Facing the Other Way

by Martin Aston

  Ivo flew to London to do promotion. He talked to The Independent newspaper about being one of the few survivors from the independent label boom of the Eighties: ‘It’s only us, Beggars Banquet and Mute left now, I think. Someone did ask yesterday if it would be possible to start a label with £2,000 and yes, absolutely, that can still be done, but to start a label like this one, which would have some sort of consistent thread or identity, would cost a huge amount of money.’

  Ivo added that he hoped to do more Hope Blister albums: ‘Given that he owns the label they appear on, it seems a safe bet,’ wrote journalist Andrew Mueller. But – understandably – nothing was mentioned by Ivo about depression, or the true state of 4AD. ‘It was such a surreal experience,’ Ivo recalls. ‘I felt like a musician visiting a record company that didn’t really know who I was or why I’d been signed.

  ‘I started to get an idea of some of the concerns that certain artists had raised with me,’ he says, ‘to deal with an uninterested record company … and I still owned half of it! To be fair, I know that The Hope Blister would not have been something Lewis, or anyone besides Chris Bigg, who always had such a genuine and heartfelt response to music, would’ve responded to had it been pulled out of the demo basket. Tim Hall had arranged an interview with a local London radio station and as I was being miced up, they were playing a great song that I’d not heard before. When it finished, and I was on air, I said, “That sounds just like the Pixies”. It was Blur’s “Song 2”. That really showed how out of touch I was.’

  Ivo was spot on about Lewis Jamieson, who admits that he would have let go those 4AD artists that ‘commercially speaking, were ridiculous, like His Name Is Alive, or even The Hope Blister’. About This Mortal Coil he says, ‘[It] had been a moment in time, built around a label with a strong identity, which encapsulated the label vision, not just the guy who runs it but the artists on it. Now 4AD was just schizophrenic and it didn’t fit. Ivo was this vague, shadowy figure, completely impenetrable, so it was like this weird, autonomous republic that couldn’t shift itself from its anarchic ruler. But we had some great records and some great moments when we were doing something right.’

  Ivo and Jamieson would at least have agreed on the brilliant, emerging Icelandic quartet Sigur Rós, whose mission to take the shoegazing’s beautiful noise in a more classical direction – with a made-up language to match Elizabeth’s Fraser – was still to be discovered outside of its own country. Jamieson was advantageously placed to approach them, but he says the idea of dealing with two Icelandic bands ‘would have been unreasonable for my mental health’.

  Jamieson thinks the likes of Sigur Rós, who quickly achieved global success, would have attracted bands of a similar magnitude. ‘I’m sure a band such as [now hugely popular northern English band] Elbow, who had elements of Pink Floyd and Talk Talk, which might appeal to Ivo [he does indeed like Elbow], would have wanted to be on 4AD, because we’d embody a certain spirit that made up for the fact we were offering less money. But the major labels had marched into our stomping ground. I saw a queue of A&Rs at Elbow’s show and no way could 4AD compete anymore. [Beggars Banquet dance offshoot] XL, for example, was higher up the list in a manager’s mind than 4AD. No young British band would be attracted to 4AD because of The Paladins and Tarnation. In the late 1980s, Lush and Pale Saints were feeling validated by Pixies’ label phoning them! But the cycle had turned.’

  Things could maybe improve if Ivo could receive a Native American’s blessing in a coffee shop, as Kristin Hersh had experienced, and so rediscover his passion for music. Or if he had an A&R accomplice who could help broaden and strengthen his vision, not oppose it – an empathic ear like Ed Horrox, the A&R contact for Beggars Banquet’s newest subsidiary label. Mantra had primarily been created in 1995 by Beggars Banquet press officer John Empson to plug the gap between the other in-house labels; less rock than Beggars Banquet, less dance than XL, less artful than 4AD. When Ivo was in the London office, Simon Harper had suggested he talk to Horrox, who gave him a copy of Secret Name by Low, the much-loved trio famed for its heartache brand of sadcore that Robin Hurley had tried to interest Ivo in two years earlier, with no luck. Geoff Travis had already licensed the album to his Rough Trade subsidiary Tugboat.

  Ivo played the tape on the drive to Oundle to visit his mother. ‘I’ve never fallen in love with an album so immediately,’ he recalls. ‘When I arrived, I immediately called Robin and we had to release it in America if the band didn’t already have an outlet. I didn’t know Low was signed to [US indie] Kranky and that Tugboat was part of Rough Trade. I was disappointed but extremely happy to discover that the connection to gorgeous music was still alive and kicking inside me. I had begun to wonder.’

  Ivo was still a His Name Is Alive fan. Similarly, though he was disgruntled with 4AD’s business practices, Warren Defever had enjoyed more creative freedom and support than he’d ever have experienced elsewhere. If he was as much out on a limb as The Hope Blister, Defever’s presently enhanced blend of soul, funk, psychedelia and hard rock was, in theory, a sound for the times, a rich mutant brew of past and present that could slip in alongside 4AD’s new dance faction. Stressing electronica, Motown and rockabilly influences, Defever and company arrived at Ft. Lake, as extraordinary in its own way as Livonia though the two locations couldn’t be further apart.

  Once His Name Is Alive could be compared to This Mortal Coil; now it was more a rocking Wolfgang Press. There were frequent echoes of Sly & The Family Stone’s liquefied groove and ‘Wish I Had A Wishing Ring’ even raised the ghost of Jimi Hendrix (Defever had employed Steve King, who had produced legends of the calibre of Aretha Franklin and George Clinton, to add authentic finishing touches). Karin Oliver was still involved but Defever had promoted Lovetta Pippen from the vibrant gospel choir used on Stars On ESP. ‘Can’t Always Be Loved’ was an eminently radio-friendly single with a pronounced Motown gait and a fast-cut promo video that captured HNIA’s creative zip as the Brothers Quay had captured their former weirdness.

  Of course, Defever could never lose his maverick touch, reflected in the tape edits and hairpin-bend changes that ensured Ft. Lake transcended retro but also put it out of reach of US radio. ‘So few people got Warren at all,’ says Ivo. ‘He’s the only musician I’ve worked with that brings Zappa to mind in his diversity, playfulness and originality.’

  Colleen Maloney saw how His Name Is Alive was symptomatic of 4AD’s conundrum. ‘They were very much Ivo’s love, and we were all extremely fond of His Name Is Alive in the office, but there was the realisation that the amount of money spent on records that didn’t sell, and the artwork, just wasn’t adding up.’

  The clubby swish of Sounds From The Thievery Hi-Fi was much more likely to find a wider appreciation. ‘Thievery Corporation was part of a diverse roster of bands that made the best of their particular type of music, with a strong visual sense,’ says Colleen Maloney. ‘4AD was the world leader at signing bands like that, from Cocteau Twins to Throwing Muses and Pixies.’

  The lead single ‘.38.45 (A Thievery Number)’ was a foray into the modern jittery world of dubstep beats, and the second single ‘Lebanese Blonde’ had an inviting mix of trip-hop sitar, even if the promo video was as bland as any 4AD had been involved in. The ugly sentiment of the line, ‘We come annihilate the bloodclot nation’ – using derogatory Jamaican patois for menstruation – was also new for 4AD. It felt especially disrespectful of all the women that had found freedom at 4AD, but this was a more callous age. ‘They were a very good signing in terms of profile and sales and it ticked the boxes as an A&R is supposed to do – to attract other people to the label and give PRs things to talk about,’ says Jamieson. ‘In any case, the deals we struck were tiny. I never spent any money of note at 4AD.’

  There was no doubt Garza and Hilton looked the part, and several guest singers (including Brazilian bossa nova singer Bebel Gilberto) helped spice up a mix that advertising agencies would doubtless appreciate. However 4AD’s long-standin
g reputation had not been built on ticking boxes, but providing something that felt either groundbreaking or emotionally resonant. Maybe Garza and Hilton weren’t trying – ultimately Thievery Corporation reflected, but could never transcend, the duo’s influences. Portishead, for example, would have been a much more ideal accomplice for 4AD’s transition into modernity.

  Cuba was also guilty of lacking transcendence. But in callous commercial terms, the duo could snare both indie kids and rock fans – a wider net than the more select followers of Thievery Corporation’s sophisticated groove. And the duo was based in London, not Iceland. It was another weighty irony that Ivo’s least favourite 4AD act stood the best chance of salvaging a future, at least in the short term.

  After releasing a second white label twelve-inch ‘Fiery Cross’, Cuba had recorded an album, on the cheap with a home studio and with Ashley Bates engineering and producing. ‘Chris took the driving role,’ says Bates. ‘He was what I’d call “the vibesman”. He got people excited. And he was a great guitarist.’

  Andrews was also a confident motormouth in the established tradition of Oasis frontman Liam Gallagher, something that further isolated Cuba in 4AD-world. ‘I think we are being reasonable in expecting to be the most critically successful band on 4AD since the Pixies,’ he told Music Week’s online site Dotmusic. ‘We want to be its most commercially successful. I think that’s possible and I think 4AD believe that.’

  Andrews was less of a natural singer, but luckily for him, the trend in British dance music, from Massive Attack to Chemical Brothers, was to deploy guest singers. At Lewis Jamieson’s suggestion, Cuba had approached Shara Nelson, who had sung Massive Attack’s iconic hits ‘Safe From Harm’ and ‘Unfinished Sympathy’. She agreed to sing for Cuba too, as did the equally soulful Angie Brown and British rapper Michael Gifts, known as Mau, who had sung for Massive Attack’s Bristol trip-hop peers Earthling.

  Mau fronted ‘Cross The Line’, the first of three official twelve-inch Cuba singles released across the space of a few months. After the instrumental ‘Urban Light’, Mau returned for ‘Havana’. ‘The radio edit sucked all the power out,’ says Andrews. ‘I understood the decision, but we weren’t a radio band.’ But radio, and not clubs, was helping bands sell records and cross over, as GusGus knew. The only real complaint that could be upheld against 4AD was the bizarre timing of ‘Havana’, released in the mad rush up to Christmas rather than at the start of the new year.

  Not that it seemed to matter. ‘I felt “Havana” was my last throw of the dice,’ says Jamieson. ‘It got a lot of attention, but there was no finance or energy left at 4AD. Death In Vegas came along shortly after and became the coolest thing for a year, with shoegazy guitars and slight gothy overtones with a trip-hop feel. Sometimes it’s not about who does it first.’

  The pendulum swung back to the folkier side with a new Mojave 3 album, Out Of Tune. It’s a shame that R.E.M. had beaten them to it, but Out Of Time would have been a much more suitable title, in its literal interpretation. Perhaps Out Of Tune was more honest in a self-deprecating don’t-count-on-us manner.

  The three were now five, after adding keyboardist Alan Forrester and ex-Chapterhouse guitarist Simon Rowe. Forrester’s Hammond organ underlined Halstead’s fondness for Sixties Bob Dylan/Band chord progressions on lead single ‘Some Kind Of Angels’ and ‘Keep It All Hid’, with Nick Drake’s gently aching feel more audible on second lead single ‘Who Do You Love’ and the pedal steel winding through ‘Baby’s Coming Home’.

  Both singles were among a handful of tracks engineered by Belle and Sebastian’s trusted studio ally Tony Doogan, at Jamieson’s suggestion, knowing that not only was Halstead a Belle and Sebastian fan but his demos needed sprucing up to give Mojave 3 more heft on record. But Halstead’s commercial instinct only went so far; it had, after all, been three years since Mojave 3’s first album, and while Belle and Sebastian frontman Stuart Murdoch had a jauntier pop side and a humorous outlook (no wonder Ivo didn’t initially enjoy them), Mojave 3’s own frontman was shy and retiring. The photo of surfers shot in Cornwall for the album cover showed where his priorities might lie.

  ‘The songs tickle by, softly floating timelessly, tirelessly, and the vocals are like a pillow for your head as you listen, enraptured,’ raved Allmusic; Pitchfork’s subsequent review suggested Out Of Tune, ‘could very well be the first 4AD album to be fully embraced by both AAA [Adult Adult Alternative] radio stations and your mom’. Given the parlous state of play, this could only be a good thing.

  Halstead’s own, sarcastic view of Out Of Tune was how Mojave 3 had changed ‘from slow country to mid-slow tempo country-rock’. A more palpable shift was Rachel Goswell’s diminished vocal presence. On a press trip in 1996, her eardrum had burst midflight between LA and New York, which necessitated an emergency stop in Denver and a week’s recovery before she could fly home. Goswell’s subsequent panic attacks were diagnosed as post-traumatic stress disorder, and on the Shaving The Pavement tour, future husband Christopher Andrews had come along as carer and supporter. Goswell says Ivo had given her self-help manuals that addressed crisis and depression, and slowly she had returned to a point of normality, playing bass but only contributing harmonies to Out Of Tune.

  Two weeks further into October, 4AD released Lisa Germano’s new album Slide, which persisted in sombre ballads as fragile as the butterfly shown on the cover. The enigmatic sign-off in the album credits – ‘thank you Dash, I think we’re done now’ – felt ominous. Warners had paid for the recording, and Germano admits the major had even allowed her to add two more songs despite already spending her budget. That had delayed Slide’s release, and by the time it was on sale, the licensing deal was over, and Robin Hurley had prepared Germano with the news that 4AD would let her go too if the album didn’t outsell its predecessors.

  Since Slide sounded like it was purpose-built alongside smile’s ok for candlelit baths at 4am, it wasn’t to be, and yet another artist that should have been a protected species at 4AD left the label. ‘I was just glad to make a beautiful record,’ Germano declares. ‘I don’t regret anything because it was a great relationship with 4AD. I just couldn’t sell enough records to pay for them.’

  4AD’s meagre collective sales meant that Robin Hurley was forced to announce more cutbacks at 4AD’s London office. ‘That was a dark day,’ says v23 designer Tim O’Donnell. ‘Even though Robin was English, it was this weird feeling of the boss flying in from this other office, and no one knowing if Ivo was involved anymore. Robin read out some numbers, like we’d all been in this bubble and hadn’t considered the business side. He said something like, “We haven’t had a successful record in the last eighteen months, they’re each selling about 1,500 copies worldwide, but we’re printing the sleeves in eight colours”. It was a sudden wake-up call.’

  Proof that the old order had irrevocably collapsed was Hurley telling v23 that 4AD could no longer afford their retainer and they’d have to go freelance. ‘I thought, hold on a minute,’ says Vaughan Oliver. ‘Think back to 1994, when I was in the middle of the This Rimy River exhibition. 4AD had the new office in LA and I’d just been hired by a company there to do motion graphics and to direct adverts, the first being Microsoft that paid me £30,000 for six weeks’ work. I thought my fucking boat has come in. And now I’m being told 4AD doesn’t want me anymore, despite the enormous workload and daily deadlines.’

  Oliver had also taken the twin blows of Ivo using v23’s former assistant Paul McMenamin to design The Hope Blister’s … smile’s ok and the Tom Baril book. McMenamin was conveniently close to hand in LA, but Oliver knew there was another reason: ‘Ivo told me, this way, he could get exactly what he wanted.’

  Opting out of giving Oliver free rein, as all 4AD artists had been encouraged to do, was hypocritical on Ivo’s side, but these were different times; as with This Mortal Coil and The Hope Blister, Ivo needed a safe and considerate collaboration. ‘Vaughan and I were hurting each other by then,’ he recalls. ‘Can
you imagine how I felt when I’d return to the UK office, by which time the speed of artwork was dictating when records would actually get released, to see the walls covered with Vaughan’s freelance work? And I knew the [Baril] book wouldn’t look the way it did with Vaughan. I had a pretty clear idea of how I wanted it to look, and Paul [McMenamin] was fantastic, alongside Robin Hurley, at monitoring every stage of the origination and printing process. Tom’s book is one of the proudest achievements of my life.’

  Oliver negotiated his severance from 4AD, and v23 moved into an office in Battersea, a mile away from Wandsworth. Sentimentality was not an Oliver trait, and Colleen Maloney recalls him assembling a bonfire of artwork in Alma Road’s backyard. ‘He was burning stuff, beautiful mock-ups of the artwork assembled in layers on boards that would have been precious to many,’ she says. ‘I tried to rescue some stuff but I had to give up, things were too far-gone. You might have thought it was cathartic for Vaughan, to get rid of the old before they moved, but there was a lot of anger there.’

  An interview with Oliver in Computer Arts magazine talked of new artistic directions – adverts, book jackets, digital media, and new roles, including being Creative Director on a series of Sony Playstation adverts and directing the promo video for Pixies’ ‘Debaser’. On a presumably tight budget, Oliver cut between fuzzy live footage of the band, flashing typography and more interesting images, such as a woman in fetish gear with an e-collar. ‘MTV liked it but I don’t think [ITV’s] The Chart Show liked all the noise and dirt,’ Oliver said.

  Oliver also claimed the three-man v23 team would remain intact, but O’Donnell decided not to continue working with Oliver and Chris Bigg. ‘There might be a month when we’d only do two covers, and two NME ads,’ he recalls. ‘I love Vaughan, and he’s brilliant, but he wasn’t the world’s best businessman. It had become less stable, and less fun. Paul in LA had got some high-profile accounts, and Vaughan thought Paul was trading on his name and reputation, and then suddenly there was more distrust of the third person, namely me, and I didn’t feel respected. He’d had dozens of people saying that they’d work for Vaughan for free, so he was shocked when I went.’