Slint LANDMARK: Spiderland by: Dan Osmolowski Tue:25-Mar-08 Label: Touch and Go Year: 1991 WB rating 75 out of 100

Much debate surrounds the moment that gave birth to post-rock. While the term had been around for quite a few decades prior, Mojo journalist Simon Reynolds first applied it to the genre that we commonly understand it to be when reviewing Bark Psychosis’ excellent 1994 album Hex. Some argue for Talk Talk’s equally groundbreaking 1991 release Laughing Stock and while both of these records embody the essence of post-rock, one album pre-dates both: Slint’s Spiderland.

Released several months before Laughing Stock, Spiderland represents a different side of the musical and emotional spectrum. Whilse both artists attempted to reflect the inner psyche as opposed to the popular view of the world, Talk Talk’s Mark Hollis revelled in a sense of longing by utilising floating, hypnotic arrangements. Slint, on the other hand, sought out the darker corners of the human psyche: madness, betrayal and alienation, accompanied by staccato rhythms and bursts of guttural violence. Not coincidently, these themes were at the core of the German Expressionist art and film movements of the 1920s and ‘30s. Spiderland’s second track ‘Nosferatu Man’, mirrors the plot and, aurally, reflects the mood of F.W. Murnau’s classic Expressionist film, Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror. This highly influential album is so indebted to these silent-era films that it is surprising no one has attempted to graft it to celluloid history in the way they have done with the likes of Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon to The Wizard of Oz.

Slint’s core members, Brian McMahan (guitar and vocals), David Pajo (guitar) and Britt Walford (drums) recorded Spiderland on the back of 1989’s Steve Albini produced, Tweez. Wanting a fresh start, the band recruited relative novice Brian Paulson to capture a rawer, more emotionally arresting sound. They entered the studio with ideas for music but no lyrics, and exited four days later with a soon-to-be classic in the bag and (legend has it) a band ready for the mental hospital. A similarly intriguing rumour concerns McMahan being physically sick after recording the album’s closing track, ‘Good Morning Captain’ as he struggled to pitch his vocal above an almighty maelstrom of guitars during the track’s climax. These stories, however apocryphal, only lend gravitas to the album’s status as one of the most influential in modern rock history. Lou Barlow, Will Oldham (the cover photographer for the album), Steve Albini (who rated it “ten fucking stars” in Melody Maker), Mogwai’s Stuart Braithwaite, Modest Mouse’s Isaac Brock and PJ Harvey have all waxed lyrical about the album’s brilliance. However unlikely (except for those familiar with James Mercer’s former incarnation with Flake Music) The Shins even recreated Spiderland’s cover in their video for ‘New Slang’.

In the end though, it’s all about the music. Spiderland still stands as one of the most emotionally arresting albums recorded; it drags the listener from the confines of their immediate situation and places them in one that is not particularly comfortable but is unable to be broken away from; something akin to slowing down to witness a car crash. In the Dadaist tradition, Slint didn’t completely dispense with the overarching principles and tools of the medium; instead they made art out of generally ignored subject matter and dispensed with aesthetics in favour of a more selfish approach and a desire to represent less-fashionable inner ‘demons’.

The recording is distinctly analogue, singular notes hang and resonate and it is almost as if the spaces in between are musical in and of themselves. McMahan’s vocals wildly range from a delicate, creepy whisper to spoken word, to unhinged, maniacal ravings. Its lyrical surrealism is complimented by the precise, syncopated, oft delicate and often brutally loud, instrumentation on an album that saw a band at the height of its powers.

Spiderland is confronting, unavoidably honest, haunting and completely unpredictable in a way that few releases have been in the 16 years that have followed its release. We can forgive Slint for the obligatory reunion tour, ala The Pixies, and (fingers crossed) rest comfortably knowing that this classic’s memory will not be tainted by any attempts to better what is a defining landmark in rock history.