Big Black

Biography

One, Two… One, Two, Fuck You!

Big Black is another band in a long line of bands that convinced me I was born at least a few years too late – I only discovered them after they’d already broken up. Almost every song they played live started with the same six-word lead-in: “One, two… one two, fuck you!”

The first time I heard them, I knew this was the sound I’d been looking for. It was Steve Albini’s guitar screeching, Santiago Durango’s guitar grinding in the background, and Dave Riley’s bass being the furthest thing from a background instrument—playing over the relentlessly perfect rhythm laid out by Roland in “Passing Complexion.”

People used to ask why I was drawn to such angry music, and the only answer I could come up with was this: knowing other people in the world could be that angry made my own anger feel pointless.

Up next in the jukebox… Big Black

There was a local townie bar in Amherst that was called the Spoke: It’s long gone now, but the name lives on in the form of a huge, brightly lit establishment that feeds cheap beer to college students. “Service with a grunt” was their motto, and if you weren’t a regular there… well good luck.

There were two moments when i knew i was “in” with them.

First, the bartender made a killer Long Island Iced Tea, but he’d refuse to serve more than two to anyone who he wasn’t sure would be handle it. The night that i was served my third one, I knew i made it. Clearly, I had really high goals as an early twenty-something.

The second was, after watching other regulars slide their CD’s across the bar for the bartender to load in to the jukebox, i asked if i could put in my own CD as well. And with that, Rich Man’s Eight Track Tape was in the jukebox. When I’d walk in, i’d survey they place, put my money in the jukebox, and do my best to time it so that Jordan, Minnesota would kick off right when my name came up at pool table.

I’m pretty sure that i was the only one that appreciated it.