Losing Steve Albini is no small footnote. This is a seismic shift in music history. His work with anyone from Nirvana to PJ Harvey, those countless others he produced and performed with, is a severed root to what makes music enlightening. Shellac and his works on what is likely his final recording with To All Trains, is a must-listen. Even for those who find themselves with no prior history in listening to the band, it is a must-listen experience. From the little flickers of noise he made on Further Complications with Jarvis Cocker to the raw and ever-lasting appeal of Pixies’ Surfer Rosa. Let us not eulogize the production of projects unrelated to Shellac though. To All Trains speaks for itself and will no doubt receive further listens because of the sad demise of its core member. With or without the passing of Albini, there is a very strong collection of songs at play here.
Where we may mock Kasabian for rattling through twenty-eight minutes’ worth of noise tailor-made for TikTok, the brevity in which To All Trains comes and goes at the same time is mystifying. For those who note the usual charms of Albini, this release will be no different. Solid work and enjoyable, short and brutal guitar work from some of the best to wield it. WSOD is a fine opener, an entertaining instrumental which gives its bass, guitar and percussion the healthy interconnectivity expected of minimalist math rock. An expected explosion of guitar fury and heavy static is a welcome, warm approach to many of the songs found throughout this release. A booming sensation and this overwhelming necessity to create dominates To All Trains.
Albini shines through as a strong vocalist with his pulse on the punk movement of the 1970s. These are the battered and bruising conditions of punk at its most open and intense. Thrills of this nature have long been abandoned by the UK and US markets in the wider circles yet they remain in the underground and European nations. To All Trains feels for the buzz which makes Wire and Sex Pistols such a tremendous turn. Shellac is a cause, a continuation of a communal feel with spoken-word terrors and brooding momentum found in the likes of patience-lacking Tattoos. These are the sounds of men losing the plot and in this comes a sincerity and scorn for the world. To All Trains gifts us the likes of Wednesday, a track which comes in at just three minutes but feels like an endless endeavour, an excavation of the soul.
All this happens because these are tightly wound musicians with their hands on production and instrumentation. A knack for the gritty details gives them an overwhelming appreciation and experience. These are the songs to listen to while under the boot of small armed micromanagers. Yet they are also identifiable and experienced notes on the afterlife and anguish. I Don’t Fear Hell is an exceptional closer with the obvious hindsight applied to it. Without, it is a final mark of anger. With, it is the unfinished rambles of a man now departed. To All Trains is masterful in spots, with or without the death of the brains behind the lyrics. Harsh and heavy instrumentals are to be enjoyed and engaged with as best you can – Shellac makes it an accessible explosion of quality.
