Our noise : the story of Merge Records, the indie label that got big and stayed small

429 Pages·2009·17.15 MB·English

by  McCaughan

OUR NOISE
THE STORY OF MERGE RECORDS, THE INDIE LABEL
THAT GOT BIG AND STAYED SMALL
John Cook
with
Mac McCaughan & Laura Ballance
Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill
Contents
Introduction
Your Noise—My Noise!!! by Ryan Adams
Chapter One
Death Chick and the Caveman: 1987 to 1989
Chapter Two
Wet Behind the Ears: 1989 to 1991
Chapter Three
Where’s Your Patience, Dear?: Matt Suggs, Butterglory, and White Whale
Chapter Four
The Popular Music: 1991 to 1993
Chapter Five
Signals That Sound in the Dark: Neutral Milk Hotel
Chapter Six
The First Part: 1994
Chapter Seven
The Book of Love: Stephin Merritt and the Magnetic Fields
Chapter Eight
The Question Is How Fast: 1995
Chapter Nine
The Underdog: Spoon
Chapter Ten
Tiny Bombs: 1996 to 1999
Chapter Eleven
The Decline of Country and Western Civilization: Lambchop
Chapter Twelve
Shutting Up: 2000 to 2009
Chapter Thirteen
Us Kids Know: The Arcade Fire
Chapter Fourteen
What Goes In Quiet Comes Out Loud: How Merge Got It Right
Postscript
Acknowledgments
Appendix
Merge Records Discography: 1989 to 2009
Photo Credits
Go to www.mergerecords.com/ournoisesampler to listen to songs from Merge
artists past and present.
Introduction
Your Noise—My Noise!!!
by Ryan Adams
All my favorite records and your records crackle like summertime crackles
like fried eggs stove-side or accidental fireworks backyard heavy in North
Carolina on the coast—mid-day it gets so hot even inside, in the cool, the
blazing waves of electric orange light pant like a litter of starving dogs just
outside the gate—yeah, sometimes you just need comics or records to get you
through until the dust settles and the damp evening can cool your brains down
enough to see past your own stupid face. That was me. Me looking at my first 7-
inch record. I was all “what” and “huh,” you know....
Merge 7-inch singles came packaged like candy. They also looked a little like
comics, which was good because I liked both and I liked girls so much they
scared me so it all seemed like the perfect distraction, at least to me, and surely
to my grandmother, who would patiently listen with me on our portable record
player in the wood-paneled kitchen while she baked this or that cake or whatever
—she liked how much cymbal crashing was going on—somehow overlooking
the melodic weirdness or angst, how forgiving and awesome those moments—in
fact before I had money for records she would write the checks and mail them
for each PO-boxed 7-inch I desired in exchange for however many times the
lawn got mowed but I did that anyway so really she funded my habit,
embarrassingly, and MY GOD at first they were so pretty I could do nothing less
than just marvel at each one—SO BEAUTIFUL—Erectus Monotone
—“CATHODE GUMSHOE”—probably the best THE BEST record I own
besides this super-duper warped-ass copy of Greg Sage’s “Straight Ahead” but
whatever, right? Exactly.
I used to think to myself, WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? WHO ARE THEY
and ARE THEY REAL? Also, CAN THEY ACTUALLY BE North Carolinian?
I loved PURE so so much too. The “Ballard” EP is insanely classic stuff. I
hunted forever for these people and their stories. I wanted to be inside that
dream. I was having such an awful time growing up in the coastal lurch of
dream. I was having such an awful time growing up in the coastal lurch of
Onslow County. I started making plans in my mind, in school, for taking off on
the weekends for shows (my brother was in Raleigh attending college and would
bring me news of bands in Chapel Hill and Raleigh and FLYERS—HELL
YES!!! All over my room!!!) and I got closer and closer to these people making
this mysterious candy with the petroleum shiny insides. And at my best, I would
try and be as engaging as the Merge music candy packages all the way down to
the little notes xeroxed on colored paper inside. I loved those fucking Mac notes.
It was later I realized it was the same Mac as the guy in WWAX. NO WAY—
EVERYBODY had their crushes on Laura. I mean, guys did. And ALL
THOSE GIRLS they loved Mac. And you know, they were these sophisticated
weirdos living in Chapel Hill, that “pretty” college town. I eventually left home
(long story) and I lived in Raleigh and, well, we were supposed to be “working
class” musicians or something—we were supposed to have issues with the
Chapel Hill scene. It was totally unspoken but it was all right there—written on
the faces of all our local musicians and I think I saw a lot of envy by the time I
got to Raleigh. I mean, I came late. I crawled from the wreckage of the crystal
coast—the graveyard of the Atlantic, all water-logged and salt heavy—tears in
my eyes. I just wanted to SEE all this music get made. I ended up making just a
little myself. Most of it as a way to understand this music I loved and just how
much went into making it. The rest happened the way night comes, the way a
reed bends in the humidity and how dust gathers where you can’t reach it.
Merge singles never worked like that. I mean, I still look at them and think,
“what exactly is this” or I think, “God—what if everyone could have the
experience of living in a place so isolated from everywhere and KNOW this
came from only a few hours away.” I mean, it was a dream. A hot dream.
I first heard Mac sing when I stopped by a friend’s house, a guy that lived a
block from me in my neighborhood nightmare 1980s mall theme-park world, to
record more of his badass mail-order FLIPSIDE magazine–sponsored singles. I
was over to get a few cassette burnoffs of a few Japanese thrash bands and the
new Seaweed. Gosh I loved Seaweed. And there was this single. My pal said,
“Hey man, I got this and it’s a bit melodic for my taste but I think you would
really love this.”
It was WWAX, “Pumpkin”/“Inntown.” I took the single home and busted it
out on my Barbie-themed little record player (now covered in thrasher magazine
stickers)... I probably stared holes through the universe trying to understand how
much I loved it. I actually CARRIED IT TO SCHOOL hahahahaha, a record, a
45-rpm single, in my backpack to ensure nothing NOTHING would ever ever
ever happen to it.
ever happen to it.
When I finally made my first record, as in my first real album for a real major
label (a no-no where I come from, at least the scene I had come from), I named
the first song after that song—the very song that made me want to make any
music at all, really.
So the bands envied Superchunk (of course) because Superchunk were
effortlessly great. They weren’t trying to be anyone. So ALL these bands started
little 7-inch companies and “didn’t try” the way Superchunk didn’t have to and a
whole scene of, well, just posers trying not to pose happened. All you needed
was a RAT pedal and an attitude.
And all the guys, the guitar guys, the band guys, they would basically all line
up at SChunk shows and pretend not to drool over themselves at how badass
Laura was. I mean, I used to listen to conversations about Mac and Laura at our
local AWFUL—I mean terrible—coffee house; people saying things like, “They
went to college, totally left the state” and “Really?” and “Yeah like in New
York.” HAHA—wtf? People were afraid of that. Strangely, an entire scene was
nourished in this little GIGANTIC beautiful little time and I saw some of the
most amazing bands (POLVO, SEAM, ERECTUS MONOTONE, FINGER,
BREADWINNER), shows, and records come out as my whole world developed
before me like a little series of Polaroids if they made sugary noise and rattled
into the sparkling cloudless night sky—I was, and they all seemed to be,
hovering just there—and everything felt clean and just rang for an entire four
years.
When I left North Carolina Superchunk and Merge had become names
muttered easily after Chapel Hill or the Triangle (three cities of colleges, three
scenes, people called it that—too much breaded food, not enough coffee) and I
left with a crate of records and a boxed heart bowed with electric guitar cable
static and radio frequency shards.
I am really lucky to write this. I remember the day I sauntered up to Mac. I
was seventeen years old. He sat on the edge of the stage at a Dinosaur Jr./Finger
concert at the Cat’s Cradle. I was seriously starstruck but so young and totally
naive as to how to appropriately talk to someone who represented so much to
me. I walked up, introduced myself, and slowly but surely asked him a million
questions. I admired his industriousness, his nobility, and his pure shining poetic
heart—and he had the coolest band, the coolest girlfriend and business partner—
Mac was someone I could learn from. And I got lucky. He answered them all
right there as I asked. I was blown away, and just lucky.
Merge, Mac, and Laura are still out there answering all my questions about
following your gut and making things new with each turn and following the