“Washer” by Slint
Playing quietly to build up suspense and tension for a cathartic release of excitement is an age-old songwriting trick that’s been employed on countless rock recordings, but I’ve never heard a more extreme or effective example of this trick than on “Washer” off of Slint’s 1991 cult-classic album, Spiderland. It’s an unconventional rock album that’s devoid of the compression and heavy layering of instruments that make modern rock recordings sound big and full, and instead embraces the fragility and tininess of its quiet parts, and revels in the crushing weight of its gigantic, fuzzed out guitar riffs and completely bare-bones, unprocessed drum sound. However, no track on Spiderland, or any rock recording that I know of, builds as much tension, nor collapses with as much release as “Washer” does.
For six minutes and forty eight seconds, “Washer” alternates between two volumes — quiet and quieter. The instruments on the verses are played more softly than I’ve heard on any rock recording, and the vocal performance is extremely intimate and soft-spoken to the point of being a little uncomfortable to listen to, but the sinister guitar parts and tasteful, mature drumming give the track a really metal quality that keeps the music feeling intense and ominous even in its most delicate moments. The climax on the other hand smothers listeners with oppressive power chord rings and bombastic drums after nearly 7 minutes of tense build-up, but the cock rock ends abruptly after just thirty two seconds and recedes back into the eerie, apprehensive atmosphere of the verse until the song ends. This track is a rollercoaster of emotions in a way that rock music rarely is, and the tiny, intimate sound of the band on this album gives listeners a glimpse into the musicians’ personalities and subtle quirks that rock music almost never affords its audience. Easily one of my favorite rock records of all time. Check it out.
