Tim Berne S Big Satan Desperate
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Tim Berne S Big Satan Desperate
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Saxophone giant Tim Berne is one forward-thinking renegade who started altering the landscape of jazz in the mid-1970s by wielding his horn and, in a show of then-unheard of DIY vision, launched his own record label.
A late bloomer, Berne didn’t pick up a sax until his very late teens but upon his moving to Brooklyn in the mid-’70s (and where he resides to this day), the fledgling, wide-eyed musician was quickly engulfed in the loft jazz scene and it was there where he connected with his mentor, sax legend Julius Hemphill. In the ’80s, Berne enjoyed a stint on Columbia Records while achieving omnipresent force status in New York jazz, collaborating with the likes of avant-garde titans John Zorn, Bill Frisell and Joey Baron. Alas, while he was tight with downtown titan Zorn, Berne was relegated outsider to that vibrant scene but certainly doing his own thing on his own terms and that seems to be Berne’s raison d’être.
Berne’s aesthetic is the epitome of independent. Since 1996, he’s owned and operated his own record label (Screwgun), books gigs and works without a publicist, while remaining busy as ever. Berne leads his own ensembles, supports longtime friends like Michael Formanek and Nels Cline, and plays with young innovators like guitarist Mary Halvorson, Ches Smith and Matt Mitchell.
Berne can let loose with the best of the fire-breathing sax blowers, but it’s his melodic phraseology and marathon compositions that has made records like 2011’s Snakeoil gloriously compelling and epic. Tonight, Berne will be in full-throttle mode when he converges with guitarist Marc Ducret and drummer Tom Rainey for an ultra-rare Big Satan performance at Greenwich House Music School.
Sound of the City finally caught the insanely busy, hilarious and brutally honest Berne at his Brooklyn home for a long chat.
Oh yeah, not so much gigs but I’m gonna be on the road quite a bit this fall so I’m just trying to finish up writing stuff and deadlines. There’s always a trillion things. I don’t really have an agent—in the sense one has an agent [laughing]. In addition to being a musician, there’s always bullshit.
Not everything. But, generally, [I book] everything in the States. But it’s just tons of… there’s always email shit—in addition to everything else so if I get busy writing, then everything kinda goes.
Are you going on tour in the fall with your own group?
Not this fall. Michael Formanek has a new record coming out on ECM. So he has two tours, a States and Europe tour, and then I’m doing this thing in Switzerland where I have this student big band that I have to write for, do a couple of concerts with and rehearse and then a big band tour with [Marc] Ducret . He’s got a twelve-piece ensemble that we’re touring France with in November.
You ran your own record label in the ’70s [Empire] and have been running Screwgun since 1996. Do you do everything independently?
With my record label, yeah yeah, of course. But I have an agent in Europe. But that just means they do half the work and then you kind of coax them along. There’s always bullshit, you know, dealing with the band dates. It’s amazing how busy everybody I work with is so you’re thinking of shit. Ya know, I’m into 2014 already, asking people about dates. Believe it or not, some people can’t do shit. They’re firing it past, people like Ches [Smith]. It’s pretty crazy.
He’s busy. I think I’m just as bad. 2013 is getting pretty crazy so there’s a fine line. It’s hard… I tend to take everything but at the same time, you wanna leave some room for, you know, last minute or a little spontaneity [laughs]. But it’s hard.
How much time do you put into Screwgun?
Not so much anymore; now it’s just the mail order. I sorta cut out on all the distributor stuff. It’s kinda of a waste of time, I felt. I basically do mail order and then everyone else who does mail order, I’ll sell to them. But it’s a one-time thing and it’s pretty small. If I don’t have a new record, it’s pretty much just fill out the orders, which got a little harder because the post office seems to be getting ready to fold [laughs]. Now you have to get customs forms online and print them out and do all this bullshit.
How has illegal downloading affected your label?
[Laughing] Like me or everybody? I think it ruined… killed the whole thing—that and whatever other side products of that. Most people’s first impulse—if they’re looking for something—is to see if they could get it for free. Yeah, that whole thing—I mean, the internet—fucked it all up [laughing], ya know, really, because I think everybody got into this instant gratification. I do it too… I’m on the road and I go to iTunes and like I’ll just say “I want to hear this Andrew Hill record” and I’ll just download. And, even the legal downloads—it still hurts. You don’t know what to manufacture. When I make a record on Screwgun now, where I used to press 2000, now I press 1000. I used to be able to sell 2000, 3000 pretty easily. Now, 1000 is good.
Do you sell Screwgun records through iTunes?
I don’t—it always seemed like it was too much bureaucracy for what it might yield. I may be wrong; I don’t even know. I don’t do Amazon either because what they pay you is so small and I just figure most people are gonna want to come through me—which is probably wrong, ya know, since I buy shit on iTunes [laughing]. I probably should [sell through iTunes] because a lot people get the impulse and they’re on the iPhone and they don’t wanna fuckin’ fill out a credit card thing, ya know?
You started your first label back in the 1970s. Where did the inspiration come from for you to do that?
I was studying with Julius Hemphill and he had a label and so I just saw it firsthand and I helped him with his label. So, I met all these distributors. We put a record together of him [Hemphill], a solo record called Blue Boye, my sister did the cover and I handled the distribution. He hooked me up with the distributors. I think he have me the info because he had his label since ’71 or something. Then I probably figured shit out and people probably found out about it and wrote me because, at the time, that wasn’t such a common thing. So, if someone put out their own record, ya know, these little distributors in Europe would look for you, I think. So, we had a nice little network and that was LP’s so I learned pretty much how to do it through that. So by the time I did it [start my own label], it was aImost like I didn’t even think about another option because I figured here was, you know, my teacher doing this so far be it for me to think that there’s a label that’s gonna actually pay me to make a record. So I just went right to it. I didn’t even try to have anybody else put my stuff out, for quite a while.
How do you decide which of your records you will put out yourself and those released by ECM, like Snakeoil ?
Well, I hadn’t made a real studio record probably since I made the record Feign with Craig and Tom and that might have been 2003 or ’02 and I wanted to make a studio record and I can’t really justify that on Screwgun because it’s like spending ten grand versus five grand or three grand, goin’ to the studio, payin’ people, payin for… I usually have David Torn produce and so I couldn’t really financially justify it and be too relaxed about it. And, if I’m gonna be bothered to make a studio record at this stage, I kinda want people to actually hear it because I don’t do any promotion [with Screwgun]. I think it’s a waste of time if you have your own label unless you have a publicist. And I just can’t—I refuse to get a publicist. I just can’t deal with that whole thing. I’ve been talking to Manfred [Eicher; ECM Records founder] for years because I know him pretty well and he goes “Hey, we have to do something” and I’d go “Yeah, sure, let’s do it” and nothing would happen. It kept getting closer and closer and finally, you know, he said he wanted to it. There are other labels I’ll release things on but as far as going into the studio and doing it all from scratch, that was probably the only label [ECM], I would have done that with where I think it would have been significantly different than doing myself, otherwise there is no point—I’ll do it myself. It’s fun but it’s a lot of work putting out a new record on Screwgun, you know, You have to be around to mail shit out… there’s a lot of busy work.
For a label right now, I don’t think anybody could be better in terms of that kind of marketing and their idea of promotion is to tour, whereas most of the labels I’ve dealt with, they think if you send out promos and maybe waste some money on an ad, you’ve promoted the record. I think touring is the best promotion and they insist on it and that’s good news to me because that means the tour is gonna get supported. It was time for me to do a studio record and it was good time to do something for a real label and it helped—it gives you a different kind of credibility when somebody like ECM puts out your record because it’s quite an exclusive group. So even though I’ve been making, what I think, are interesting records for a while, for some reason, this [Snakeoil] got treated differently because it was on ECM. They validate it, sort of. You know how it is—subconsciously it does make a difference to writers. They see something coming out on ECM or they see another Screwgun, it just looks like a vanity project to most people, even if the music and the sound and everything else is of a high quality, it still looks like you’re doing it because you have no other option, which then minimizes it and I think even though maybe a lot of people may know that’s not true, they don’t treat it the same way. When I did send out press copies [of Screwgun records], it was kind of a waste because I didn’t have anybody following up and I didn’t have somebody telling them what to think.
Is your not having a publicist, an agent in the States and essentially doing everything by yourself by choice?
I’d love to have an agent; I don’t want to have a bad agent. In the States, there just aren’t any good agents that deal with the kind of music that I play.
Did you inherit that sensibility from studying and working with Julius Hemphill?
Not really—that part I didn’t except that I saw he wasn’t doing much and he didn’t have an agent [laughing]. So I figured something was up. It’s nice to get good press and it’s nice to get press but I’m not really into making that a priority. I’m just uncomfortable pursuing that myself; I’d rather spend the time playing music or record or I’m just trying to get gigs and, you know, play.
So it doesn’t come from a hardcore independent mentality?
Well, it comes from wanting to be in control. I made several records for JMT, Winter and Winter and got to the point where I did make the decision to do it myself and I could have continued with them and I just got frustrated with it. When I did start Screwgun in ’96, I was making more money with Screwgun than I was on any label. I may have been selling more records but it’s hard to know when you don’t get statements. As a business move, it was a good move in addition to having control. Me and Steve Byram , the artist, got into a whole thing with the covers and that was fun. That was a conscious decision, and now I just feel like, “We did it but now you can’t sell’em because”—excuse the expression—”these idiots who think they’re supporting the music made it impossible to do that anymore by creating all this free shit and these sharing sites.” You do a tour and your concerts are up [on the internet] that night. It’s almost like a badge of honor to see how quick you can get a concert up there. I’m talking about a whole tape of the concert on a file sharing site. I understand it but a lot of guys and girls think they are promoting the music but they’ve basically ended this record shit because I can’t do it like I used to because I can’t sell’em, ya know? All the distributors have gone out of business, the record stores, people who are not buying hard copies, iPods. It’s all related. No one wants to buy a CD if they’re gonna end up listening to it on their iPod all the time. In theory I understand it but it’s typical that everything now modern and new is just fucking wiping out all this stuff—books, newspapers, it’s all the same thing. Somebody gets a brilliant idea like “Hey, we’ll give out the newspaper online!” and people still buy it and when they change it and charge you, everyone stops reading it. I got the New York Times for free forfuckingever online and when they started charging it took me a year before I said “Ah, fuck it.” I’m sure there’s people worse than me who won’t read anything they have to pay for. And who created that? They shot themselves in the foot and I think the record business, when they saw that Napster bullshit and then they tried to co-opt it and then all of a sudden everybody’s like “Oh, yeah! Digital downloads!” The next thing you know they’ve ended the business. There’s no more record stores, no more Tower. Where’s it gonna end? There might not be any CD’s in five years.
When did you start your Empire label?
At some point, somebody put out a record of mine—I think it was Soul Note—bought a tape from me and then I did that Columbia stuff, these two records for CBS, and once that happened I sort of had a career in music. I was making a living, which was around ’87 might have been the first year that I made a living touring. At the time, I was happy not to be doing it myself. Basically, the Columbia stuff—I don’t know how much it sold—but it certainly made a difference in terms of touring and press and all that bullshit. The Soul Note shit didn’t hurt and so I was kind of on my way for a while, kind of enjoying that. I then went to JMT, made ten records and that was all great.
How was your experience at Columbia?
It was great. I was basically doing everything myself; the downside was they could give a shit. They weren’t into it. The whole thing was a fluke. It’s a long story but some guy talked them into it, led them to believe I think it was gonna be a new age record or something. Then it got so much press, they couldn’t really ignore it, they couldn’t say “Oh, we’re dropping this guy.” They just got all this insane press and so I got to do second one just based on the fumes from that. The second one—which was a great experience—I had a slightly bigger budget to record and I made, what I consider, a great sounding record and everything just went great in terms of making it. But the second I made it, I knew the handwriting was on the wall. I tried to have a meeting with some guy to talk about supporting a tour and he just looked at me like “What are you? Crazy?” So, even though I was touring, they didn’t—whereas ECM will support it and do tons of press around the tour—these guys didn’t do shit. I argued with them and said ‘Isn’t that kind of counterproductive?” [laughing]. But I realized they’d rather put out a record and eat it. It’s hard to imagine the logic. I guess it was easier for them to just put out the record instead of having a confrontation, get the press, then write it off rather than actually do some work and risk having to do another one. It sounds absurd but I think it’s true.
Which venues were you playing in New York in the ’80s?
Well, it was much better. I did a week at Sweet Basil in 1987—I think after the second Columbia record. Two years later, I couldn’t get a gig there and we did great business. All of a sudden, it just was like “Huh?” [laughing]. I can’t get [gigs there]… it was weird. But at the time, I remember playing there a few times, doing a week there. It wasn’t what it is now, which is just a million different door gigs, some of which are fun to play; some aren’t as much. But as far as getting a paid gig in New York, I can’t get in the door at Manhattan jazz clubs even if I could sell him out ten times over. I can handle a little bit of humiliation [laughing] but I’m not really that good at groveling at this point so I’m not gonna harass these guys. But it’s interesting that me and my friends, who really do good business when we play these places like Jazz Standard or whatever, and I’m sure I would do great business at the Vanguard. But you have to get in and I don’t need to do it, I guess, at this point but it would be nice to actually to a week in New York. I do shit like that at The Stone where I’d get a week at the Stone and I’ll just play every night.
But it was different then. The tours were actually better, like the Europe tours in the late ’80s and early ’90s, things were rolling. We were doing three-week tours; we were doing twenty gigs in a row and that was unusual then. Now it’s hard again and I have to blame the Internet [laughing] because now anybody can send an email to a promoter and email them the music and you got all these bands—young bands—selling their shit really cheap to do a tour, just so they could do it. I understand; I was in my twenties and the idea of going to Europe and fartin’ around and playing and even if I wasn’t making any money would be fun. But that’s what’s happening and you no longer have to get to the few agents there are and kind of—I wouldn’t say pay your dues—but get recognized on how you can just do it yourself if you have the initiative. It’s really competitive.
Do you think there is more of an audience in Europe for the music you do than here in New
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