Month: April 2024

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The Good Times Are Killing Me, Dear Leader

Boston is well known for its music scene, having brought a huge number of influential bands to the world stage over the decades. Home to Berklee College of Music, as well, so it’s no surprise there is a rich seam of artists to mine. One of those artists is Aaron Perrino.

This might not be a name that you know, but you’ll likely know his songs. For several years after forming Dear Leader’s predecessor, The Sheila Divine, he toured the world in support of bands as huge as Primal Scream, No Doubt, and David Bowie. And while I’m not advocating burnout, it’s thanks to his brutal touring schedule that we have The Good Times Are Killing Me.

However, in 2003 when this collection of songs was coming together, that phrase was most associated with Modest Mouse. Which might explain why this album escaped the global success it surely deserves. So, 20 years on, it’s time to shine a light on Dear Leader’s debut, a CD-only release on Boston indie label, Lunch Records. This is the label Aaron has been with since his first recordings, and remains with them today.

Opening track Motto is, for all intents and purposes, the actual maxim of the band. It sets out the stall for the nine songs which follow: the anthemic composition that has become the band’s signature, the introspective lyrics which cast out dark social and political themes. None more so than on the lyrics of Committing Fusion, set against the burbling electronics where the words ‘I don’t believe in fate, or the church and state’ take on a mantra. It calls to mind the best of U2’s songwriting, before they got annoyingly formulaic and self-conscious, or (perhaps more fittingly) the songs of The Postal Service.

It helps that Aaron pulled in John Dragonetti of Jack Drag and The Submarines fame to produce. His touch is evident in the beautiful details in each composition, and provides The Good Times Are Killing Me with the distinctive sound that carries across the entire output of Dear Leader. There’s a twinkle in each song that you uncover on subsequent listens. It also means we get Blake Hazard guesting on Culture Vultures so that even its simple instrumentation feels like it’s painted with a broader palette.

There are still moments that catch the listener out and prevent the album falling into the trap of being a collection of similar sounding songs. This is especially noticeable on the rhythm of If The House Spoke which feels both bouncy and fast and languid and slowed down. It’s effect is to bring a haunted quality to an indie pop song. The middle eight is like the blammo! moment when an LSD trip kicks in, before you’re dropped back into reality as easily as if you’d sat down on the world’s cosiest sofa. For that brief moment when you’re feeling as if you’re hallucinating, the bliss levels are close to overflowing. It’s really quite something.

Why this album has never come out on vinyl is anyone’s guess. Perhaps the era, perhaps a choice. It has the feel of an album that would sound even richer (if that is possible) when listened to on some wax. Only hearing it live would eclipse that experience. 20 years on, perhaps we might get a chance to find out. For now, we it’s available on streaming platforms and YouTube, or you can find it on CD in the usual places.

YouTube playlist of the album.
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The Muslims, The Soft Pack

Black and white photograph of the four members of The Soft Pack. It's over-exposed.

When I read this title back to myself, I think it’s backwards. That’s because The Soft Pack were once called The Muslims but got some hate and heat from that back in 2007 when they first burst on to the indie rock scene. So they changed it, releasing their debut (which contained many of these songs) as The Soft Pack.

I’m of the belief that the original name of the band was great. (That name now belongs to an all-queer black and brown punk band – their words – who hail from North Carolina.) That said, it’s their band and they can call it what they want – the important thing here is the music.

It’s clear that The Strokes played their part in the sound of The Soft Pack. I imagine This Is It being blasted out and influencing this band from San Diego. It’s got that distinctly east coast vibe rather than the sunny west coast from which they hail. It’s DIY, with thrashy drums up front and vocals low in the mix.

I first came across the band when they put out their lead single, Extinction. The video had that perfect film/art school look and feel which singer Matt Lamkin had studied, but somehow was also simple and hypnotic as Matt moved in and out of focus behind the leaves of a tree as the wind blew. It was so different to the flashy MTV-style videos that rap bands were putting out, or indie bands conjured up. That DIY aesthetic again. That song alone hooked me in.

Video for Extinction. Humour involved.

The garage rock sound pervades throughout the album. The production isn’t great, yet it lends itself to the overall sound of the band and, I would like to think, was purposeful. Once they’d changed their name and re-recorded many of the songs, some of that essence was definitely lost. Despite the obvious low production values, the band is a tight unit. They have great riffs in the same way that early Libertines songs have them. Tracks like Call it a Day and the aforementioned Extinction showcase the catchiness of the guitar riffs, the drummer’s pounding but solid beats. The perfect backdrop to singer Matt’s punk rock crooning.

The Soft Pack weren’t necessarily doing anything new or innovative. Yet, somehow, they avoided being completely derivative. On My Time is a good example. It punches out at you from the get-go so you can’t duck and avoid it (not that you’d want to). It’s like the band aimed to obscure their musical abilities while at the same time demonstrate they could write and play simple, brilliant songs.

The shimmering noise of Religion is a band doing things on their own terms – Mark E. Smith would’ve hated them for following his lead in that respect, especially on tracks like American, but as someone who loves The Fall, there are few comparisons to make here beyond hypnotic, rhythmic guitars and occasional vocal barks.

The Soft Pack managed two albums before they ceased to be. This early incarnation of their sound was, perhaps, their best. Unencumbered by media expectations, their desire to make noisy guitar-based music in a garage with their mates was what mattered most. And for that, we can be thankful.

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Unspun Heroes, One Year On

This post feels a little self-indulgent. And I suppose it is. However, with little to celebrate these days in the UK, I’m taking this opportunity to give a little ‘whoop’ of delight and to write up the experience of having an idea and then making it happen. So, you’ll have to either indulge me or stop reading! 😊

It’s been a year. A whole 12 months. 366 days.

Wow.

I’ve had to take in a deep breath, as it still feels like yesterday when I had an initial idea and told Danny and Tom, suggesting we got together and did something, perhaps a listening party of some sort. It was a crap idea, though. But the name, Unspun Heroes, seemed great fun and really spoke to me! On the walk into my local town centre about two weeks later, that crap idea became this thing:

To find and highlight music deserving of wider attention. Where possible, to release this music on vinyl, in small batches of no more than 500. And to do that with love.

I wrote that in a Notes file on my phone that day. The mission hasn’t changed. Every single time I listen to something – or someone approaches me about a possible release – I use it as the guiding principle. Because it is the guiding principle. It means I give a shit about every aspect, whether writing a blog post or sourcing paper stock for inserts, to how someone experiences it when they open the parcel in their own home.

Talk, though, is easy, Taking action is quite a big step. Until you tell people what you’re doing. Then you have to get on with it. There is expectation (and probably quite a few people who expect you to fail, are literally waiting for it). There is accountability.

Most of all, though, there is trepidation. I’d never done anything like this before. My day job is as far away from music, or producing and selling physical products, as you can get. Although, music is something I love. I can’t imagine not enjoying it, not listening to new music and to music I’ve enjoyed for decades, music my parents listened to, music I discovered with my friends, music I bought and music gifted to me.

I’ve always loved finding new music – by which I mean, music I’ve not heard before. I’m not someone who harks back to their favourite music of their youth and only plays that (although I should point out if that’s you then I think that’s all good and I hope it brings you plenty of joy). I will, as my family and friends will confirm, listen to just about anything and probably enjoy it. So, the idea of listening to music that deserves wider attention means I have to step outside my usual playlists, to ask a wide and diverse range of people about what they like. To put my judgement to one side for at least 30 minutes.

Then I can write about it, for the blog.

Weekly… nah
I tried to write a blog each week. When there were others helping, in the early weeks, that was possible. But asking people to write stuff for free only works for so long. After a while writing a blog post each week started to feel like a chore, which went against the mission. The love wasn’t there. So, some weeks there is nothing; some weeks you get two or more posts.

The important thing is that the posts match up to the mission.

And because they do, I find it pays dividends. I can get a sense of what other people like, obviously; however, it allows me to start a conversation with musicians and bands. They already know I love what they’ve done and, if the album hasn’t ever been out on vinyl, it helps them consider if they’d be up for pressing some.

Then we have a chat or three. Which is lovely. Who doesn’t like chatting to musicians you admire about music you love? Without exception, every artist I’ve spoken to, even if they’ve said no (or the record company has said no) has been fabulous. The music industry – the part I’m dealing with – has been wonderful. As has ‘music Twitter’. I feel like I’ve made some long-lasting connections in this first year. And I’ve been introduced to so much music I might never have heard, it can feel like a full-time job listening to it all. But what a job!

How does a job like that pay?

Money, money, money…
Someone once said, the best way to lose money is to press vinyl. Quite possibly true.

The business model means I take on all the risk. It’s my money. All of it. Everyone involved gets paid by me. If I sell enough, I’ll make my money back and the rest is shared equally with the artist.

And it is just me.

I will admit that it’s scary. It’s probably not the right way to do it, either. I do think it focuses the mind, and helps with decisions about design and packaging. It helps determine where compromises will be made – which won’t be quality, that’s for sure. I want every release to bring the wow factor for the listening experience and the unpacking. All while trying to keep costs down for the buyer.

Honestly, I think I’ve sunk in somewhere around £10,000 (I could put the actual costs in, but that ballpark is close enough to give you a sense of how invested I’ve become). That includes branding and trademarks, upfront costs for albums that have been and are being manufactured, warehousing, etc. Yikes. However, if I sell them all, I’ll have paid that back and have enough set aside to pay for some extras on the next one.

And now I’m selling the records I’ve pressed, that amount will fall. It already has. Hopefully, I’ll sell them all and I can keep on bringing albums that deserve wider attention to the market and we can all win.

(A little reminder that you can shop at the Unspun Heroes’ Bandcamp store – or ask your local indie store to get you a copy.)

It takes how long?
Making things takes time. More time than you might think. Especially when it’s just one person managing the process. There have been months of discussions with artists, there is the lead time for pressing, design and print to consider, and posting things around the world to be signed (for example)… A lot of threads need to come together at the right time to make sure the distributor has the items ready to get to stores for a pre-agreed release date.

And stuff goes wrong. Print turns up and it’s wrong. Designs need updating and images can’t be found because the album came out twenty years ago. New liner notes need to be written and the first draft is late or doesn’t cut it, or we can’t find the right person to write them. Yet, with that love and some perseverance, somehow it all works out.

Then there is the wait while the wonderful team at the pressing plant pack up the records and ship them to me, and to the distributor.

Yes, there are test pressings, artwork proofs, lots of video calls and phone calls. Lots of the time, though, is just silence. And yet you have to be telling people what they can expect. There are press releases to organise, press packs to send out, photos to take or mock up. There is always something to do and then suddenly your family home is full of boxes and boxes: records, mailers, packing tape, obi strips, inserts, and boxes of boxes. So. Many. Boxes.

What this means is, I won’t be releasing ten albums a year (at least, not yet!) and will probably limit it to two releases across a 12-month period; one in the spring and one in the late summer or autumn. Build a foundation and work up from there.

(I have 36 34 rolls of branded packing tape, so I think I need to use that up before I even think about stopping.)

Again?
The first release has felt like a baptism of fire. I’ve probably made lots of mistakes, but it’s been a lot of fun. Most of the time. At the time of writing, sales figures haven’t been tallied, but the last two weeks feels like it has been successful – there are records leaving my house every week and I’ve had some wonderful reviews – from stores, from magazines and online sites, and from customers. I’ve loved sending them out, each one with a little bit of personalisation. And the branded tape (probably one of my favourite things).

All this shipping has been happening while I’ve been dealing with the second release, and setting up the third and fourth releases. There are two other possible further releases sat in the sidelines, too.

I have to realise that I’m selling records that people don’t necessarily know, so it’s a tough job but… but I’m doing this with love and I think that caring about the release – how it looks, how it sounds, what the unboxing experience is like, how it unfolds and feels in your hands. Not cutting corners and not pushing for profit alone.

I want to feel proud of the releases that Unspun Heroes puts out. And I do.

I’m even more proud of the second release that’s coming up. There are some aspects of it that haven’t been done before (because they cost more money). It has a signed variant. The insert is really special (which is saying something considering that the insert on the James Varda is almost a metre of print when you open it out). And the band that are involved are amazing. Lovely people who made brilliant music – and continue to make brilliant music – and have trusted me with their art.

More on that later.

Okay, let’s wrap this up
While there is only me, I’m not on my own. I’ve got my great friends singing my praises and supporting me. My family are incredibly supportive (despite the boxes). I’ve said that music Twitter has been amazing and those who moved over to other social media platforms continue to be a source of inspiration.

The indie labels are also brilliantly supportive. They’ve shared tips and ideas. I hope that, in some way, I have helped to inspire them (or will do at some point).

Indie stores, too. I’ve decided not to sell through certain large online retailers because my own experience of buying from them means I don’t think they share the same mission when it comes to Unspun Heroes. It may prove to be a terrible commercial decision, but I’ll take that risk.

The music press. Not everyone has taken a risk and written about the label or its first release. That’s hard to take, but I also see how much amazing music comes out each week and so I can live with that. I’m not looking to disappear any time soon, so as word spreads so I hope that I’ll get to know the journalists and magazine editors a little better. The music they share and the words they write are inspiring enough. Those who have written reviews have said things that literally brough a tear to my eye. (If you are a journalist or reviewer and had no idea about what I’m doing, drop me a hello and let’s chat.)

Customers. Until you have one there’s a fear that no one will buy. I’ve been buoyed by the number of deluxe editions that I’ve sold so far. 500 records probably doesn’t seem like many, but I can tell you that even when it’s 300 that’s a scary number of records to sell. I have faith in what I’m trying to do and that others will understand that and buy into it.

While it might be true that I’m my own first customer, I am doing this because I think other people will also want a copy of an album that they may never have heard of until I pointed them in its direction. I’ll learn soon enough when I get my distribution figures.

So, if you’ve been involved in some way over the past year – as a reader, a shouter-from-the-sidelines, a distributor of physical records or website links, selling in store, buying a copy of Chance And Time, or simply telling other people about Unspun Heroes whenever the opportunity arises, then I want to say a huge thank you.

>>THANK YOU<<

Here’s to the next release, and the release after that…