This Is Not a Fugazi Article By Daniel Alleva

What puts Fugazi in the same category as other iconic bands, like Metallica or U2, is the way that they left an everlasting impact across the entire panorama of music. Their influence can be heard in artists as distinct The Futureheads, where the ambiguity of lyricism, and the sharp edge of an electric guitar rule supreme. Or someone like John Frusciante, whose dedication to avant-garde melodies and rhythms has not only elevated his own playing, but the approach to songwriting in general within the Red Hot Chili Peppers. But at their root, what lurked below the Mason-Dixon Line in the late Eighties - born out of the ashes of the Golden Age of American Hardcore - was a pride of lions that transcended all that was, and all that will ever be, with the deft quickness of a ninja.

Fugazi was like a gang. They were an updated version of The Stooges – bound together by alienation and location, hopped-up on rock and roll, with plenty of energy to burn. But in many ways, they were a 180-degree contrast from the original Motor City Madmen. For Fugazi, the excess of the Sixties was looked upon with disdain through the straight-edged eyes of American Hardcore. The Stooges claim of “No Fun” in bottomed-out Detroit was answered by Fugazi with the cry of “Lockheed, Lockheed, Martin Marietta!” - hipping everybody to what all the politician’s sons in Delaware, Maryland, Virginia, and D.C., already knew too well.

Fugazi were both rebels and heroes – like Bob Marley and his original Wailers. The writer Michael Azerrad once wrote, “It wasn’t cool to disrespect Ian MacKaye,” when discussing MacKaye’s penchant for stopping performances to ask slam-dancers to stop their antics. Henry Rollins recalls a time when Perry Farrell - while putting together the line-up for the first Lollapalooza festival - asked Rollins what MacKaye would say to an invite to join the festival. Rollins replied, “He’ll probably give you one of two answers: no, or no.” But for all Fugazi’s unconventional wisdom, the average fan never suffered. It didn’t matter that Fugazi didn’t join the maiden voyage of the festival that would ultimately became the zeitgeist of a generation, because Fugazi compensated such matters by instead playing all fifty states in the nation – time after time again, for never more than $10 a pop.

But for all the cultural woo-haa that surrounds a band going against the grain, let us not forget that it’s all about the music – of which there is no shortage in the vast Fugazi discography. From the opening notes of “Waiting Room,” compliments of one Mr. Joe Lally on bass, you know that it’s on. 13 Songs – often regarded as the first Fugazi “album” despite it being a compilation of their first two EP’s – is the perfect jumping-off point for anyone interested in acquiring such sonic wisdom. Within the compilation, the band’s interests and intentions are the most distinct.

The ragga-tinged reflex of “Suggestion” continues the time-honored tradition of punk artists tipping their hat to their Jamaican brethren who fight the good fight – a tribute based in the understanding that both punk rock and reggae are about being righteous at all costs. Surely Fugazi wasn’t the first band to embrace the two styles on record (see the Bad Brains first record for further reference), but righteous it was, arriving at a time when punch-you-in-your-fucking-face hardcore bands were all the rage – that second wave of American hardcore that Fugazi had no interest in riding.

Ironically, though, Fugazi remained as intense as ever throughout their entire career – without having to be pigeonholed to the dumbed-down aesthetics and senseless violence of what became quote unquote hardcore towards the late 80’s. Take one listen to “Great Cop” from 1993’s In on the Kill Taker and you’ll see what I mean. MacKaye howls and screeches like a man just pushed down a long flight of stairs - and in less than two minutes, a brutal assault of the senses has claimed reign over your world.

Bands like Fugazi do not exist anymore, but that’s not because there is something wrong with these times that will live in, or because the company that we keep in musical society embraces the lowest common denominator far too often. It’s simply because life can only reasonably give just one example of such greatness – at least not without diluting itself further on down the line when trying to replicate itself. It’s a matter of nature, really. And truthfully, does the world really need watered down instances of a band taking the epic nature of Led Zeppelin and Queen, fusing it with the fury of punk rock, and slapping dub reggae on top for good measure? The answer is, unquestionably, “no.” Fugazi’s uniqueness was a once in a lifetime celebration; their existence was indeed a natural phenomenon, in a category unto itself, without needing any further replication.