Embracing Serendipity
RareNoise Founder Giacomo Bruzzo Talks About His Passions, Building An Artist-Friendly Label Committed To Long Term Viability, And Fostering Community
In 2008, Giacomo Bruzzo, along with guitarist, Eraldo Bernocchi, founded RareNoise Records. Based in London, the label’s first releases embraced a diversity of styles like dubstep, speed metal, ambient soundscapes, and free improvisation—the common denominator being Bruzzo’s passion for the project—and that eccentricity is still its defining characteristic. The label boasts a roster of an accomplished, if eclectic, community of artists, including long-term associations with people like multi-instrumentalist Jamie Saft, pioneering microtonal guitarist David Fiuczynski, Italian bassist Lorenzo Feliciati, and many others. The label’s output is significant as well, featuring over 100 titles, and that includes a notable uptick in recent years.
But more than anything, RareNoise Records is a testament to Bruzzo’s commitment and determination, not to mention his particular tastes.
“You have to make it work,” Bruzzo says. “You work with very small numbers, but you make it work. I am not sure if there is a winning door at the end—the exit door is just an exit—but there is love for it.” He launched the label in the wake of an economic crisis, which makes his success even more remarkable, especially given the niche music he champions. And, if nothing else, he knows what he likes. “I think there is a little more material that comes out today, and unfortunately, there is a lot of noise—not a lot of it is personally interesting to me—so it becomes a bit distracting. But that is just the nature of things.”
I spoke with Bruzzo about his commitment to music, releasing albums that may never make money, the project-by-project relationship he has with his artists, using the label as a tool to foster community, the benefits of new and emerging technologies, and the process—and frustrations—of discovering new partners.
Do you have a background in music? Do you play an instrument or were you ever in a band?
No. My background is philosophy first, and then finance and economics, but mostly mathematics. My obsession with music is purely as a listener—as an archive crawler, if you will—a collector. I was trying to not let any little dark alleyway go unchecked. I started with certain elements in early progressive rock, aspects of classical music, and then jazz fusion—mostly John McLaughlin. I must have been 12 or 13 when I started consuming tapes. Then it went from there. You listen more, and read more, and it becomes your little overwhelming secret. I never thought that it would become anything more than a very fulfilling exercise in cataloging, understanding, and trying to find bridges between things that seemed very different at first glance. But then for a variety of reasons—life, serendipity—I ended up conceiving of the notion of opening a record label. I started it with a musician, Eraldo Bernocchi, initially as an associate partner, and that would have been around 2007. The label officially started in 2008, with the first release in 2009. I spent about a year reading all the legal, business, and technology-related material I could find. I guess there have been cases of people just starting a label—and some of them have been successful—but in the end, if you know what you like, and what you like is something that translates well with other human beings, then your label will become like a community.
You must have a massive record collection.
There were more, but eventually they were all digitized—and then I cried because getting rid of them was a foolish thing—and then I started rebuying again, and then crying again, because now it is expensive [laughs]. But I think I have a sense of proportion. I know what works and what doesn’t, and you learn over time how to express that, and how to make yourself absolutely clear with people working in music. You don’t need to be too technical or too detailed. My point is to try to guide people as much as I can. Give a perspective. Give a sense of hope. Give a sense of support when they want something to do. There are things that we did—that we knew would sell nothing, and they did sell nothing—but they have to be done.
You said your first release was in 2009. Was that the sampler?
That’s correct. We came out with a sampler in March of 2009. It had one track for each of the six first releases. One was Method of Defiance, Nihon, which was essentially a double CD release with Bill Laswell, Bernie Worrell, Toshinori Kondo, Guy Licata, and Dr Israel playing live in Japan. That was very strong. Then there was a guitar duo from Eraldo Bernocchi, my associate at RareNoise. Another was Death Cube K, which were dark drones from the guitarist, Buckethead.
It is a very eclectic mix of things, and not one particular style.
The label coalesced around things that I like, and because I have a very broad pallet of taste, I consider releasing things that are very different. The spectrum is truly from speed metal to string quartets. And I mean it not to make a point, it just happens to be like that. As long as there is a certain tension that goes through the releases, and a certain sense of deep traveling that the music can help you achieve in a ritualistic way—that it awakens and helps makes associations—then it’s fair game as far as I am concerned. Usually, that means that I get my three-inch goose bumps, it becomes an obsession, and then I have to release it.
So if something moves you, you’re going to release it.
It’s got a good chance. There are also rational components of the business as well. This is an industry where the lifespan of any given release is very short. You may need to break it up into small pieces, and then the average cost goes up. Or you engage with a certain artist for a longer period where you release multiple things. We have a number of artists who we’ve released many of their works. You know them, they know you, and then it becomes a very silent conversation. Of course, there are times when they say, “I’ve done this new thing, what do you think?” And I have to say, “Not a chance.” It does happen, but that’s fine, because people have so many outlets. I own nobody. I like to work with people on things that I value as much as they do, and if I don’t understand something they’ve done, which is very possible, then maybe there is somebody out there who understands it much better than me and therefore can give them the type of attention that they require.
Is your relationship with the artist album-by-album? Do you have people on a longer, multi-year contract?
No, I don’t do that. I did it at the beginning, but I think it kills the feelings for me. We do the thing and the agreement is always the same. There is no variation. The agreements are for mutual protection, but they have to be an afterthought. What is essential is that there is a shared sense of what I am doing and what we are doing at RareNoise. Also, I am a man of physical product. I love physical product. I am sorry, but once you de-materialize the product, you kill the product.
What do you mean?
A nice physical release is a homage to the incredible work. A download is great, it’s functional and some people are probably happy with it—or a stream, some people are happy with that—but the fact that a physical release is so physical, that it travels to you, that it can get its little corners bent, that you pull it out and it’s not clean. I love that. I adore it. It could very well be that people today prefer to hear a live performance, but the problem is that a lot of the live performances are really not that good. I find that people rush, and they have to tour so much. I have seen a lot of things that are just ok. Of course there are live performances, like if you’ve been to a particularly magical concert, that it remains with you forever, but there is a thoughtfulness sometimes that comes from a studio recording. But having said this, I should deny myself immediately because there is a lot of music today that is recorded in a rush, too. It is not necessarily true that every recording is very good. So maybe what I am saying is not wholly correct.
Artists don’t have budgets to record like they used to.
I agree, that’s absolutely true. But having said that, there is a lot of new tech and people have adapted to these needs. If people know what they’re doing, they can do it and get incredible results on a dime. For example, Jamie Saft is a genius at this. His ability to come in and immediately focus at 1000 percent is one of the qualities that I find remarkable about him. And that comes because he has been around for so many years. There are few other people that I work with who have this quality as well. You see it. You go to the recording session, and they come in, there is no monkeying about, and then, BOOM, it’s done and we are out of here. You ask, “Why was that so quick?” And the answer is, “Because this is work, and we respect work.” And I like that.
What is the arrangement you make with your artists?
Usually, I fund the majority of the recording. That usually means the recording proper: the studio, the mixing, and the mastering. Usually, that is within a given budget, and if something more remains, that is theirs to be pocketed as a free-floating fee. I also cover the artwork, and then there is everything else. For very large projects, that depends on what the context is. If the project is maybe two or three times our usual budget, I may stretch my end a little bit, but usually there is some form of integrated funding. It could be funded by some agency, or it could be a form or raising finance via a platform by the artists themselves. There are many records where we didn’t recoup, but if I don’t them, then what the hell am I doing in the first place?
Who owns the masters?
We own the masters because I am building the catalog. I am very clear about it. I didn’t build the label to act as a conduit, and then you go to the next thing. It’s a building, and it’s something that has a purpose. It goes from the past toward the future. Therefore, over a long period of time, I must be able to control these assets. Whatever people say, I think that it’s only fair that if you have an executive producer involved, that that particular recording should be assigned to the entity that has produced and covered the costs. The production has to be fair, of course, and you find a balance. As I said, I am pretty uniform with everybody we work with. The agreements are pretty much standard. New people, old people, it doesn’t matter. The point was always that we’re going to grow slowly over time. It is going to take me 10 or 15 years to truly break even, and we are on the way. I am not unhappy with where we are. It takes a long time to build a community.
Does your audience see you as a curator, or are they fans of one specific artist?
A lot of people jump in, take one thing, and go away. But the way you capture them is give them incredible customer service. By being always present and in-person. It’s always me. At three in the morning, on the email if somebody is screaming, “I don’t have my download!” I wake up and I send it to them. Then people realize that you mean it. With a lot of people that become our long term customers, eventually, I introduce them to the artists, and they become very personal with them. The idea is to become a conduit and at the same time, to be one that is remembered. It’s trying to find a balance at a time when labels are a concept that some distribution channels would like to do without. But then, they are not really good at what labels do.
What formats are people buying—vinyl, CDs, downloads—what’s the best?
Proportionately, physical is about 65 or 70 percent and downloads 30 percent at most, maybe less.
Which physical format does better, vinyl or CD?
It depends on the release. For example, the people who love David Torn are CD people. They come from the world of ECM and generally, they like CDs. But for some other band it may be more about memorabilia, in which case, the vinyl flies out the window, but nobody buys the CD. It very much depends on the release. This is a public that is very music-oriented. These are people who love to search, understand, develop relationships, buy—they’re fanatics. I love it. Their intensity is my privilege. It is an honor for me to meet these people. But they can be very critical. You get scolded [laughs], but it’s great. I am being very honest, we could sit today and have a very negative discussion about everything. And I don’t want to have it. I refuse to have a negative conversation. People have great love for music. People listen to music like never before, and even channels like Spotify, who have taken away, have also given back.
How have they given back?
I use it as a discovery tool. It is like having a candy bar in your pocket. Somebody mentions something, I bookmark it, and then I listen. After that you get into more of the details. There are some genres today that probably only work there.
Meaning that they wouldn’t exist without streaming?
Probably. It helps them. There are different ways to achieve a critical mass of people interested in what you are doing as an artist. But when people say, “Streaming is the future,” I find them ridiculously naive. They are here today, but maybe tomorrow Goldman Sachs will decide that they want to pull their investment, because guess what? Spotify is still losing money. Up to now interest rates are at zero, so who cares, but if they go up, or if Goldman pulls back, it’s, “Sorry guys.”
But are you saying that for your audience, Spotify is a great tool for discovery? Since they are fanatics, will they eventually buy the new music they discover?
Not necessarily. There are some people who really dislike Spotify. But I would say that a lot of people are using Bandcamp as discovery. But those people, that type of market is a different one. There is no single way for everything. I think different musics, different expectations, require different approaches. You try to figure out three or four footholds that are solid. You find your hubs, develop good relations with them, and serve them the right amount—not too much, not too little—you try to not be crazy with them and they will help you. Then you build long standing relationships as much as you can. You try to meet these people if possible, because they have to be your friends, and offer them as many beers as you can [laughs]. You have to try different things as much as you can, and do things always with as great precision as possible: be reliable, have the best possible customer service, and make your customers feel that you are serious. The packaging is important. I’ve seen beautiful things done, and I’ve seen obscenities. When someone gets a package that is broken, that shows me that you took a shortcut. Why? Show me thoughtfulness.
How involved are you with the artwork of a particular project?
Over time, I’ve built a body of people I work with as designers, and then I propose them to the artists. Usually artists will tend to work with the same designer over and over again, because he represents him well. But if they want a change—or we have an idea—I say, “Please show me the work of this guy.” If he can be on budget with us, we can do it. If there is something I don’t like, I say so. But we’ve released 105 records and it maybe happened three times in ten years.
Everyone is usually happy.
Yes, because by the time you get to the point that you’re working with somebody, you have a connection. You are all vibrating at the same frequency. It is rare that there will be a late misunderstanding or a taste disagreement. When things work well together, they tend to work well across the board.
How do you discover new artists?
I tell people that I don’t always answer emails because I get so many. I answer if there is explicit interest, or if you have been incredibly freaking nice. But the problem is that every time you open a door to people, they are so wound up and so willing, that basically for them any answer is a “Yes.” But that’s not always true. I regret answering sometimes, because the pain of not getting an answer is sometimes a little bit less brutal than getting a bad answer.
A “no” isn’t better than silence?
Not always. Sometimes a “no” is worse than silence. I’ve had people freak out on me when I said no. Maybe they would have freaked out anyhow, you don’t really know. What you end up doing is telling people, “We are full, but come back next year.” Even though you’re not interested. I end up cherrypicking things that I answer, and there are a selection of things that are really surprising. But you have to understand, you are sitting there in the middle of the day. You are doing everything—production, dealing with customers, packaging, shipping—and it is hands-on. You don’t have so much time, and when you’re done after any given day, you are destroyed. It becomes tough to find new music. It usually happens all together, and with a lot of guilt. I go through it, and if something stands out, 99 percent of the time, it is immediate. I’ve had a few occasions where there was a certain instrumental that I had not understood at the beginning, and after a month or so it suddenly explodes in my consciousness, and I get it. But not always do you have the time. There is a lot of serendipity. Some things just arise organically in their Darwinian way. If you allow it time to grow and breathe, it may take an interesting shape that may foster a new idea or direction that you wouldn’t have thought of. It is a combination of fortune, opportunity, and at the same time, rules that you bring in. You are determined by the flow of events. I know that it is vague and irritating to hear that. I am sorry.