In early 1997, when I’d been at the Reader just a few months, I learned about a piece of workplace history already treasured by the other music nerds on staff: that time in ’94 when Steve Albini wrote in to tear Reader music critic Bill Wyman a new orifice because Wyman had dismissed the “rear guard from the underground” as “bullshit” in his year-end column while praising the Smashing Pumpkins, Liz Phair, and Urge Overkill.
But I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out that Albini remains revered as an engineer and as a musician—his band Shellac, though basically a hobbyists’ project at this point, curated an All Tomorrow’s Parties festival in 2012 and can take its pick of gigs on several continents. And his own taste—which Wyman indicted with the phrase “the harshness, contrariness, and machismo of the underground”—has been vindicated by time as well. The Jesus Lizard, with whom Albini had a long and productive relationship, played Pitchfork in 2009 in the middle of what can only be characterized as a hugely successful reunion run.
My sympathies lie with Albini, though, and not just because every band I’ve ever played in has been thoroughly, even obnoxiously uncommercial. For my nearly 12 years as music editor of the Reader, I’ve stayed committed to the strange, obscure, and underappreciated, and I’ve stood behind writers whose proclivities bend in those directions. As far as I’m concerned, free weeklies ought to serve the same needs for music lovers that undersupervised college radio stations still can—even though all the world’s music is theoretically a click away, it’s still hard to search for something you don’t know exists. A knowledgeable obsessive with a public platform can surprise you with a sound you never knew you’d been waiting your whole life to hear.
