Fucked Up, Got Ambushed, Zipped In. Pt. 1

13 Songs (1990)

01 - Waiting Room
02 - Bulldog Front
03 - Bad Mouth
04 - Burning
05 - Give Me the Cure
06 - Suggestion
07 - Glue Man
08 - Margin Walker
09 - And the Same
10 - Burning Too
11 - Provisional
12 - Lockdown
13 - Promises
link

Disregarding all the wordiness and adjectives that can be heaped like a pile of horse dung at Disneyland upon great, timeless albums, the importance of this record can perhaps be more suitably measured by the number of people who remember the first time they heard it. 13 Songs (a combination of the Fugazi and Margin Walker EPs) is usually among the first records that spring to mind when defining alternative rock. Furious, intelligent, artful, and entirely musical, it's a baker's dozen of cannon shots to the gut -- not just a batch of emotionally visceral and defiant songs recorded by angry young men, but something greater. Nearly every song here reaches an anthemic level without falling prey to pomposity. Most of these songs are anthems of the self rather than a rallying cry of accusation or unification, with "Waiting Room" and "Suggestion" serving as two examples. The attention-getting drop into silence that occurs at the 22-second mark of the former is instantly memorable. The relentless ska/reggae-inflected drive of the song is equally effective, as Ian MacKaye tells everyone listening to get off their behinds and do what they want. During the Meters-meets-Ruts thrust of "Suggestion," MacKaye switches genders for an entirely convincing rant on the objectification of women. Guy Picciotto takes on the persona of an addict on "Glue Man," whose blurred sense of reality is also conveyed in the warped, psychedelic guitars. Picciotto threatens to set himself on fire during "Margin Walker"; given the spirited play of the remaining members, it sounds like the same could be said for the rest of them. Foreshadowing the band's knack for introspective and mid-tempo concluding tracks, the disc ends with MacKaye's "Promises," examining the pitfalls of trust in relationships of any nature. A landmark record.

Repeater + 3 Songs (1990)

01 - Turnover
02 - Repeater
03 - Brendan #1
04 - Merchandise
05 - Blueprint
06 - Sieve-Fisted Find
07 - Greed
08 - Two Beats Off
09 - Styrofoam
10 - Reprovisional
11 - Shut The Door
12 - Song #1
13 - Joe #1
14 - Break-In
link

With its righteous disdain for capitalism and the almighty dollar, Repeater's themes update Gang of Four's Solid Gold. Lines/slogans like "When I need something, I reach out and grab it," and "You are not what you own," bear this out. Repeater honestly gets a little stifling in its unrelenting conviction and grandstanding. It's not too difficult to see why the band was allegedly lacking a sense of humor at this stage; they could have been yelling about filing their taxes, after all. The title makes sense, if only by mistake. But -- and that's a big but -- Repeater nearly matches the early EPs with its musical invention and skill, spitting out another serving of excellence, making the finger-pointing a little easier to digest. Few rhythm sections of the time had the great interplay of Joe Lally and Brendan Canty. Likewise, the guitar playing and interaction of Ian MacKaye and Guy Picciotto almost always get overlooked, thanks to all the other subjects brought up when the band is talked about. A guitar magazine even rated Repeater as one of the best guitar records of the '90s, and rightfully so. Anemic revs spiked by pig squeals (or is it a screeching train?) highlight the title track, one of the band's finest moments. As always, MacKaye and Picciotto's noise-terrorism-as-guitar-joust avoids flashiness, used as much as rhythm as punctuation device. Sharp, angular, jagged, and precise. Other gnarling highlights include the preachy "Styrofoam," the late-breaking "Sieve-Fisted Find," and the somewhat ironic "Merchandise," which skewers Mr. Business Owner by asking, "What could a businessman ever want more than to have us sucking in his store?" Not everyone can do mail order, guys. [The CD version adds the 3 Songs 7" as a bonus, titled Repeater + 3 Songs.] (allmusic.com)

Stage Dive Masters (1990)

01 - Styrofoam
02 - Turnover
03 - And the same
04 - Runaway
05 - Merchandise
06 - Sieve Fisted Find Reclamation
07 - Break In
08 - Song #1
09 - Margin Walker Bad Mouth Waiting Room
10 - Long Division Blueprint
11 - Shut the Door
12 - Promises
13 - Reprovisional
link (part_1 part_2)

Steady Diet of Nothing (1991)

01 - Exit Only
02 - Reclamation
03 - Nice New Outfit
04 - Stacks
05 - Latin Roots
06 - Steady Diet
07 - Long Division
08 - Runaway Return
09 - Polish
10 - Dear Justice Letter
11 - KYEO
link

From the opening swarms of "Exit Only," you can tell Steady Diet of Nothing will differ from Fugazi's earlier records. Repeater's excellence can't be denied, but the band stood in danger of stagnating its sound. To its benefit, Fugazi made some changes, employing more herk-a-jerk rhythms and dub influences, and changing up the lyrical focus. Actually, the lyrics get a bit vague -- bordering on equivocality at times -- which has its advantages and disadvantages. With Steady Diet, Fugazi get more economical and less forceful. Though not nearly as neck-gnawing as Repeater, Steady Diet still packs a sizable wallop, but with slower tempos and less deliberate instrumentation. As always, a poison-tipped dart is pointed at the government, media, and major entertainment outlets. Ian MacKaye's "destroy your television" rant on "Polish" is one of the more direct and simple songs. His "KYEO" comes straight from the rice paddy or homefront, depending on interpretation. It urges the listener to always remain aware, whether awaiting the enemy's next battle move or remaining blissfully unaware of how people can be taken advantage of by others. As with the rest of the band's catalog, lyrics are provided in the booklet. This makes things much easier on the intent listener, as both Picciotto and MacKaye have weird voices that become unintelligible when howled over their instrumental din. The lyric sheet is most useful on Picciotto's "Latin Roots." He's not warning you that "it's time to meet Jamaicans," as it sounds, but rather "it's time to meet your makers." Not quite lending itself to "Purple Haze"-like levels of butchery, but important to point out nonetheless. (allmusic.com)

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