This post is the first in an occasional series in which the Mirlo stewards write about the books they are reading. Roberta gets us started with this report on How Soon Is Now? The Madmen and Mavericks Who Made Independent Music 1975-2005 by Richard King.
The library where I live is a small-fronted, nondescript building opening out onto a busy bus stop, with a multitude of A4 posters advertising local interest groups aimed at children and retirees plus occasional poetry. I had lost my library card a little while ago and one day, on a whim, decided I would go in and replace it, because it was nice to have one, even though the local area is well-serviced by charity shops selling paperbacks and a labyrinthian bookshop on the high street (featuring shredded 1970s carpets on splintered narrow stairs and uneven floors that feel like they might collapse in on themselves at any given second, but the selection is probably the best I've seen anywhere). Anyway, I went in and replaced my card and, having some time to kill, I thought I would wander around and see if anything had changed since I last printed off a gig poster.
As it turns out, the middle section of the building is actually massive and there are sprawling shelves which make up the entertainment, music and culture section. What I had mistaken for the children's section contained a David Lynch biography I hadn't read, Jennifer Otter Bickdicke's volume on Nico and the subject of this blog, a book called How Soon Is Now? The Madmen and Mavericks Who Made Independent Music 1975-2005. Not exactly bedtime story reading. I also now have Liz Pelly's Spotify book reserved for my eighty pence and have been taunted by it on the shelf at the reception on a couple of follow-up visits, as it waits for the previous reservee to collect it. Oh well.
How Soon Is Now? by Richard King documents, as one would expect, the trials and tribulations of many of the heavy hitters of UK independent music and does so in a hilariously indiscreet, vivid and detailed way. Other reviews of the book mention that it could be the UK counterpart to the beloved title Our Band Could Be Your Life which documents the US underground, but I found that there was something a little more scattershot (and sometimes incidents that made for tense reading) about the collection of characters in this book. It is meticulous in its background on Rough Trade and its famous record shop distribution system "The Cartel", with its democratic, co-op origins. As the book progresses, it is fascinating in showing how labels have either refused to interface with the wider, "mainstream" industry or been assimilated into it, sometimes willingly (in the case of Creation), and sometimes because of mismanagement. Also highlighted are constant mismatches of expectations where big promises unravel and communications break down—which is perhaps why, through Mirlo, we're keen to give musicians and labels the code structure, resources and encouragement to thrive on their own terms, rather than be beholden to any single entity. (Let's also take this opportunity to shout out the work that Jam, Fairplayer, Bandwagon, Ampwall and Faircamp are doing with us to build towards an interoperable standard for independent music).
The layout of the book means that each label is given its own chapter, with quotes and insights often direct from the source. It mentions decentralisation (a subject that has also been warmly discussed at length on Fun Music Place) and the idealism at the start of many of these projects. However, as names intertwine, bands are poached by majors, indies find themselves routing operations through majors as a financial compromise (perhaps it serves as a warning against prioritising scale above all else) and different areas crash and burn (including the demise of Rough Trade's distribution arm), I could almost see the parallel universe running alongside it, showing the music ecosystem we could've had. And why we should hold back on some of that rose-tinted nostalgia for the 90s.
These facets, however, speak to something which is unfolding in the current timeline too, which is the effort to sustain independence and the compromises that sometimes get made. Perhaps investors get deeply involved. And why do they get involved? Maybe it's a pact promising visibility and access to contacts, in return for doing a lot of the work for those larger investors or corporate entities (it is rarely just for philanthropy). We can see this developing now in the world of indie distribution and in many of the spaces that claim to be the answer to all of indie musicians' problems. We also find ourselves interfacing with some of these issues. In committing to our total independence and treading carefully with each and any financial premise, we may often rely on goodwill, grants and fundraising more than an organisation that has "startup" funding or a parent company. Outside of baked-in sociocratic principles, it may be easier for folks to be swayed by the security of external capital. They may avoid anything political or there may be ill-feeling between stakeholders of different backgrounds and needs. Localism and community may take a backseat or be dismissed altogether in favour of what is homogenous or an easy sell. All of these fragile relationships and possibilities are on display in How Soon Is Now?
Ultimately, the books serves as a reminder that “the road to hell is paved with good intentions” and without open dialogues, action and regular accountability, all we do is risk further clouding the definition of “independence”, as musicians operating in service of the ecosystem rather than the industry continue to be the canaries in the coal mine. We, as musicians, remain in desperate need of a functional system in which to exist and with a different Smiths song in mind from that of the book: Please, please, please let us get what we want.
Quotes from How Soon Is Now?
On decentralisation:
"First of all he wanted to develop the independent retailers that were increasingly the hub of their local activity, says Boon. 'You'd have a shop like Probe in Liverpool, who'd phone all these other people saying, "Well, I've got this, listen."
If you're developing a programme or policy of access, decentralisation is something to support and encourage. There was a sense that there were people out there on the same wavelength who would talk to each other and there was a community of interest, even if you didn’t necessarily like what someone else in the community was doing.’"
"…the idea was that no cog in The Cartel's chain would be more powerful than any other. Each distributor would provide a point of access and egress for any band, label or fanzine writer that wanted to lock into Rough Trade Distribution's perpetually turning wheel, thus ensuring nationwide distribution without the need to supply and co-ordinate their releases via the hothouse of London."
A success of decentralisation:
Small 'bedroom' record companies, like Vindaloo Records in Birmingham, Bristol's Subway Organisation and Ron Johnson Records, which was based in Derbyshire, were a new generation of micro labels that had sprung up as a result of the localism of The Cartel and been one of its grassroots successes.
The Factory label's brush with the big time:
"‘…he saw that corporations could extend your mental brand. He was fascinated with the level of executives that were out here. It's the exact opposite in the UK - the guys who tended to take the corporate jobs in the UK you rightly didn'twant to hang out with, but the guys who were running The Cartel were really cool, really interesting, but they didn't have any money. They hated corporate money, there were no private jets. So here was a revelation to Tony, that cool guys could take corporate money - what a barn burning idea.'"
On the changes within Rough Trade:
Many of those ideas had come from Richard Scott, who had left in 1988, dispirited that the idea of providing an alternative structure to the mainstream, which functioned around such ideas like de-centralisation and mutuality, had long been ceded to market share and competition. The Cartel, his lasting legacy, was disbanded in the summer of 1990. Two of its members, Red Rhino in Leeds and Fast Forward in Scotland, had already ceased trading.
On breaking with idealism:
The equal pay structure and co-operative ethos were abandoned in favour of a performance-related scheme and The Cartel was replaced with a centrally controlled dístribution system. In its new offices, boasting such industry conventions as a receptionist and a layer of middle management, Rough Trade was now a small and reasonably orthodox version of a major entertainment conglomerate: record company, publishing company and distribution service, all contained in one central hub.
On the leftist origins of the indie label structure:
In the wider culture of the times, ideas like co-operatives and self-critiquing organisations like Rough Trade that promoted feminism and vegetarianism and were anti-apartheid were encouraging behaviour that would get criticised as PC during the ascendency of the New Right and the New Lad backlash of the mid-Nineties. Rough Trade and its perceived ethos crystallised at a moment when the Left, enthused by movements like Rock Against Racism, held great sway over the emerging DIY and alternative cultures.
In the early Eighties this emerging sense of the Left being on the side of street culture was disseminated through concerts against apartheid and benefits for Nicaragua and Afghanistan; and as Thomas discovered, there was a market for the music associated, however vaguely, with the prevailing ideas of protest and counter-culture of the time.
As an addition to this piece, in the last few days Rough Trade have announced a global streaming partnership with Qobuz.
This is a companion discussion topic for the original entry at https://mirlo.space/team/posts/661