I was one of those kids who read every word of credits, notes, and lyrics on the albums I loved. I probably read every word on the albums I didn’t really care for. I wanted to know everything about music. Of course I paid attention to every record label logo!
As a quick aside, I remember being 12 or 13 and becoming obsessed with the first Clash album (really, I have witnesses). I also loved the first Foreigner album (no shame about it, Feels Like the First Time is still a jam). I noticed that both bands had a guitarist named Mick Jones. I wondered if they could be the same person. I had absolutely no clue about anything, but I was a sponge.
I studied the labels and began to make connections between labels and artists. Kiss was on Casablanca Records, and so was Parliament (a favorite of my dad’s). Both bands wore platform shoes. Donna Summer was on Casablanca too. What was the connection?! RSO had Eric Clapton, but also Saturday Night Fever and, a little later, The Times Square Soundtrack that introduced me to half a dozen amazing “new wave” acts at the start of the 80s.1 I made these connections, but I ended up confused.
When I got seriously into punk rock I paid a lot more attention to labels. Things started to make a lot more sense. I noticed that my favorite acts were often on the same label. SST had Black Flag, The Descendants, Husker Du and The Minutemen. Amazing. Slash had The Germs and The Misfits, but also stuff I liked a lot that pulled me out of hardcore, like Los Lobos, X, Green On Red, and The Dream Syndicate. Dischord had all the great Washington, D.C. bands like Minor Threat, Government Issue, and Scream. Touch & Go had all these great Midwestern hardcore bands such as Die Kreuzen, Negative Approach, and Necros, but also weird shit like Butthole Surfers and Blight. Studying labels helped me to understand the regionalism and structure of the hardcore scene. And believe me, I wanted to know everything.
As I started to play in public, I met people who’d started their own small labels. I learned that creating a label had no real barriers to entry. If you could record some music, come up with artwork (which often meant folding over a Xeroxed sheet for a 7” cover), and if you’re ambitious find a distributor, then you had a label. I started learning the basics of the music business from the punk scene, and most of it seemed very simple. The label usually paid for things, but not always. If the label paid for something, then it was fair for the label to recoup what they spent out of pocket. If the record actually made money (which it rarely did), then the band and the label would split the money. It never crossed my mind to consider who actually owned it. What did it matter? We weren’t thinking ahead: we put out records to get shows, or reviews, or for bragging rights. In those days I never heard anyone contemplate the possibility that those records would have any value decades on. It was an underground community that most of us assumed would always be underground. It existed completely separate from anything resembling the mainstream music business.
I had that foundation of knowledge when I moved to Boston, and that’s how I knew what to do to put out the first Blake Babies album. In punk rock, that’s what you did as soon as possible: put a record out. You put a record out, then you go on tour. I was doing exactly that in high school. Most of those local bands were just trying to get people to their gigs in town, hoping for a scout. When we met the Lemonheads guys, they’d learned the same lessons from their hardcore scene. That’s one of the reasons we connected right away: we were all coming off a few years of deep immersion in hardcore culture. We wanted to stay in that world, but we wanted to make different music. That’s the bedrock of the U.S. rock underground since the mid-80s.
We all became a bit label-obsessed as we settled into full-time band life. Labels might represent tight-knit genre cliques, or they might be the key to buying a condo at 23. They might be your biggest regret that caused your band to shit the bed. They might mean you’re finally able to quit your crap job. We sent our tape to all the labels our favorite bands were on: Sire, I.R.S., Slash, and SST. Most of those demos came back unopened.2 We were on our own.
But after a relatively successful self-release with some college radio support, things seemed a little closer. We dared to dream. Homestead was a club we weren’t quite cool enough to join, but we could peek in the window. Taang! was a club of record collector kids laughing at the straight world between bong hits, but it taught me ow things worked up close. Mammoth was a club that actually opened its doors to us, opened the door to my most productive and successful years as a musician. I’m thankful to all those, and many more.
That’s a lot of words as background, but I want any reader to understand that I’ve long been deep in this world. When a door opened for me to be the head of an iconic independent label that’s had real cultural and commercial success in genres I care about? One that loomed in legend for me? I admit I recklessly leapt into that world, and I have no regrets. I needed to do it.
Now I’m back on the artist side of most equations, thinking about labels, and what it means to be “indie.” It used to be a clear divide. Independent labels have had enormous cultural significance, they’ve defined genres and reflected vibrant musical communities. Major labels used to pretend to be Indies for reasons of marketing and development, hoping some of the cool would rub off. For example, a buddy of mine signed Smashing Pumpkins to Virgin Records when all they had out was a Sub/Pop single. My friend confirmed that they put the Pumpkins’ debut, Gish, on affiliated Caroline so that people wouldn’t see it as a major label release. Wanna know who else did that? Guns n’ Roses.
In recent years it’s become at times very hard to tell majors and Indies apart. The truest expression of indie these days is facilitated by open-to-all aggregators such as Distro Kid or TuneCore. You truly don’t need a label to release music in 2024. And at the other end of the spectrum is the actual major labels doing business under their famous brands such as Warner, Columbia, Elektra, etc. Those two categories account for a large percentage of the music universe (though self-release options are the biggest volume by far, as major labels are the biggest share of revenue).
But there’s a lot in the middle. What about a company such as Concord, my former employer, owner of Rounder Records? It’s a closely held company worth billions, and to my knowledge no major music company owns any part of it. Their international distribution partner is Universal, the biggest major. Their recorded music business goes through the Universal system. Is that indie? Technically, I guess so? But practically speaking it’s debatable, though it isn’t a debate anyone is truly interested in having. It’s indie when it’s convenient.
What about a joint venture between a producer’s imprint and a major label? What about an independent company whose contract provides for an “upstream” to a major label? In my opinion, these distinctions don’t matter. Unlike before the consumption model, there often aren’t major differences in resources or approach from one company to another. With streaming platforms, they’re all playing on the same field. In today’s world, Oh Boy Records can compete with Interscope Records at practically every level, including A&R. A rising artist could decide to record with Oh Boy because they love John Prine’s music, they feel connected to the familial vibe or the passion of the team, and they likely would prefer to own their music. Oh Boy has access to many of the same resources as Interscope on the open market or trough industry relationships. The only thing Oh Boy probably can’t, or more likely won’t do, is spend millions dollars to develop an artist into a global superstar. That’s why both Oh Boy and Interscope can thrive in the same business...to a point.
I’m noticing that spheres of influence are changing for younger generations. We can’t expect young fans to care about record label brands when the idea of a record label is becoming so abstract. But still, when I tell young artists in a certain space I ran Rounder Records, they are impressed. Bands still give me lists of labels they’d like me to shop their music to. They know and love artists on these label, and they see them as clubs they might want to join. That tells me they pay attention, and that label culture is still very much a thing for the time being.
And what about the genre we call “indie?” That’s pretty new. You’d occasionally hear someone talk about “indie pop” in the 90s; “indie rock,” same thing. But just “indie?” There are acts we call indie that have multiple releases on a major label. It’s a genre name that I believe means music borne of the culture of indie labels, back when they meant more. This is not to disparage great Indies of my generation such as Merge, Sub Pop, or Secretly Canadian. I know people who started those labels, and who are still involved decades later. They know it’s a different business, and that it would be very difficult for a label to build a brand like that now. Each of those and many more were created on a shoestring by music fans eager to share their favorite acts. They’re brands, but their founders would bristle at that claim. Certain genres and sub-genres emerged from those labels, and the sound of 90s indie informs what we think of as indie today. But it certainly isn’t a catch-all for independent music across genres. Nowadays you hear “indie bluegrass,” and “indie country.” It means a vibrant, independent spirit, not aiming for the mainstream, but of course it could always get there anyway.
I told an industry friend recently that one of the things I’m doing these days is basically free-form A&R. Maybe that’s something I was doing before formally doing A&R, and I couldn’t quite define it that clearly. It feels like a good time to be doing that sort of thing, free from the constraints of a label, free from the whims of some burnt out executive. Since you don’t need a label to develop an artist, but eventually you might need a label to reach a larger audience, it makes sense to start to build without much thought of a label. It’s a frustrating process, but there’s freedom. If it goes well, a label might become a sensible option. Otherwise, there’s work to do.
What if an artist had the chance to become a global superstar, but decided to never have any affiliation with any major label? Would it be possible? Has it happened? I’d like to hear your thoughts. Chance The Rapper built his brand as a true independent, but my understanding is that he cut a deal with at least a major distributor. Same for Macklemore. Tyler Childers and Sturgill left the freedom of working with a label services platform to sign with a major. Sturgill, however, very publicly regretted the choice and returned to the same services platform (Thirty Tigers) that Jason Isbell never left. Jason is an example of a very successful artist who has been truly independent for over a decade. But he isn’t what I’d call a global superstar. Zach Bryan might be a superstar, and he’s recorded for a major for most of his short career.
I think it will be disorienting to live in a post-label world. But in the end it’s more honest. Labels have a bad history of saying whatever they have to say to make a deal, to own an artist’s music. That was before Taylor Swift made it her mission to shout it from the rooftops that artists should own their work.3 The cultural importance of labels is on the decline, and it isn’t just because you can’t slap a logo on a stream. I see this moment as an opportunity to figure out new ways to create communities around music culture and artist development. We don’t need most of the things that labels used to provide, whether it’s lavish recording budgets, radio promotion, or access to big box retail. Artists certainly don’t need non-musicians telling them how to make their record. What I feel we do need from labels or something to take the label’s place is a way to distinguish and discern quality. Branding is useful, but in the end it isn’t essential to an artist’s success. Mostly it’s just a handy way for us music geeks to find the music they love. Regardless, there will be other ways.
I’ll conclude with a preview of another article I’m working on. People in this business either contribute value to artists or they extract value from artists. I think we need to hold record labels to that standard. They should get paid, they should make money, only to the extent they contribute to an artist’s career. If a label doesn’t contribute to building an artist’s career in a way that is objectively fair and balanced, they should hang it up and get out of the way.
I knew Patti Smith, Talking Heads, the Ramones, and Lou Reed; but it’s the first time I heard The Cure, David Johansen (knew OF The Dolls but never heard them), The Ruts, XTC, Roxy Music, and Suzi Quatro. I got the soundtrack as a $1 cutout and never saw the movie. But I loved the album. Maybe I’ll rent it tonight.
Getting tapes back unopened offended us at the time, but now I know it was risk-management on the label’s part. People sent unsolicited tapes all the time. If they opened the tape, that could satisfy the first element of copyright infringement: access. They sent them back to communicate that they never listened, so the act had no basis to sue for infringement if something that came out later on the label happened to sound similar to the tape.
God bless her.
I'd be curious to know where you think American Laundromat fits in all of this (without betraying confidentialities, of course). Any label that can nab Tanya Donelly and Juliana Hatfield would seem to get instant credibility for being trusted with the works of such consistently inventive, independent-minded artists, yet the label is not a household name nor a ticket to network talk/variety show appearances. I also feel for everyone involved when their demographic veers into fifty-year-olds-pretending-they're-back-in-college-for-one-night territory, people who don't care about the new material no matter how great it is, but you don't want to bite the hands that feed you. Licensing legacy material for vinyl reissues while being the outlet for brand new works seems like a clever middle ground for such an "indie" label. Thanks!
I'm very curious to see how the infrastructures of music communities are changing now--I appreciate your insights.