.”


What was it that turned so many dedicated listeners into head-scratching cynics? It certainly wasn’t a decrease in intensity; the songs on Red Medicine are as bracing as anything in the Fugazi catalogue. It could not be because of bland or tired song writing; Red Medicine is loaded with the same intricate interplay which has always existed between Fugazi’s four members. It could not be because the band had become redundant. On the contrary, Red Medicine showed Fugazi to be making nothing but discoveries at a juncture where most bands would rely on old tricks to please a complacent audience.


Those discoveries are what make the album seem so radically different when it’s placed within the Fugazi continuum. In On the Kill Taker was as balls-out and reliant on volume as any album they had ever done. Steady Diet was an experience in stripped-bare musical and psychological tension. Repeater and the e.p.’s rocked and grooved, embryonic but riveting. Red Medicine , while retaining aspects of all of those albums, uses them as fuses rather than dynamite, choosing instead to explode on its own terms.


Every song could be cited as an example. “Do You Like Me” jangles, stops and starts; angular while exploiting strong pop overtones. That newfound poppiness weaves its way into other songs as well: it offsets the screeching guitars and vocals of “Bed For the Scraping” and it provides a strange filter for the groove of “Birthday Pony.” While that catchiness may have offended some, a contrasting darkness pervades several other songs, spreading new colors and tones onto Fugazi’s palette. Before, Fugazi songs were angry or desperate. Now the gamut had widened, and the songs became disturbing, haunting and even creepy. “Version” dubs listeners into a sometimes grating, sometimes soothing world of paranoia. Even more disquieting is “Latest Disgrace,” with its sinuous, slithering central riff clashing against a disjointed, shape-shifting chorus. Picciotto’s vocals are as urging as they are urgent, adding a perfect lid to Fugazi’s first spine-tingler. The strangeness continues in MacKaye’s quiet, near slobbering in the break of “Birthday Pony,” the malicious wall of distortion that is “By You” and the eerie dissonance of “Fell, Destroyed.”


Other variations abound. The guitars sound leaner, with heavy doses of fuzz being spread out to maximize their potency. Many of the songs glide by smoothly, opting for sustained intrigue rather than increased-volume money shots. And the vocals, previously used to bludgeon and provoke listeners as rhythmic hooks, were now being used more frequently for texture and melody. One prime example was the addition of a third voice to Fugazi’s vocal arsenal, that of bassist Joe Lally. Like many of the other changes found on Red Medicine , Lally’s singing debut had found a perfect opportunity to be unleashed.


Picciotto explains, “Before I joined the band, Joe sang backups with Ian. Once I joined that became more of an aspect of what I did, but there was always a sense that Joe would sing again when he wanted to do it. This was just the time when he made the move, came up with lyrics and gave it a shot. With the bass lines in most of our songs being way more involved than the guitar parts it probably took a while for it to line up.”


And when asked to comment on the immense progress shown by the band on Red Medicine, Picciotto is as humble as ever. “We just try to keep ourselves interested. The more we play together, the more ideas we want to try. Sometimes it’s just happenstance. I bought a clarinet on a whim and tried to play it – we fucked around and out came “Version.” It’s just a matter of trying not to be repetitive; to keep finding ways to make progress and push the sound. With the between-song interludes, that came from having all these little bits from practice tapes that we loved but never fully developed. By sprinkling them here and there and doing tight edits we were able to create odd juxtapositions the make your ear wake up. The move from overloaded condenser mic at the beginning of “Do You Like Me” still feels shocking to me. I think shit like that is cool.”


Absolutely. Aside from being cool, that shit also signified the birth of the Fugazi we are familiar with today. The experiments and their results, while highly rewarding in the context of the album, prove more significant when you consider the fact that they paved the way for Fugazi’s subsequent excellence.


End Hits (1998)


If Red Medicine was a root -- solidifying and essential for survival -- End Hits was a blossom -- vital and wondrous, but only an indication of the fruit within. Red Medicine marked the dawn of a new Fugazi era -- a period that would see the band focus less on playing out and more on making their albums as memorable as their live performances -- but End Hits was that era’s first beautiful morning. That is not to say the albums before Red Medicine are forgettable, but they do lack the sonic depth of Fugazi’s more recent material. They lack layers, and in any art form, whether it be music, literature or painting, some semblance of secondary action must be taking place in order for the work to keep its audience interested. Pre- Red Medicine Fugazi was incendiary, explosive and tirelessly crafted great songs. The post- Red Medicine Fugazi has proven as volatile and as consistently excellent, but they are now unpredictable and have grow cognizant of the need for layers – whether they be overdubbed sounds or unforeseeable song segments – that make each track hum with activity and each listen a discovery.


Everything fabulous about End Hits can be found in “Recap Modotti”, the album’s third song. Overtop a classic deep, repetitive bass line floats atmospheric noise and squiggling guitar. It is, by all means, a very palatable pop song; a strong indication of the mellower, down tempo turn the band takes on the album. Joe Lally’s vocals are almost soothing as he coos cryptic warnings. The sound field is full, allowing listeners to focus on sounds rather than the song and be just as satisfied.


But “Recap Modotti” is also an excellent example of the effort the band invested into crafting more unpredictable song structures. The song’s best sequence (“Outside my window/The passing night sky/Filled with people I know...”) shifts tone three separate times in the span of five seconds. Fugazi then proceed to sew an extended ending onto the seat of the song that is virtually unrelated to the rest of the song. It is imaginative, thoughtful, refreshing and it totally works. These extended jams, found on “No Surprise”, “Closed Captioned”, “Floating Boy” and “Arpeggiator” bring to the forefront a Fugazi influence that had only been lurking in the shadows prior to End Hits : dub. Great dub, whether it come courtesy Lee Perry, Mick Harris or De Facto, is always the product of artists who have mastered the recording process. With End Hits , Fugazi joined those ranks.


Sometime before the recording of the album they developed both an ear for spaced-out textures and a keen sense of where to place these sounds. Even a cursory listen to End Hits exposes sound effects, vocal tweaking, delay, heavy reverb, wah pedals and a commitment to heightening the rhythmic quotient of the songs, not only by centring many of them around slow, sticky grooves, but by also adding extra layers of percussion. “The drum overdubs we did were just an accident we stumbled on when Brendan and I were making demos one day. He went in and started doing different drum takes at different tape speeds and layering them. It sounded cool, almost like organic drum and bass music.”


Even though these techniques were discovered accidentally, they were fully embraced and liberally employed. The outcomes were exceptional. “No Surprise” pairs a tense “Last Chance For a Slow Dance” picking riff with a minimalist groove, resulting in an engrossing amalgam of indie-dub. “Floating Boy”, even though it is the album’s weakest track, is still a worthwhile listen thanks in large part to a meandering groove and an adventurous mix. “Closed Captioned”, despite its lonely guitar dissonance and eerie descending refrain, is a modern dub masterpiece: thick, slow and rounded out by a drum machine and a second drummer.


I remember watching the band work through “Closed Captioned” live. It became one of those classic Fugazi jams, an intricate haze of percussion that I thought might go on forever. It was hypnotic and place everyone in the room under its spell. Without Jerry Busher, Fugazi’s second drummer, those minutes of perfection never would have happened. “Trying to reproduce those double drum songs live was what prompted us to make use of Jerry. We knew he was an awesome drummer and he was working for us anyway roadie-ing, so it made sense to use his skills. Gradually more and more songs seemed to work with him so his role expanded. Now it’s like finding out you suddenly have an extra limb on your body -- you slowly get used to it till it eventually feels indispensable.”


End Hits is not solely a dub experiment. There are up-tempo, angular pieces but they too are subjected to Fugazi’s newfound studio prowess and song writing skills. “Caustic Acrostic” is filled with jagged guitar acrobatics, relying -- as many of the songs do -- on picking rather than chording, giving the galloping, chorded, out-of-nowhere ending more power. The introduction of “F/D” is almost inaudible, feeding an off-time, screaming chorus which is then followed by a comforting, jangling verse. When the chorus returns, it is chilling. Even “Five Corporations”, the most aggressive and straightforward of all the songs, becomes a haven for tambourine shaking and vocal harmonizing.


More could be said – about “Pink Frosty”, Fugazi’s eerie, cavernous take on a love song; about “Arpeggiator” being the most carefree, joyous four minutes the band has ever laid to tape; about the baffling jigsaw that is “Break” – but it would all be sweeping different dirt under the same rug. End Hits was a massive step forward for Fugazi: quieter, as the band replaced volume with audible creative force; illogical, as unpredictability became the core of a new world of dynamics for the band; experimental, but in all the right places and for all the right reasons. End Hits is a masterful combination of playing and mixing, improvising and editing. And yet it all sounds so natural.


“We’ve never made an overt decision to do anything, creatively speaking. Song writing between four people is like mixing chemicals at random. Sometimes what comes out in the end is a lot different from what you individually think the shape will be. It’s like a separate entity – a group mind – and what it comes up with is a result of that process.”


Instrument Soundtrack (1999)


Instrument acted as a peripheral view of Fugazi. Focus was still firmly on music and ideas, but insight was finally provided into what kind of people make up the band: dynamic, funny, focused individuals who have more fun goofing around with tape machines and Radio Shack keyboards than they do discussing the world’s perception of Fugazi. It isn’t all politics, screaming and scowling; there’s laughter, teasing, silliness. For many, Instrument , the soundtrack or the film, was the first time realizing this.


The movie, if you haven’t seen it, is fabulous. Artfully shot and carefully edited by Jem Cohen, Instrument captures Fugazi everywhere you would expect them to be -- on stage, in the studio, in the van -- and some places you wouldn’t -- hotel showers, convenience stores, Alaska -- performing Fugazi-esque duties -- chastising unruly crowds, performing benefits, agonizing over drum takes -- and behaving like you and your idiot friends -- singing “Oh, What a Night”, dancing like leprechauns and plotting the assassination of George Burns. The movie in many ways is just like the band. It’s entertaining, but in that entertainment there is a message. The message here is that the members of Fugazi are human.


The soundtrack, while less comprehensive than the documentary, provides much the same perspective. Instrument Soundtrack focused on Fugazi’s lighter, more tuneful side, and despite its odds-and-ends feel, it is still bulging with interesting moments that show Fugazi to be as broad musically as the movie showed them to be personally.


Instrument Soundtrack sounds nothing like any other Fugazi album. Some may point to that as the album’s only asset, but it possesses some great music as well. “Lusty Scripps” is a lively stab at repetitive, guitar heavy dub, a sound that also makes its way into “Swingset” and “Trio’s”. “Afterthought” and “Turkish Disco” are breezy, danceable jams, built around jazzy keys and swirling guitar hooks respectively.


The demos collected for the album are often far more than just instrumental interpretations of finished songs. “Floating Boy” is shorter and more energetic here than on End Hits , making it the superior version; “Arpeggiator” becomes a trebly lullaby; “Rend It” is a haunting, heavily reverb-ed four-track confession; “Slo Crostic”, an early incarnation of “Caustic Acrostic”, is heavier and groovier than the legitimate version.


The coolest tracks, however, are the most unfamiliar ones. “Me and Thumbelina”, despite being a 30-second joke, is the most experimental piece Fugazi has ever released. “Little Debbie”, which I’m sure is also done in good humor, and which makes me smile every time I hear it, sounds like grungy new wave hard rock, replete with shouts of “momma” and “oh yeah”. But the most remarkable moment of the album is “I’m So Tired”, a gorgeous piano ballad sung by MacKaye. More “In My Life” than “In My Eyes”, “I’m So Tired” is hands-down the most melodic, soothing and sad song Fugazi has ever recorded and is itself worth the price of the album.


From a listener’s standpoint, an album of demo and unreleased Fugazi material light on aggression and even lighter on vocals might be considered less than essential listening, but upon hearing Instrument Soundtrack , it becomes crystal clear that not only is the album worthwhile musically, it is also a valuable tool: it, more than any other Fugazi release, establishes the link between Fugazi’s two eras: the malevolent and the mesmerizing. The expertly executed dub predates anything on End Hits , the moments of absurdity continued the eye-widening first experienced with Red Medicine and the relaxed, pop-heavy feel of most of the tracks made it all beautifully arresting. Many thought the album was a final, clean-out-the-closet goodbye from Fugazi, but it was merely an exhalation, a satisfied, wistful sigh from the band before going to work on their most recent masterpiece, The Argument .


The Argument (2001)
Furniture (2001)


No band I know has made an album this good this deep into their career. Everything clicked on The Argument ; every facet of Fugazi’s sound -- the dub, the noise, the punk -- called out all at once, only this time they were in complete harmony, figuratively and technically. The Argument is caustic and bitingly critical, but it is coated in melody and pop. It’s a blanket stuffed with snakes: venomous and fang-ridden, but comforting and welcoming.


But the prettified poison doesn’t inject itself immediately. In fact, after the album’s ambient introduction, “Cash Out” proceeds like any other above-average Fugazi song -- tense, uneasy verses, a clanging chorus -- while making use of cellos and lilting vocals. As great as the song is, it’s hardly an indication of the “what the fuck was that ” quality the rest of the album possesses.


The mind-boggling begins with “Full Disclosure”. Half of the song is an unintelligible squall of howling vocals and thwacking drums, but the other half contains a shocking pop sensibility that has never been heard in a Fugazi song. Three part harmonies, extended “ooh”s and vulnerable guitars weave their way into the squalor, making for an incredible contrast and the most whistle-friendly song of the band’s catalogue. “Epic Problem”, another example of audio deception, follows. The song’s first two-thirds are ragged and brisk, a distorted bed for MacKaye’s bawling, but the final segment is the most anthemic, melodic explosion the band has ever created; all soaring guitars and coo-ed vocals.


The light-hearted brilliance continues. “Life and Limb”, “Oh” and “Nightshop”, are fuelled by a playfulness that took the band almost a decade and a half to display. The lyrics (“Oh”), mischievous guitar lines and female vocals (“Life and Limb”) and galloping acoustic guitar and two quick handclaps (“Nightshop”) infuse much of The Argument with a tone that can be described as nothing less than cheeky.


It’s not all dance and giggle. “The Kill”, featuring Joe Lally’s latest vocal performance, is indeed laid back, but it is also chilling. Improvised, heavily delayed guitar notes mingle with Lally’s lonely whistling to create the feel of a prison cell. “Strange Light” ranks among Fugazi’s most emotionally gripping songs. If the echo-heavy guitar line doesn’t snag you, Picciotto’s gorgeous, hushed vocals will. If you’re being stubborn, the extended, string-heavy ending that emerges from nowhere will leave your jaw dropped. “Ex-Spectator”, the album’s most immediate and aggressive track, is the definition of intense. With its slashing guitar, mountain of drums, intricate bass line and squawking chorus, “Ex-Spectator” is impossible to ignore.


As blistering are the three songs that comprise the Furniture single -- “Furniture”, “No. 5” and “Hello Morning” -- which hearken back to the violent bounce of the Three Songs e.p. “Furniture”, played live since Fugazi’s first tours, is finally perfected, benefiting from layers of guitar and enhanced production that would have been absent in 1987. “No. 5” rivals “Arpeggiator” for distinction as Fugazi’s finest instrumental. “Hello Morning” is as wild and out of control as “Break In”.


These songs did not fit into the context of The Argument , but rather than sit on them, Fugazi let them out, a decision that caused many to think that this was the end of the road. But didn’t people think that about Instrument ? “We don’t project into the future and never have. We always just concentrate on the work at hand. Eventually, when the music stops being interesting to us or we can’t justify our existence creatively we will break up with no regrets. Any other dilemmas I think we can work around at this point, but not being able to write together will kill it.” Luckily, the band seems as capable as ever of crafting riveting music.


My most vivid memory of listening to The Argument for the first time wasn’t thinking about how amazing it was, or how I recognized most of the songs from the summer shows I was lucky enough to see. For me, The Argument made me anxious and hungry for Fugazi’s next album. They are as close to perfect now as they have ever been. That’s not admirable, that’s remarkable.


I began writing this story many moons ago for a now dead and rotting website, so I’ve had a great deal of time to think about what I’ve written. The extended reflection I’ve been able to give this piece has encouraged me to re-think my first sentence. “A band is a great thing.” I couldn’t agree less. Some bands are great, but most bands suck. In any medium-sized city there are hundreds of bands -- bands who get gigs, bands who sell c.d.’s, bands who get to tour -- who affect you about as much as a gust of wind or an untied shoelace might. At their worst they annoy you, at their best you forget they even exist. But once in a long while there comes a band who, for some unutterable reason, rocks you; I don’t mean in purely a musical sense, I mean in a physical and spiritual sense. Those moments are precious and those bands are few.


This article, as I feel most music-related journalism is, is less a form of information than it is a celebration of one of those bands. Fugazi is a significant, vital musical entity whose influence and excellence cannot be denied. Listen to them, see them, discuss them if you must; the proof is there, screaming at you.