WORDS Henry Longden
Scenes of smashed windows, looters and misguided criminality blazed across our screens in the Summer of 2011, as the London riots provided an outlet for a generation deprived by economic austerity and social divides. Whatever the sociologists attest to as the cause of the troubles, the victims were more than big business and government. The effect was felt in the smallest corners of the entertainment industry. In Enfield, North London, a passer-by remarked upon the crowds of youths emerging from the smoke of the Sony Warehouse with PlayStations cradled in their arms. However, the nature of the entertainment industry saw the attack spread to those who struggle to weather such harm, especially the Independent distributor PIAS, who handled record catalogues for labels such as WARP, Domino, XL, and perhaps the most remarkable of them all, Border Community. For those unaware of their significance, Border Community is the brainchild of British electronic music visionary James Holden, encompassing a rich array of quality names such as Nathan Fake, Luke Abbott and Fairmont. Their recovery from this setback illustrates the difficulty and dedication required to sustain independent labels. How come? It is run solely by Holden and his girlfriend Gemma.
WE FELT IF WE DO IT OURSELVES NO ONE CAN LAY DOWN BULLSHIT WISDOM ON US
With the label celebrating their ten-year anniversary, James Holden explains the inception of the label and its unique structure within the industry. I ask him how it all started: “Before Border Community, when I started, I just played a demo to a label but they turned out to be total shits who tied me up in a contract that I had to fight to get out of – Border Community for me is where I start counting.” Breaking through with British progressive trance in the 90s, he signed to Silver Planet and spring-boarded into his career. I ask him whether the music industry was pushing artists in certain directions: “I was complicit, I wanted to get a record out like a lot of other 20 year olds – it was the most important thing at the time for me. But then I’d seen a little bit of the industry and didn’t really like it, especially at that time. There was a lot of bullshit and the dance music industry was all about squeezing as much money out of people as possible.” So Holden up and went, he had signed away his complete name to the label but fought to go it alone as “Holden”. “We felt if we do it ourselves no one can tell us to ‘put out a record like that’ or ‘it’s wrong to change direction’ – no one can lay down that bullshit wisdom on us.”
After one year and with just one release from the label, Holden was to strike platinum when a demo arrived in his inbox from a nineteen-year-old Nathan Fake. When we caught up with him before a Dublin show last month, Fake explained his introduction to the label: “I was on the same forum as James on a label he used to be on. That was the initial connection: I was a fan. I made a demo version of Outhouse, I emailed it to James and he asked me to send him the finished version. He was already kind of big, I didn’t really follow that trance scene: I was into Aphex, Orbital and WARP’s stuff. I thought James had that WARP-y kind of sound. For me it was like techno.” In fact, Holden’s freedom within his own label let him shake the dying sound of British trance. He explains his development and survival: “When we started off British Progressive House was dying off and the British Domination had died. At that point you were either DJ Mag or NME . . . we just did the music we were interested in.” British dance music did not die with trance though; an interest in lower tempo rose out of the ashes of the rave culture, but few DJs rode the transition. Holden, however, was one. “A middle ground in the last ten years has grown. If you look at Caribou or Gold Panda and the stage they are on: not out-and-out, pills-every-Saturday ravers, but not squares who go see a four-man guitar band either. There’s a new area to exist in.”
Just as the label provided Holden with the freedom to progress, he wished to provide the same for his artists; Border Community moves with their artists instead of checking them. “After my shitty experience we were very firm that we didn’t want to tie anyone up in a contract – we’re not tying them up for the future.”
Holden’s creative process invokes the routes of electronic, blurring the boundary between man and machine such as Derrick May did in post-industrial, or Kraftwerk in northern Europe. Futurist concepts and technological advancements seem to bridge his creativity and output. “It’s about what I’m interested in at the moment, but also with abstract ideas . . . for my new album the starting points were technical – maybe I can use my computer as part of a modular thing, turn it into one big living computer, sort of artificial intelligence – ‘Where can I go from with that?’ These things aren’t really connected with style or meaning.”
WE’RE RESPECTFUL FOR THE PEOPLE WHO BUY THE RECORDS, NOT SHORT-CHANGE THEM, NOT JUST SHIT OUT RECORDS. IT TAKES AS LONG AS IT TAKES
The same license to develop is afforded to Border Community’s artists. Fake describes the special atmosphere: “None of it is planned, it just is how it is. I think people are fascinated by the way Border Community comes across as this small, really friendly group of people who make tunes. We’ve never been a hard sell – that’s what appeals to people. It’s quite unique for the size of it – literally just James and Gemma – that compared with the reputation that it’s got is quite wicked.”
Holden sees this small community as a way to isolate themselves from the pressures of the public, to protect the music and creativity from the sales and demand. “Having Nathan and Luke [Abbott] on my side gives me the strength to not have to fit in with the scene. Having the crew as tight, it’s enough to set you free. When you do something wacky and are able to play it to someone you totally respect musically, if they get it, then you know it’s fine. It helps us move forward.”
Border Community is a testament to the potential for a post-Pirate Bay industry, where products are intricately crafted by carefully selected artists with as much time as needed. Neither the public nor elites are allowed to dictate the sound. Success transcends the vacillations of taste and scene. The intricate process that the label is committed to lends itself to disparate releases from all involved. Holden speaks of his own process as committed to the art over and above the market or demand: “I feel like you shouldn’t let the market, the free-market, influence you and your music.” Border Community has provided a creative space for its artists by rewriting the rules. The label is no longer the dictator nor the exploiter.
Without the profit motivation the records are given all the time needed, nothing appears to boost profile or to sell a tour. Artists stay and develop; they don’t process and burn. Holden explains how this works for fans as well as artists: “We’re also being respectful for the people who buy the records. Not short-change them or put too little on the release – not just shit out records. We only release things when we really love them and it takes as long as it takes.” Holden is passionate on this point, and reiterates it when I ask him when his upcoming album will be released. “We won’t set a release date until every piece is in place. Also, I just don’t care anymore about those sorts of things, like my career and what I should do to maintain my profile. All I really care about is doing it properly, being happy with the music.”
Border Community’s ideal artistic space is achieved by the sacrifices made by those without the profit motivation of the big labels, and in this way is able to weather any obstacles. The riots in London was not a freak external shock to such ventures. Holden explains the constant struggle inherent in the business: “It is hard work, the government would prefer it if everyone worked for a big business. They don’t make it easy for you. It is shit and boring.” Such hurdles have been a hindrance. “It’s only me and Gemma and we want to do it properly. You have this family of artists; at one point they were all like mouths at tea, waiting for attention. It ended up taking me away from my music at one point. I had to fight back and reclaim my own personal time in the studio.” Considering such effects, I ask him whether it has been worth it, have the ten years really given the best results for him and his music? “We have to do it. It’s worth all the work – if I hadn’t had a label I might have had more time in the studio . . . but what would have been the point of it.”
For such a liberal and creative enterprise, it has not been all freedom and development. At times Holden has been forced to accept the “shit” in the industry: “We felt we could re-write the rules . . . and then when time goes by, your distributor goes bankrupt and you lose all the money you ever made, or your warehouse with all your back catalogues burns down in a fire. These are things which make you understand why the rest of the industry is so shitty.”
Through the smoke of the burning catalogues, the bureaucracy of small business, and the sacrifices made on his own career, Holden’s label is a symbol and product of his creativity; the space he provides for individual development is as much an extension of himself as his decks. He reminisces on his moments of success, which are as far away from commercialism and rock’n’roll as his music in the 90s. “Me and Gemma standing at the back watching Nathan play live – I remember his launch party – just thinking, ‘We’ve done this’. It’s worth all the effort. It’s those sort of moments . . . the whole thing was worth it.”
