Nice new outfit

And so the march toward digital distribution began. Sometime-Fugazi member Jerry Busher began post-processing: EQing out excess noise, chopping the sets into individual song MP3s, and labeling everything according to the catalog system that Oleksik had formulated. After guitarist Guy Picciotto gave the files and the metadata a final look, the music was ready for the public. On December 1st, 2011, the Fugazi Live Series debuted on Dischord’s website, with the stated goal of making all the recordings available for $5 apiece — a nod to the band’s preferred ticket price during the 13 years they toured. That’s just a suggested price, though: you can actually pay anywhere from $1 to $100 for any show download, provided you can explain why in at least 40 characters.

Like all of Dischord’s output, the Live Series interface is a no-bullshit affair, packaged efficiently and brimming with all the details MacKaye and his bandmates could scour from meticulous tour logs. Every show — from their first on September 3rd, 1987 to their last on November 4th, 2002 — is assigned an audio quality rating from "poor" to "excellent." Ticket price, opening bands, source material and engineers, and setlist are present for nearly every show, and most come with live photos and fliers, many of which were submitted by fans. There’s also a forum-like interface on every show page, and it’s not unusual to find scores of people who attended each event trading questions and comments with an air of happy nostalgia tinged with hope that the band will one day return from its 11-year hiatus.

But two years after it launched, MacKaye still seems focused on getting the Fugazi Live Series as complete as it can possible be. The band has solicited and received original source recordings that didn’t wind up in his bedroom — submissions from fans and tape traders have accounted for a 10 percent growth of the archive since it launched, giving the whole thing a community-driven feel. "I cannot figure out how many shows we still have to put up. I’m exhausted by it, I’ve spent thousands of hours on it at this point, but we’re really committed to getting it done… one of the things I have to do today or tomorrow is proof 10 more shows. It’s not that I’m sick of it, but if you’ve been on a long journey, the last few days it’s just sorta like, ‘Let’s get the fuck home.’"

Do you like me

There is a lot to be excited about in the ways we produce and consume music in 2014, but it’s often difficult to decipher where the music ends and the contextual media structures around it begin. The best thing about Fugazi, and the live series, is that the music is always the message. There are no Facebook or Twitter logos polluting its pages; no publicist blasting emails about how Dischord is revolutionizing music; no attempt to sell to a nostalgic market. For MacKaye, it remains a matter of completing a simple task demanded by a pile of tapes that captured a small slice of American history.

For months, the rock ‘n’ roll icon would pop DATs into the drive, set an egg timer as they transferred

"I have no idea who’s listening to it. Of course I would like them to think, ‘That was good, we enjoyed listening to that.’ But beyond that there’s no aim. It’s just a document." But doesn’t the very act of documenting imply that the content itself is important, like those Hendrix bootlegs — didn’t MacKaye have any real feeling of Fugazi’s place in history? "I’m not a nostalgic dude and I just don’t think about stuff like that. It’s just the work." No matter how hard I pressed him for some shred of pride, I couldn’t feel it over the phone. "Some of the songs, you put a guitar in my hand and I would have no idea how to play them. With that kind of removal I can listen to the songs and think, ‘That’s a good song.’ It’s not me playing it, it’s just the guy in the recording." It turns out Fugazi’s greatest legacy might be something that everyone involved in creating media could use a lot more of in 2014 — humility.