Pitchfork: I was a bit surprised by your new album.
Chan Marshall: How's that?
Pitchfork: It's definitely the most uptempo-- and probably the most upbeat-- record you've ever made.
CM: That's for sure. It's because I'm not sitting down with a guitar; my tempo is usually pretty slow because I don't know how to play that well. I also never took lessons, so I don't really know where I'm going. I've always written alone, and then walked in the studio, knew what songs I was doing, and went for it, because I've never had money. But I got a business manager after The Greatest, when I went bankrupt and got in debt. I had to cancel a tour because I was hospitalized [in 2006]. I had my house in foreclosure, and I hadn't paid taxes in two years. So I needed the business manager to clean it all up.
Pitchfork: That all sounds fairly traumatic.
CM: It was a pretty intense period. A lot of times, some people have thought I was crazy, like, "Oh, what are you doing?" But actually, when I work, I work very hard. I'm the first day of the Aquarius, so I'm very Capricorn-ish, which is the most working sign. But I also I have the flightiness of Aquarius. So people don't actually know that I mean what I say when I say it. They think I'm just nuts because I'm kind of manic because I work all the time.
So, to get away from people second guessing me and what I was going to do with the advance for this album, I said, "I'm going to fucking pay for this shit myself." I knew that'd be the only way I could control things, because I don't have a manager. I don't want a manager. I didn't work all these years to have some suave millionaire walk through my door: "Let me tell you what you should do because I've got multi-platinum artists." Whatever. I'd rather have Mary J. Blige's manager, who's also her husband-- someone that's super protective.
Pitchfork: How did you get back on track after that rough patch?
CM: Once I met with the business manager and I was on tour with Memphis Rhythm Band [for The Greatest] and I was looking at the audience, it was really awe-inspiring because I got to see all these people's faces for the first time. A long time ago, Jonathan Richman was talking to my friend in Iceland. She said, "If I was up there onstage, I would just be dancing around!" And that made me cry. But then Jonathan Richman said, "When you're playing by yourself in front of a lot of people, it's like there's a matador and a bull, and you don't know which one you are. But the one thing you do know is that the crowd wants to see one of you die and one of you survive." That made me so relaxed.
Anyway, this time, I wanted to call the shots to make sure I got what I needed to be done. So I cashed out my retirement fund, because I had no money, and moved to L.A. because I was in a relationship with someone. We actually aren't together anymore, and I just moved back to the East Coast three months ago. But in L.A., I was writing all these really slow guitar songs, and my friend said, "This is like depressing old Cat Power," which made me feel like I got shot. I didn't work for eight months after that.
But then I went back to [recording studio] The Boat, and that's when the skeleton of this record started. I had no fucking idea what to do, but I knew I was not going to even look at a piano or touch a guitar. So I started out with a weird synthesizer. I was like, "What's that?" And this girl I know said, "Oh, that's the X4ENO"-- whatever it's called. So I pressed and it, and it went like, "Eeeeeoooowwwwww." It made weird sounds, so I said, "OK."
The engineer I was working with was so tired of waiting around for me to ask him to record something-- he'd be on Facebook, or playing a game on the computer. But eventually, I had these skeletons of songs. But then I felt like a failure because I thought, "This is not fucking good, I don't know what I'm doing." And I didn't know what I was doing. I had lyrics and a beat and notes, but I didn't have anything else. It sounded like a naked, shivering alien.
So I got [touring band] the Dirty Delta Blues to come to my house in Malibu and I played them these skeletons in their headphones. I said, "All right, now let's play along live." We did that for five months, intermittently. We were touring, and I was trying to get them to be tighter live, so when we returned it would get tighter, too. But it didn't work out the way I hoped. On the album, "Ruin" is the only song that you hear the band on.
So I had a big old mess in front of me, and again, I thought, "I don't know what I'm going to do." Then I heard a song on the radio from the Beastie Boys' [Hot Sauce Committee Part Two], and, just listening to it, I could understand how difficult it was to mix. So I Googled "Beastie Boys Hot Sauce Mixer." And then I saw Philippe Zdar's name and I forwarded it to my record label, and they said, "He can meet you in two weeks in Paris."
When I first met with him, I didn't want to be too friendly because I didn't want him to feel bad if he didn't like my songs. He said, "Do you want a coffee?" I said, "No-- here, listen to this." And he listened and said, "I want to do it, but I'm not going to do too much." And I said, "Good, because I don't want a fucking producer." I'd been getting a lot of pressure that I needed a producer, but I knew that I didn't because I never used one before. I've only ever used engineers. Telling someone they need a producer is like telling them that they need a nose job-- it activates something in you that makes you feel like a loser.
So then Philippe said, "When do you need the mix by?" I said, "Three weeks." He said, "I'm going on a family holiday for a month and a half in two days." I laughed because that was great-- I knew my record wasn't done. That was a year ago. I told him, "Here's the problem: I have no money. Can I use your studio, and when I hand them the record, they can give me some money to pay you back?" He said, "That's fine."
I met Philippe's friend Jeff Dominguez-- who normally does French hip-hop-- and he was the engineer that sat with me for almost eight months. I was just recording when Phillippe was gone, pulling the skeletons together, laying on the muscle, skin, hair texture, color. And then Philippe would come in now and again and say, "What do you want to mix?" And we'd go over it, and I'd be like, "That guitar is way too loud, and I do not like that slapback [effect] on my vocal, or whatever." And it went on like that until April, when I finished.
Pitchfork: So you weren't really familiar with Philippe before you started working with him?
CM: No. When Philippe was out of town, his assistant would be like, "Oh, Jay-Z and Kanye took [Cassius' 'I Love You So'] and made it their song ['Why I Love You']." And I'm like, "What are you talking about?" Then they played the Cassius song, [sings] "Oh, I love you so." I love Jay-Z. I love hip-hop. I love that shit. That's basically the only real modern music I listen to. So that was really cool to know.
There's a Bryan Ferry vibe going on with Philippe, but he's such a gentlemen and he offered me so much protection, like a big brother. And I had an apartment in Montmartre, and then another in Pigalle. I loved Paris. France is the first the country besides America that gave me big ups when I was young, so it was cool to take it back there.
Pitchfork: With this new album, do you feel like you're in a better position as far as money and being organized and everything?
CM: Well, I'm getting my first personal assistant to travel with me when I begin rehearsals in September. I'm getting that instead of just a tour manager, because all my tour managers go crazy. The best tour manager I've ever had said, "I can't work with you anymore unless you get a manager." So I'm going to have to hire a production assistant and a personal assistant as soon as possible-- if you know anyone, let me know. I still don't have a lot of money, so it's not going to be some fancy pants. But that person has to hang out with me for a really long time. And I love having a production assistant to help me with the stage, because I have this cool guy who does really magnificent stage design. I have all these ideas. I want the show be very neanderthal sci-fi-- but I can't tell you the secret recipe yet.