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The most significant underground band of the past 40 years, Fugazi have remained true to their libertarian DIY punk principals, refusing $10 million label deals and prizing kinship above commerce. \u201cNothing should get in the way of the music,\u201d Ian MacKaye told Paul Brannigan in 2011.<\/p>\n
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In the summer of 1981, after graduating from high school, Ian MacKaye moved out of his parents\u2019 Washington DC home and found a place of his own. There were practical considerations underpinning the teenager\u2019s declaration of independence: his band, Minor Threat, were looking for a regular rehearsal space, he needed an office for Dischord, the fledgling record label he and Minor Threat drummer Jeff Nelson had set up to document the nascent DC punk scene, and his crew required a safe haven to socialise now that their regular hang-outs in the Georgetown district had become over-run with college jocks and marines intent upon meting out attitude adjustment to local punks.<\/p>\n
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With prohibitive prices ruling out apartments in the capital\u2019s more fashionable zip codes, MacKaye and Nelson opted to rent a property across the Potomac River, moving into a four-bedroom bungalow in Arlington, Virginia with three fellow musicians.<\/p>\n
Life at Dischord House, as the property became known, was soundtracked by hardcore punk, a searing, scorched-earth manifesto created by, for and about America\u2019s angry, alienated youth. In DC, through bands such as Minor Threat, Faith, Scream and State Of Alert, the scene acquired definition and a sense of uncompromised righteous purpose. Dischord valued community above commerce, eschewing legal contracts, selling its releases at affordable prices and splitting all profits equally between artists and label.<\/p>\n
A hive of industry, the Dischord House saw its basement serve as a communal rehearsal space, while a small room off the kitchen became the record label office. When their bands weren\u2019t practising, MacKaye and his friends devoted their free time to cutting and folding record sleeves, designing flyers, penning columns for fanzines and writing letters to record-store owners, promoters and college radio DJs nationwide, as part of a collective mission to spread the hardcore gospel. That 31 years on from its inception, Dischord remains engaged, involved and connected to the community and city it serves is no small achievement.<\/p>\n
\u201cFrom the start people told us that the way we operated wouldn\u2019t work, couldn\u2019t work,\u201d says MacKaye flatly. \u201cWell, guess what? It worked.\u201d<\/p>\n
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Labour Day may be a statutory federal holiday throughout the United States, but Ian MacKaye works to his own schedule. Attired in a logo-free dark blue T-shirt and capacious shorts, Dischord\u2019s captain of industry swings by MOJO\u2019s Georgetown hotel at 10am, ready for a full day\u2019s shift at his HQ. Often portrayed as an austere, intense character, in person the 49-year-old musician is fine company, blessed with a dry wit, a disarmingly direct conversational style, a boundless enthusiasm for music, and no little charm. Nudging his 2000 Honda Odyssey through picturesque streets, we cross the state line before arriving on a nondescript suburban street where, behind a chain-link fence, a small red brick bungalow with a slate grey roof nestles amid verdant shrubbery. Immortalised when Minor Threat posed upon its front porch for the cover of their final single, Salad Days, this is Dischord House.<\/p>\n
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Though he no longer lives here (he moved back into the District of Columbia in 2002), MacKaye\u2019s life is documented by almost every square foot of the property. There are framed flyers and band photographs on every wall and boxes of vinyl stacked from floor to ceiling. MacKaye\u2019s three-decades old skateboard and guitar amps are in the basement (where he and his partner, Amy Farina, still rehearse as The Evens) and his office walls are lined with Dischord record sleeves. In a second office upstairs his Minor Threat tour diaries share shelf-space with Fugazi master tapes, a row of MOJO magazines he started reading while laid up in a Sydney hospital with a collapsed lung in 1996, and hundreds of DAT cassettes documenting almost every live show Fugazi played, from their first gig at DC\u2019s Wilson Centre on September 3, 1987 to the triptych of shows at London\u2019s Kentish Town Forum with which the band signed off from live work in November 2002.<\/p>\n
Officially, Fugazi are still on \u2018indefinite hiatus\u2019, yet the business of the band remains constant and demanding: for the past year, MacKaye has been engaged in digitising and cataloguing some 750 live recordings which will be made available for download \u2013 100 shows at a time \u2013 as part of the Fugazi Live Series archive on the Dischord website in the coming months. In keeping with the label\u2019s low-pricing policy, most sets will retail for $6, though fans will also have the option of paying anything from $1 to $100 for each recording, provided they write a note explaining their own personal pricing plan. The concept tickles MacKaye\u2019s bandmates. Vocalist\/guitarist Guy Picciotto and drummer Brendan Canty have also made the trip out to Dischord House this afternoon (bassist Joe Lally, currently on a solo tour in Japan, speaks via Skype) and watch as he runs through a demonstration of a beta version of the website on his laptop, discussing the photos and flyers appended to almost every entry. It\u2019s an incredible albeit mind-boggling resource.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe confuse people, because we don\u2019t play by the rules,\u201d MacKaye smiles. \u201cThe rules are dictated by an industry that we\u2019re not a part of. I feel like this band defies definition. We\u2019re kind of a freak show in a way.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cRevolution is not the uprising against pre-existing order, but the setting up of a new order contradictory to the traditional one\u201d runs a quote on the cassette version of Fugazi\u2019s 1990 album Repeater. Lifted from Spanish philosopher Jos\u00e9 Ortega y Gasset\u2019s 1929 text La rebeli\u00f3n de las masas (The Revolt Of The Masses) these words offer an insight into Fugazi\u2019s modus operandi since their inception in 1986. The band have never had a manager, a lawyer, a booking agent or road crew. They have never made a video, don\u2019t sell merchandise, will only play all-ages shows, insist upon a $5 ticket price at gigs, and politely shun the attention of all facets of the corporate music industry. That this ethical code is considered to be such a maverick stance within that industry bemuses and irks the quartet.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe central aspect of the way we present ourselves was based on the idea that this is about the music,\u201d sighs MacKaye. \u201cThat\u2019s the point: the music, the music, the music. And nothing should get in the way of the music. We came out of punk, and our point was never to smash the system, our point was to make our own world: just leave us alone, and let us do our thing.\u201d<\/p>\n
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When the origins of the American hardcore punk scene are debated, East Coast punks cite the release of Bad Brains\u2019 breathless 1980 Pay To Cum single as hardcore\u2019s Year Zero: West Coast punks point out that Middle Class\u2019s full-tilt Out Of Vogue EP predates the DC rasta-punks\u2019 debut by two full years. Few, though, would argue against Minor Threat\u2019s status as the definitive hardcore band. MacKaye\u2019s band blazed with an incandescent fury which left all who saw them indelibly marked: no band did more to foster a sense of community in the punk scene and break down the invisible wall between \u2018artist\u2019 and \u2018audience\u2019. Nonetheless, by the summer of 1983, MacKaye was thoroughly sick of both the broader punk rock scene \u2013 with its attendant macho violence and bigotry and formulaic screeds of empty rhetoric \u2013 and his own place within it, as internecine arguments on questions of materialism, ethics and aspirations tore his band apart. After Minor Threat\u2019s dissolution that autumn, it took the emergence of Picciotto and Canty\u2019s Rites Of Spring one year later to re-ignite MacKaye\u2019s passion for punk. Rites Of Spring sang of love, loss, wasted potential and spiritual rebirth, their off-kilter compositions stripping away hardcore\u2019s machismo in order to expose its heart. Their emotive, empowering songs saw MacKaye reconnect with punk\u2019s potential.<\/p>\n
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\u201cIt was like, \u2018We\u2019re not going to shut down your punk, have your punk\u2019,\u201d he recalls. \u201cWe\u2019re going to have our own punk.\u201d<\/p>\n
In August 1986, MacKaye began jamming at Dischord House with Lally, a genial metalhead from Rockville, Maryland, whose discovery of punk\u2019s \u201cliberating\u201d mindset had inspired him to swap a promising career with NASA to roadie for Dischord favourites Beefeater the previous summer. The pair had bonded over a shared affinity for The Obsessed, James Brown, Jimi Hendrix and The Stooges, and MacKaye pitched his new friend the idea of starting a project which married the unfettered righteous fury of MC5 with the soul and pulse of dub reggae. Starting a new band was not on MacKaye\u2019s mind \u2013 this was simply a project for self-expression \u2013 but when Canty and Picciotto sat in with the duo at rehearsals, the chemistry between the four was evident.<\/p>\n
With its title taken from US military slang for a fucked-up situation, the quartet\u2019s eponymous debut EP, released on Dischord in November 1988, travelled beyond hardcore\u2019s hackneyed musical framework, marrying taut, gridlocked guitars, rolling dub bass lines and shifting art-rock rhythms with two starkly contrasting voices \u2013 MacKaye all feral, vein-popping indignation, Picciotto offering a more feminine, abstract, atmospheric counterpoint. A second EP, Margin Walker, recorded in London in December at the end of a gruelling Europe tour which saw the quartet play 78 shows in 90 days without a record behind them, was more abstract, but it was the release of the band\u2019s first full-length album, Repeater, in 1990 which marked Fugazi out as the most inventive, provocative and idiosyncratic collective within the underground punk community.<\/p>\n
The most open-hearted declaration of independence since Gang Of Four\u2019s Entertainment!, it articulated the seething frustration felt by a forgotten and marginalised American underclass and simultaneously laid out a manifesto for independent thought and deeds. \u201cYou say I need a job, I\u2019ve got my own business,\u201d sang MacKaye on the dizzying, scathing title track. \u201cYou want to know what I do? None of your fucking business.\u201d<\/p>\n
Back home in DC for Christmas after spending more than 200 days on the road in 1990, Ian MacKaye received a visitor at Dischord House. A familiar face from the DC hardcore scene, former Scream drummer Dave Grohl was back in town with a cassette of mixes of material that his new band Nirvana had been working on. Ever encouraging, MacKaye asked Grohl to play something for him.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo he played a rough mix of\u2026 Teen Spirit,\u201d MacKaye recalls. \u201cI said, Wow, that is a fucking good song. That\u2019s going to be a hit. Repeater had sold maybe 200,000 or 250,000 copies and at the time Nirvana had sold about 40,000 to 50,000 copies of Bleach, so when I said this would be popular I was thinking it could sell like maybe, 80 to 100,000 copies. I didn\u2019t mean it like a hit in the Top 10, just a hit within our filthy mass of punks.\u201d<\/p>\n
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As the Pentagon-authorised bombing of Baghdad began, initiating America\u2019s most sustained armed conflict since the Vietnam war, the new year found Fugazi ensconced in Inner Ear studio in Arlington, toiling on their second album. Working without a producer for the first time, the band found themselves frustrated by their inability to commit to tape the raw aggression of songs they\u2019d been honing for months on the road, and no one band member was prepared to lead the session: \u201cWe were feeling fucking fried,\u201d admits Picciotto, \u201cand we were making a record at a time when we should have been taking a break.\u201d For all their discomfort, 1991\u2019s Steady Diet Of Nothing was another landmark recording. The band\u2019s most experimental and explicitly political album to date, it cast unforgiving eyes over George Bush\u2019s America and offered a caustic dissection of a nation at war both internally and beyond its borders. Reclamation dealt with reproductive rights, Dear Justice Letter rang with desperate cries from the neglected margins of society and the aching Long Division offered a pained vision of crumbling relationships, both personal and political. Perhaps inevitably, given the social climate, it was the stark dread of Nice New Outfit and the activist call-to-arms Keep Your Eyes Open, anti-war songs both, which resonated most strongly.<\/p>\n
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In September \u201991, two months after the album\u2019s release, Fugazi toured Australia for the first time. In every club, every shop, every restaurant they visited, they found their trip soundtracked by a single song, the same song Dave Grohl had played for MacKaye at Dischord House the previous year: Smells Like Teen Spirit.<\/p>\n
In the wake of the massive success of the recently released Nevermind, the quest for the \u2018new Nirvana\u2019 began in earnest. Major label A&R men descended upon America\u2019s most fecund \u2018alternative\u2019 scenes \u2013 Seattle, Chicago, New York, DC \u2013 to cream off the most promising, or most commercially viable acts. DC bands Shudder To Think, Jawbox and Girls Against Boys were signed to major deals, while longtime Fugazi peers such as The Jesus Lizard, Butthole Surfers and Dinosaur Jr exited the underground. None prospered. With rock\u2019s new poster boys Kurt Cobain and Eddie Vedder constantly namechecking Fugazi in interviews, the band were soon approached. MacKaye recalls a conversation he had with a representative of Atlantic Records in the early \u201990s: he told the lady that Fugazi wanted $5 million and an assurance of complete creative control before they would consider signing to the label. After a moment\u2019s silence on the line came the strained enquiry \u201cIs that your final offer?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d MacKaye said. \u201cMake it $10 million.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was never a consideration,\u201d he says. \u201cControl was what we most dearly valued, and we knew that once we got into that, it\u2019d be compromised. Once you\u2019re an object of investment, people will do everything they can to maximise their returns. You can resist it, but it doesn\u2019t make a difference. When you think about it, that term The Year That Punk Broke has an ironic double meaning. In some ways 1991 was the year that broke punk.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe way the music industry works, they seek the fertile ground, they rape the ground and then they move on: they don\u2019t take care of the soil at all, they don\u2019t care. It was a very dark time in many ways for music. We were just watching people get chewed up.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI would never trade what we had for what Nirvana had in a million years,\u201d adds Brendan Canty. \u201cThey had too much fucking misery in their lives. We got that there was a big trade-off in all that business, it was just a freak show. And it ultimately killed them. They got in bed with the devil and I think the industry was pleased as punch the way it all turned out. Now they have a dead icon to work with.\u201d<\/p>\n
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It would be foolish to pretend that Nevermind\u2019s success had no impact upon Fugazi. With their name a byword for integrity, independence and innovation, pre-orders for the band\u2019s 1993 album In On The Kill Taker were the largest in Dischord history and the venues they were playing almost doubled in size. Canty recalls more \u201cjocks and assholes\u201d appearing at shows, and remembers feeling \u201cinsecure\u201d about Fugazi\u2019s ability to connect in larger rooms: MacKaye points to a ludicrous logistical problem whereby health and safety requirements in more traditional rock\u2019n\u2019roll venues led to a situation where installing a crowd safety barrier at one show meant his band had to pay out more money than they earned from the gig itself.<\/p>\n
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Fugazi\u2019s response to the MTV-driven \u2018alternative rock revolution\u2019 was to step away from the noise and confusion. Save for a short South American tour and a handful of benefit shows in their hometown, the band took 1994 off. When they returned in \u201995 with the more oblique Red Medicine album, the tumult had died down. Two more albums, \u201998\u2019s End Hits and 2001\u2019s superb The Argument followed, while 1999\u2019s Instrument, a visual collaboration with film-maker and longtime friend Jem Cohen, gave an intimate insight into their inner workings. Then, following 2002\u2019s European tour, came the announcement that the band were to take their \u2018indefinite\u2019 break.<\/p>\n
As MacKaye explains it, life circumstances began to make Fugazi\u2019s traditional working practices harder to sustain: parents got sick and died, relationships expired, children were born. Band members had always committed to Fugazi 100 per cent \u2013 they practised five hours per day, five times a week when not on tour \u2013 and to step back and commit less seemed wrong. And so Fugazi simply stopped.<\/p>\n
Since 2002, all four members of the band have continued making music. MacKaye has The Evens, Picciotto toured and recorded with the late Vic Chestnutt and produced records for The Gossip and Blonde Redhead, Lally has recorded three solo albums and released two more with ex and current Red Hot Chili Peppers guitarists John Frusciante and Josh Klinghoffer as Ataxia, while Canty has recorded TV soundtracks, played with Bob Mould and made films for Wilco and Eddie Vedder, among others. But all four men bristle when asked to pin down Fugazi\u2019s own future in specific terms. Asked what Fugazi means to him in 2011, Picciotto, who admits to feeling \u201cshocked\u201d and \u201cdisorientated\u201d when the band stopped playing together, pauses for a full 30 seconds before answering.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know how to answer the question really,\u201d he says finally. \u201cAsking me what the band is to me is like asking me how I feel about breathing oxygen in the world. The music, the relationships, that\u2019s just part of the environment that I\u2019m in: the band is an ongoing thing. I mean, The Beatles broke up, but those guys could never leave The Beatles. I think I share, personally, that idea that there needs to be a coherent bracketing to this, but it doesn\u2019t really make any sense: this is my life.\u201d<\/p>\n
Ever thoughtful, Ian MacKaye\u2019s brow furrows as the question is placed to him.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe may never play again,\u201d he says, \u201cOr we may play a lot of shows. I have no idea, and it doesn\u2019t matter. Our relationships and our lives tower over people\u2019s needs to have a nice tidy package.<\/p>\n
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This article originally appeared in Issue 217 of MOJO<\/em><\/p>\n [\/et_pb_text][et_pb_divider color=”#111111″ module_class=”custom-divider” _builder_version=”4.20.4″ _module_preset=”default” custom_margin=”||0px||false|false” custom_padding=”||0px||false|false” global_colors_info=”{}” theme_builder_area=”post_content”][\/et_pb_divider][\/et_pb_column][\/et_pb_row][\/et_pb_section]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Just Say NoThe most significant underground band of the past 40 years, Fugazi have remained true to their libertarian DIY punk principals, refusing $10 million label deals and prizing kinship above commerce. \u201cNothing should get in the way of the music,\u201d Ian MacKaye told Paul Brannigan in 2011.In the summer of 1981, after graduating from […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":13,"featured_media":2072,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"_et_pb_use_builder":"on","_et_pb_old_content":"","_et_gb_content_width":"","_lmt_disableupdate":"","_lmt_disable":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[7],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2069","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-mojo-presents"],"acf":[],"modified_by":"akindell","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2069","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/13"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2069"}],"version-history":[{"count":4,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2069\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2077,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2069\/revisions\/2077"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/2072"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2069"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2069"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/flatplanplus.io\/mojo\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2069"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}