The Argument was a dramatic leap for Fugazi in many ways. The production was a bit softer around the edges, more a slow-burning-fire than dudes-throwing-bricks-through-windows of Red Medicine and previous. It’s uncharacteristically quiet for Fugazi, if not because of the big “m”-word people throw around with bands whose ages are almost all over 35, but because they’ve figured out another way to get across their point without hitting their instruments as hard as they fucking can.

But “Epic Problem” is something else.

For the most part of the song Fugazi is straight up galloping (and of course, galloping for them means stopping and starting several times in a jerky fashion before they hit their stride) and the song wouldn’t sound all that out of place on Medicine or Kill Taker. Mackaye and Picciotto don’t play off each other in their usual fashion, but rather are just playing together as hard and fast as they can.

And then it happens.

Everything stops, save for Mackaye and a quiet, lone guitar, strummed like he has a gun to his head. It’s one of those moments that’s a break in the clouds, the light at the end of the tunnel you see before doctor’s resuscitate you and you realize HOLY SHIT I’M FREAKIN ON FIRE.  The sheer beauty of it is overwhelming, the vocals mixed so that it sounds like Ian is a dwarf huddled behind the amp trying to whisper loud enough for the audience to hear.

And before you can stop to think what a momentous turn that was, the whole band comes crashing down on top of him, catapaulting the song back into full speed ahead. It’s one of those moments in music where you have to look around the room to see if everyone heard what you just heard. It’s the single most breathtaking moment on The Argument (and there’s competition, too), and for a band comprised of dudes who would scream about drinking milk and roll around stage faking epileptic retardation, Fugazi has come a long, long way.

Sometime in 2002

FIRST OFF: JESUS CHRIST WHO CARE’S IF THEY’RE HIP HOP, THEY MAKE GOOD MUSIC

SECOND: Alright, by now, you should know the story. Their first record isn’t really a record at all, but a compilation of six 10″s the trio recorded while still living in godforsaken Cincinatti, OH. But the sound that comes out of the speakers when you throw on cLOUDDEAD can’t be pinned to any geographic location. And it can’t really be pinned to any genre either (the discussion over which I mentioned earlier).

What the three can make with just a sampler and some Dust Devils is quite earth-shattering. Each track (each track corresponds to a side on one of the 10″s) is a little world of its own, with probably three or four movements to each one. This album was a great one for the first eight tracks, until I hit the compiled Cloud Dead Number Five, their second to last EP. My god, the waves of sound that burst forth from the speakers, breaking on the shore, but still surging straight at you. Odd Nosdam’s production really outdoes itself, launching cLOUDDEAD from some terrestrial domain right into the heavens. This album is one of those where, when it’s all good and done with, after the out-of-nowhere group singalong on “Bike”, you are frozen in your seat, wondering what you can do next.

And that’s how I know this is one of those albums that will always stick with you.

-mp

This made me smile. I have something more to look to now every new year other than waking up with cheap beer cans and bloody Christmas ornaments strewn about me.

Skillz 2008 Rap-Up