Concert Preview
The band that won't sell out: Fugazi still plays by its own rules
Friday, August 20, 1993
By Tony Norman
It's become a bit of a cliche to accuse Fugazi, those lovable autodidacts who reign over D.C.'s influential post-hardcore scene, of over-simplifying society's problems between riffs and glorious feedback.
Ask most of Fugazi's fans to play a word association game and it's guaranteed to proceed like this: Fugazi means -- fierce integrity, ideological rigidity, "no sell out," independent music with the guts to stay that way, inexpensive albums, all ages shows, a straight-edge (disciplined) lifestyle, a stern disapproval of moshing and contempt for all that's bland and commercial.
Most of all, hardcore fans repeat the mantra that Fugazi rules, evoking the term in both a metaphysical and literal sense. Such reverence only causes the uninitiated to scratch their heads and wonder what makes Generation X so responsive to these guys.
Fugazi's founder and principle front man, Ian MacKaye, 31, isn't intimidated by the level of hype and idolatry that surrounds the band, preferring instead to live his life as freely and honestly as possible.
"I don't know what people think, it's hard to say," he said during a phone interview while on a tour that will bring the band to Pittsburgh for a sold-out show at the Metropol tonight.
Unwilling to speculate on why Fugazi has become the conscience and darling of underground music, a notion the former Minor Threat leader is amused by, MacKaye brushed off the question.
"I don't want to talk for other people. People who come to see us come for a variety of reasons, there's no one right way to like the band, I don't know what's in someone's head.
"We always come to play, that's our primary objective," MacKaye said finally.
The band, which includes singer/guitarist Guy Picciotto, drummer Brendan Canty and bassist Joe Lally make only one claim for itself -- that Fugazi enjoys making music period and that mass adulation is secondary to unlocking the liberating power of an eclectic brand of rock that embraces hardcore, metal and rhythms that sound vaguely Caribbean in a punk-drenched way.
"We don't really have one style," MacKaye said, referring to "In On the Kill Taker," the band's latest album on its own independent label, Dischord Records. "We tend to write whatever we feel like writing."
Coasting on rave reviews of its live shows and recordings that started with a self-titled EP in '88, the "Margin Walker" EP in '89, the full-length "Repeater" in '90 and culminating in "Steady Diet of Nothing" from '91, Fugazi is poised to break through to the mainstream, an idea MacKaye views with some trepidation.
This summer alone, a major story ran in the Washington Post, a flattering review of "In On the Kill Taker" in Time magazine and a gushing piece in Billboard -- the kiss of death for a band that jealously guards its underground credentials.
But, right on cue, Fugazi is also experiencing negative reviews of an album for the first time in the mainstream rock press that usually fawns over its every utterance.
"Spin really slagged us," MacKaye said of the yellow grade (meaning caution) "In On the Kill Taker" got in the latest issue. Entertainment Weekly also weighed in with a harshly worded review, but that review probably means less than nothing to a band like Fugazi.
The criticism MacKaye views with some bemusement, if not alarm, was a comic strip by John Crawford that appeared in last week's Village Voice.
"Why G.G. Allin Had to Die" opens with a skeezy character named Baboon ranting about the overdose death of a notorious performance-punk whose end was briefly chronicled in this column last month.
"You want to know why G.G. died, do you?" Baboon asked rhetorically. "It's because of Fugazi! That's right, Fugazi killed G.G. Allin, man!
"Did any of you happen to notice that G.G. died the same day Fugazi entered the Billboard charts at No. 153 with a bullet?" Baboon shouts before repeating Allin's belief that there was "a terrible cosmic imbalance in the scene."
In a flashback that occurs before Allin's last show, the late punk tells Baboon that Fugazi has "stolen the punk anima from the underground universe and given it to the man and his corporate pigs. And I know it's up to me to get it back."
"I feel bad that G.G. Allin died," MacKaye said measuring his words carefully, "but, frankly, to even suggest he was depressed by the state of punk rock when the guy wanted to kill himself 20 years ago ...
"I think Crawford has a good sense of humor, but he's just playing with the idea. You can't help but think that John is suspicious of (Fugazi), which is a shame because we try to keep things on the up and up," MacKaye said.
"I understand the contempt for that kind of stuff, the contempt for a popular band, but I guess it's hard for us to deal with it in some degreebecause we never set out to be a massively popular band.
"And if anything, we feel we're struggling to deal with the popularity. No one solicited Time to do a review. People call us if they want to write about us, we don't have a PR machine."
Confirming a story that Lollapalooza recruited them to join the touring festival this summer, MacKaye was nonchalant to a fault.
"Let us headline the main stage and charge $5 and we'll consider it," MacKaye told the organizers, instantly dooming Fugazi's chances, which was obviously the point. MacKaye might also be offended by the high costs of a single Lollapalooza ticket that averaged five times what a single Fugazi ticket goes for anywhere in the country.
Fugazi continues to maintain a healthy distance from the major record companies as well.
"We've turned down virtually every major," MacKaye said. So what if you're signed to a major, who cares? Who's isn't signed to a damn major? Literally everybody I know, of every medium-sized, so-called alternative band is signed to a major. We're not interested in working for any record company other than our own."
Any thoughts on former label mates Jawbox signing with Atlantic recently?
"I don't know if it was good or not," MacKaye said tactfully. "It was their decision. Our whole label concept is to document the community of musicians in Washington, D.C.
"I don't necessarily agree with the decision, but I'm not in a position to disagree, it's like -- whatever, if that's what the band wants to do. They're friends of ours and we respect their decision.
"I don't like to think of us as a stepping stone label," he added. "I certainly don't want it to be like, 'Get on Dischord and get signed.' We don't use contracts -- it's totally friends -- so bands are free to go if there's a problem."
As a result, Dischord, which MacKaye started in 1980 has become a bit of a mecca to fans, artists and those who want a piece of the authenticity hinted at in Fugazi's records, but MacKaye hasn't been overwhelmed with requests for advice on life's little complexities or requests for mentoring.
"I'm around, it's no really big deal," MacKaye said with a laugh. "I think people are used to me now."
Post-Gazette Staff Writer