FRI., JANUARY 16, 2009
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eMusic Q&A: Bon Iver
by Amanda Petrusich
2008 was an epic year for Bon Iver, the alias of Eau Claire, Wisconsin's Justin Vernon. For Emma, Forever Ago, Bon Iver's self-released debut, was picked up by Jagjaguwar and promptly seized upon by swooning fans, eventually rocketing to the tip-top of eMusic's year-end user poll. For Emma's oft-repeated legend (Vernon camped out in a remote Wisconsin shack for three long, secluded months) helped the record gain footing, but ultimately it was Vernon's songs — rich, trembling acoustic laments — that sealed his future. Just before the release of Blood Bank, a four-song follow-up EP, eMusic talked to Vernon about the last twelve months.
Even though For Emma, Forever Ago was technically released in 2007, 2008 was a big year for you. Was there a particular moment when you became cognizant of the record's popularity, or realized that things were about to change for you?
I don't know. I don't know if I've realized it yet. [Laughs]. I think I'm little bit behind with everything, but I think that internally, I don't necessarily need to know how well it's doing. I don't know if it's inherently important. Do you know what I mean?
Sure. Have you also made the wise decision to not read things that are written about you?
Yeah, I try not to read anything. In the beginning I read a few [reviews] and they were really touching and stuff, but I thought 'Well, I don't need to know this.' I don't need to figure this out or whatever — I don't necessarily need to hear what people are saying because I've already got an idea of what it means to me.
For Emma feels very American to me, and I mean that in the best way — it feels very tied to its place. Have you noticed any difference in the way the songs have been received abroad?
It's funny, I get asked that question a lot, and I think it's kind of a cool question. The answer is no, and that's been kind of a fun thing to observe, because everywhere we go it seems like people are having similar reactions, similar attitudes about it. It's bizarre to be in Belgium and then to be in Minneapolis, and to have it be the same people [in the audience] — obviously, there are different cultural things and whatever, but it feels like one thing.
The mythology of For Emma has become so entrenched in the way people talk and think about that record. Do you ever regret letting that story out?
No, not at all. For me, that is the story of the record. I think so much of what records are are records of events — of when someone is making a record, what's going on in his or her life at that time. It seemed natural to tie that in. When my manager Kyle and I first decided that we wanted to work together we decided to put something up on the website talking about where these songs came from. I still believe in that. There are days when I'm tired of it, and maybe feel a little bit self-conscious about the fact that people think I made up a story — or even if I didn't make it up, that I'm capitalizing on it somehow. But at the end of the day, I'm confident that it's an important part of the record, at least as context.
Do you think context, in general, is important? Do you like to know how and when and why and how something was made?
It changes the meaning of it sometimes. If you're listening to a record and it sounds scratchy, you're going to think 'Oh, this is a digitally remastered blues recording from the 1930s or 40s.' I think it's an important context, because what people are singing about and why changes as our culture changes.
You played your final show of 2008 in Eau Claire.
JV: I can't exaggerate how special that night was. I built it up — everyone built it up, for obvious reasons: it was the last show of the year, and it was in my hometown. But a lot of people did a lot of things to make it even more special. A friend of mine — and I'm lucky to call him my friend — is an author. His name is Mike Perry, and it turns out that he's my neighbor. He's a friend and a humungous mentor and a hero. I asked him to read before the show, and he read from [his novel] Population 45 and from his other books, and then he read this new thing — everyone had been laughing and having a good time, and then he got super serious and read this thing that he had written for this particular night. And it transitioned into us playing. I was sitting behind the curtain listening to him, and I was way beside myself — it was an out-of-body experience. It was really special to have everyone that had been there for me in my life in one place at one time, watching us play.
The piece he read — was it about your music?
It was an incantation about deer hunting, actually. He was equating me making this record to sitting in the woods and waiting until you were able to expunge a certain part of your spirit — I can't explain it because he's the writer, but it was unbelievable. It was this thing that tied into the story of my year and my life and the story of the band and him and everybody there — I don't know how he did it, but he did it.
Is Wisconsin the most comfortable place for you, as a songwriter? Or do you also write on the road?
JV: I don't write on the road because I've developed a new way of writing, where I write and record at the same time. It's impossible to record on the road, and my mind just isn't flexible enough. I haven't even begun to write a song all year. When I get home from Australia in February, I'm going to sit down for three months and disappear and make a new record.
It seems like that's part of your process, then — a little bit of isolation?
Yeah, it's not as much about the isolation or the privacy itself — it's about sealing my mind, protecting it from all the attitudes or ideas out there that might confuse me from my natural path. That sounds weirdly Zen or something, but it's important for me to have that stillness.
The Blood Bank EP will start out as a vinyl-only release.
I'm not a vinyl purist by any means, but I thought it would be cool to give people who listen to vinyl a chance to have something first. It wasn't exactly all my idea, it was everyone at the label, too.
Black gospel music and blues and early white folk, but especially black gospel music — that's a cornerstone for me, vocally and emotionally. How it has influenced me is incalculable.
The EP has this amazing opening line: I met you at the blood bank, we were looking at the bags. Where did that come from?
I was watching Northern Exposure— you know that show? Oh man.
OK, so you must be talking about the episode where they have town blood drive.
Exactly. I wrote "Blood Bank" in like five minutes after I watched that episode.
That's such a great episode. What's remarkable to me about Northern Exposure is how well it has aged — it doesn't feel dated at all.
It's incredible. Are you watching it right now? I've been re-watching bits and pieces of it.
Well, I don't want you to skip ahead, because it's worth it to watch the whole thing in order, but there's an episode in Season 5 where you'll be like, oh, there's the Bon Iver episode, for sure. Wait for it. It's really good.
I imagine that you're going to be answering this question an awful lot, but how did you decide to use Auto-tune on "Woods"? Did you have any experience with it before?
I've used it in certain other projects, and I've used it in really folksy, organic sounding songs, as an effect. It's a technique. People are like 'Ooh, Auto-tune is the new thing, people are using it, Kanye's using it, should I be using it?' To me, that's a hilarious argument, because people don't question whether or not you should use reverb. It's a recording technique, and I like using it, and it's really fun, and that's kind of it. Definitely some people have been like 'What's up with that?' and I'm like, uh, I don't know.
Is it different writing songs now, knowing that there's an audience waiting, that there's going to be that kind of feedback? Or are you going about it the way you've always gone about it?
I'm going to go about it not necessarily the way that I always have, but the way that I'm going to go about it. I'm not going to be influenced by anything that's not worth being influenced by. I guess that sounds obvious, but I'm just going to sit down and do music. While all this stuff can be very distracting and everything, I'm just going to turn it all off and be the person that I am.
Within indie rock, there's been a bit of resurgence of interest in early American folk and blues. Is that something you consider an influence?
Without question. Black gospel music and blues and early white folk, but especially black gospel music — that's a cornerstone for me, vocally and emotionally. How it has influenced me is incalculable.
I think anyone can hear the gospel influence in your vocals — it's really palpable. Do you listen to sacred harp singing?
Yeah! That's a whole other arm to the way that I think about harmony and how vocals fit together and what they can do emotionally.
Do you feel a sense of community within that indie-rock world, with other groups that are drawing from the same sets of influences?
I don't want to remove myself from anything, but I don't want to include myself in anything that I don't feel like I had anything to do with constructing. My community is gonna be my community, and I think indie rock is entirely too small a community for me to feel like I'm a part of — and simultaneously too large. It's just not right, and it doesn't make any sense to feel like that's what we are. While I'm talking to you here, I'm taking a break from recording a folk opera that's coming out on Righteous Babe records. And Ani DiFranco is singing on it, and my friend Anais Mitchell is writing it, and it's so funny, because so many people spend time trying to group people together, when the people who are out there making the music have no idea what those groups even are, or how relative they all are. Here I am, doing this thing that will never be on Pitchfork, but it doesn't change how important it is to me or why I decided to do it.
Even though For Emma, Forever Ago was technically released in 2007, 2008 was a big year for you. Was there a particular moment when you became cognizant of the record's popularity, or realized that things were about to change for you?
I don't know. I don't know if I've realized it yet. [Laughs]. I think I'm little bit behind with everything, but I think that internally, I don't necessarily need to know how well it's doing. I don't know if it's inherently important. Do you know what I mean?
Sure. Have you also made the wise decision to not read things that are written about you?
Yeah, I try not to read anything. In the beginning I read a few [reviews] and they were really touching and stuff, but I thought 'Well, I don't need to know this.' I don't need to figure this out or whatever — I don't necessarily need to hear what people are saying because I've already got an idea of what it means to me.
For Emma feels very American to me, and I mean that in the best way — it feels very tied to its place. Have you noticed any difference in the way the songs have been received abroad?
It's funny, I get asked that question a lot, and I think it's kind of a cool question. The answer is no, and that's been kind of a fun thing to observe, because everywhere we go it seems like people are having similar reactions, similar attitudes about it. It's bizarre to be in Belgium and then to be in Minneapolis, and to have it be the same people [in the audience] — obviously, there are different cultural things and whatever, but it feels like one thing.
The mythology of For Emma has become so entrenched in the way people talk and think about that record. Do you ever regret letting that story out?
No, not at all. For me, that is the story of the record. I think so much of what records are are records of events — of when someone is making a record, what's going on in his or her life at that time. It seemed natural to tie that in. When my manager Kyle and I first decided that we wanted to work together we decided to put something up on the website talking about where these songs came from. I still believe in that. There are days when I'm tired of it, and maybe feel a little bit self-conscious about the fact that people think I made up a story — or even if I didn't make it up, that I'm capitalizing on it somehow. But at the end of the day, I'm confident that it's an important part of the record, at least as context.
Do you think context, in general, is important? Do you like to know how and when and why and how something was made?
It changes the meaning of it sometimes. If you're listening to a record and it sounds scratchy, you're going to think 'Oh, this is a digitally remastered blues recording from the 1930s or 40s.' I think it's an important context, because what people are singing about and why changes as our culture changes.
You played your final show of 2008 in Eau Claire.
JV: I can't exaggerate how special that night was. I built it up — everyone built it up, for obvious reasons: it was the last show of the year, and it was in my hometown. But a lot of people did a lot of things to make it even more special. A friend of mine — and I'm lucky to call him my friend — is an author. His name is Mike Perry, and it turns out that he's my neighbor. He's a friend and a humungous mentor and a hero. I asked him to read before the show, and he read from [his novel] Population 45 and from his other books, and then he read this new thing — everyone had been laughing and having a good time, and then he got super serious and read this thing that he had written for this particular night. And it transitioned into us playing. I was sitting behind the curtain listening to him, and I was way beside myself — it was an out-of-body experience. It was really special to have everyone that had been there for me in my life in one place at one time, watching us play.
The piece he read — was it about your music?
It was an incantation about deer hunting, actually. He was equating me making this record to sitting in the woods and waiting until you were able to expunge a certain part of your spirit — I can't explain it because he's the writer, but it was unbelievable. It was this thing that tied into the story of my year and my life and the story of the band and him and everybody there — I don't know how he did it, but he did it.
Is Wisconsin the most comfortable place for you, as a songwriter? Or do you also write on the road?
JV: I don't write on the road because I've developed a new way of writing, where I write and record at the same time. It's impossible to record on the road, and my mind just isn't flexible enough. I haven't even begun to write a song all year. When I get home from Australia in February, I'm going to sit down for three months and disappear and make a new record.
It seems like that's part of your process, then — a little bit of isolation?
Yeah, it's not as much about the isolation or the privacy itself — it's about sealing my mind, protecting it from all the attitudes or ideas out there that might confuse me from my natural path. That sounds weirdly Zen or something, but it's important for me to have that stillness.
The Blood Bank EP will start out as a vinyl-only release.
I'm not a vinyl purist by any means, but I thought it would be cool to give people who listen to vinyl a chance to have something first. It wasn't exactly all my idea, it was everyone at the label, too.
The EP has this amazing opening line: I met you at the blood bank, we were looking at the bags. Where did that come from?
I was watching Northern Exposure— you know that show? Oh man.
OK, so you must be talking about the episode where they have town blood drive.
Exactly. I wrote "Blood Bank" in like five minutes after I watched that episode.
That's such a great episode. What's remarkable to me about Northern Exposure is how well it has aged — it doesn't feel dated at all.
It's incredible. Are you watching it right now? I've been re-watching bits and pieces of it.
Well, I don't want you to skip ahead, because it's worth it to watch the whole thing in order, but there's an episode in Season 5 where you'll be like, oh, there's the Bon Iver episode, for sure. Wait for it. It's really good.
I imagine that you're going to be answering this question an awful lot, but how did you decide to use Auto-tune on "Woods"? Did you have any experience with it before?
I've used it in certain other projects, and I've used it in really folksy, organic sounding songs, as an effect. It's a technique. People are like 'Ooh, Auto-tune is the new thing, people are using it, Kanye's using it, should I be using it?' To me, that's a hilarious argument, because people don't question whether or not you should use reverb. It's a recording technique, and I like using it, and it's really fun, and that's kind of it. Definitely some people have been like 'What's up with that?' and I'm like, uh, I don't know.
Is it different writing songs now, knowing that there's an audience waiting, that there's going to be that kind of feedback? Or are you going about it the way you've always gone about it?
I'm going to go about it not necessarily the way that I always have, but the way that I'm going to go about it. I'm not going to be influenced by anything that's not worth being influenced by. I guess that sounds obvious, but I'm just going to sit down and do music. While all this stuff can be very distracting and everything, I'm just going to turn it all off and be the person that I am.
Within indie rock, there's been a bit of resurgence of interest in early American folk and blues. Is that something you consider an influence?
Without question. Black gospel music and blues and early white folk, but especially black gospel music — that's a cornerstone for me, vocally and emotionally. How it has influenced me is incalculable.
I think anyone can hear the gospel influence in your vocals — it's really palpable. Do you listen to sacred harp singing?
Yeah! That's a whole other arm to the way that I think about harmony and how vocals fit together and what they can do emotionally.
Do you feel a sense of community within that indie-rock world, with other groups that are drawing from the same sets of influences?
I don't want to remove myself from anything, but I don't want to include myself in anything that I don't feel like I had anything to do with constructing. My community is gonna be my community, and I think indie rock is entirely too small a community for me to feel like I'm a part of — and simultaneously too large. It's just not right, and it doesn't make any sense to feel like that's what we are. While I'm talking to you here, I'm taking a break from recording a folk opera that's coming out on Righteous Babe records. And Ani DiFranco is singing on it, and my friend Anais Mitchell is writing it, and it's so funny, because so many people spend time trying to group people together, when the people who are out there making the music have no idea what those groups even are, or how relative they all are. Here I am, doing this thing that will never be on Pitchfork, but it doesn't change how important it is to me or why I decided to do it.
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