Bootleg Big Black Sticker

Steve Albini lore abounds, and thank god for all of it.

Steve Albini lore abounds, and thank god for all of it. The guy claimed not to give a fuck about his legacy, but hopefully his ghost is a little bit stoked on all these obits and personal tributes telling weird and funny stories, praising the records he made and the way he made them alike.

My first LOL came late last night, visiting various punk-rocker profiles to see what they were posting. I found a video of Albini behind his console issuing a dry apology for his fascist haircut. He blamed his regular barber for fucking up a standard flat top.

If you asked me a week ago for my Albini stories, I would have told you he recorded my favorite album of all time, though he’s not credited in the liners. The honors on 24 Hour Revenge Therapy go to Albini’s cat, Fluss. I would have bitched about how dumb it was to sell those first Shellac 7”s when I moved to Seattle, how I should hit Discogs and buy them back, and how the prices are high, but warranted.

Eventually, I would have told you about my old boss, a long-time booking agent who goes by the name Boche Billions. He didn’t represent any of Albini’s bands, but the two knew one another going back to the early days of the Chicago punk scene. At some point, they were roommates, and I can only guess that their co-habitation led in some way to the song title “Boche’s Dick” on the first Shellac record.

I used this little nugget when courting new bands, boasting the company’s bone fides. “Yeah, that’s the dude who founded this agency, your new booking home.” Boche would get annoyed, as though it were an embarrassment, and I’d be like, “Dude, this is the coolest thing that could happen to a person!”

Those were my go-to anecdotes, and I’ve had them for over 20 years. Hauntingly, if you’d have asked me yesterday morning for my Albini stories, I’d have given you those plus this other one, a story I’d forgotten but rediscovered hours before I heard about his passing.

I was reading a 1997 interview with Roadside Monument. The band is a prime source for my Christian Rock Fan Fiction book, so for research I’d gone into the basement and dug through storage containers for old magazines with them inside.

Doug Lorig (guitar player in Roadside Monument) is asked how they got Bob Weston (bass player in Shellac) to record their new album.

Doug describes a chance encounter. Roadside Monument were driving home after a tour, a long haul from Illinois to Seattle, and stopped for gas in Nowhere, Montana. A guy comes up to their van and says, "Hi, I'm Steve Albini and that's a bootleg Big Black sticker on your van."

After a few moments of awkwardness, Doug confessed to being a big fan. Albini introduced him to the rest of Shellac, who were also out touring. They were playing in Seattle in a few days, and offered to add the Roadside guys to the guest list. Hanging together again after the gig, Doug asked Bob if he’d consider recording their record.

Sadly, Roadside Monument were signed to Tooth & Nail Records, the knock-out king of Christian Rock, and this was back when church and state were still fully separated in that regard. No cool producers were working with bands on that label. To Doug’s surprise, and everyone’s surprise at the label, Weston agreed.

This was a boon for Roadside, one they thought might actually shift the wind in the direction of legitimacy and away from the stink of Christian Rock. In the end, it did not, but the bootleg Big Black sticker encounter should be placed prominently on a timeline of small fissures in the walls around Christian Rock.

I called my ex-Christian Rock friend Trey to gab about the interview. “Dude, do you remember how Roadside got hooked up with Bob Weston?” We cracked up about it, talked a little more Christian Rock shit, and before I hung up, Trey asked for a copy of the full interview. I snapped some pics and texted them over.

Eight minutes later, he replied and shared the news.

RIP Albini. My friend Chris said it well when he called him A Ltd. Edition Legend.

Upon re-examintion, the lyrics to “Boche’s Dick” are incredible.

Boche’s Dick by Shellac

Forty-two ax handles and
a plug of star chewing tobacco
between his eyes
Babe, you big ox

Forty-two Boche's dicks and a
lie as white as a
bad Canadian tie

Wouldn't go halfway
from one to the other of his eyes
Begs the question,
what about the size

What about the size of a
Mountain of a man, he's a
Mountain of a man indeed