It’s difficult when you’re dealing with media, however—whether you own a record label or a magazine—because the goal is thought to be getting a record in the charts, to sell copies, to popularize.
Right, but the thing is, the music industry itself is not music. That is hard for people to understand, because so much of the idea of music and the history of music is controlled by the industry. But music is something that’s separate from the industry. The industry is sort of like all those souvenir shops they build up around memorials or monuments or the Grand Canyon. Like if you drive toward a national park there’s those souvenir gas stations. That’s people trying to glean money out of the situation. I’m not necessarily saying the industry is satanic—though there are aspects of it that are pretty creepy—they’re just doing what they do. They’re businesses. There are people in the world that are really psyched about the music being generated and propelled into their ears and eyes through the media. They like that. They don’t want to think about it. The problem that I run into is that the industry tries to shut down any other approach. And people think that if you don’t operate within the industry, then you’re not serious about your music, which is nonsense. It’s sort of like professional sports and amateur sports. If someone plays a particular sport and loves it and is proficient at it, that’s great. Just because they’re not professional and making tons of money doesn’t negate the fact that they are true athletes.

I’m in Fugazi, and we’ve been around for 15 years and we certainly are a well-known band. This is a great story: About two years ago, VH-1 did one of those 100 top hard-rock something-or-others, and Fugazi was in there somehow. My mechanic—I’ve known him for years—said he saw me on TV. He was really excited and he said to me, “Looks like you guys are finally going somewhere.” And I laughed. I loved it. It just shows the kind of power the industry holds over music. But Dischord is a label. We’re in the business of documenting the music that comes out from and around us here in D.C. We started out at a time when the punk scene was very regional and little labels were springing up to document the bands in each of these regions, and we all knew each other. There was Touch And Go in the Midwest, Exclaim in Boston, SST in Los Angeles and Alternative Tentacles and so forth.

Did you look at any of those labels as models?
No, not really. In fact, we predated Touch And Go and Exclaim. We didn’t have a business model at all, frankly, because we didn’t know how to do it. A guy here in town—Skip Groff, who ran a record store called Yesterday And Today—he had a label called Limp and he gave us the phone number for the place where records were made. He said, “Just send them the money and they’ll make you the records.” We were so clueless about how it was done that we bought a single and we took the sleeve and carefully pried it apart to see how it was constructed, like how it was folded and glued. We opened it up and just copied the template. We printed up these 11” x 17” sheets of paper with the design Jeff did and penciled in the flap and cut every one out by hand, folded it by hand and glued it by hand. The first six records are all done by hand, that’s the way we had to do it.

The mailing address for Dischord is your parents’ house on Beecher Street, not the office. Did it ever occur to you to change that so you wouldn’t have to trek over there to pick up the mail?
Well, I don’t live all that far from my parents’ house, maybe 10 minutes. And, um, I like my parents. I have dinner there every week, I go see my mom and we drink iced tea and play cards and I pick up the mail. My mom gets a kick out of it. We used that address when we started the label, and when we moved out to the Dischord house, we didn’t really think we were going to stay here. We all lived at home, but we needed a place for the bands to practice and room to set up the label. So we needed a safe neighborhood, a cheap neighborhood and a detached house so when we practice we don’t get complaints; D.C. proper is largely rowhouses. So we ended up coming to Arlington, and they gave us a one-year lease. I crossed out “one year” and wrote in “six months,” because I didn’t think we’d stay here. I own the house now. Also, having the D.C. address was super-important to us, because we were D.C.-centric and most people wouldn’t understand that Arlington is connected to D.C. practically, with just the river between them.

What’s a typical workday like for you?
My days are strange. If Fugazi is active, my work with Fugazi takes up most of my time. If I’m booking a tour, I’m on the phone. If we’re in a practice cycle—we usually practice three or four times a week—that’s three or four hours of my afternoon. Primarily what I do, though, which I’m not necessarily always psyched about, is I tend to talk on the damn telephone. Or I have 800 e-mails right now that I’m supposed to be answering and I have 200 pieces of mail. I do answer my mail, I do answer my e-mail, I do answer the phone. Also, my job is just kind of open, because I might be going into the studio to record a band. I do record bands still, usually very young bands. I love doing free sessions and making a record with a band that’s never recorded before and usually give them the tape and let them do what they want with it. I also did the Q And Not U record and a Lungfish record (recently), I love working with those bands. I’ve actually produced probably 100 records, I’m not really sure, but I’ve never charged for my work, I just do it for the heck of it. So sometimes I’m in the studio, sometimes I’m across the street at our other office packing boxes. It’s chaotic. I have a very odd job.

Your personality is very much tied into the identity of Dischord. Do you sometimes feel the need to separate yourself from the label and just step back from it for a while?
You know, I play as I am. I care, but I don’t give a fuck. It’s a weird balance I strike, but basically I try my best at whatever I’m going to do. I also understand that in terms of what’s going on in the world, it’s just a record label. I think we catch a lot of anxiety and criticism from people because we actually listen. It’s sort of like you won’t necessarily yell at a closed window, but if the window is open you might yell something in there. I think we are an approachable label, and I’m willing to engage on some levels but, ultimately, who cares? I mean, c’mon. I’m into construction work, and if somebody doesn’t like the label, then don’t buy the records. If I was worried about making a sale every time, I don’t think I’d be having this conversation right now.

What’s going on with Fugazi right now?
We had a death in the family over the summer and had to postpone a tour of the U.K., but we’re going back over there in October. It’s been kind of a rough season for us; there’s been a lot of stuff going on in our lives. But next week, hopefully, we’ll get back to work.

In the studio?
No, just practicing and writing, getting ready for this trip. We don’t actually have our own practice space right now, so we’re kind of squatting in someone’s basement.

And what’s up next for Dischord as far as releases?
Well, we’ve got the boxed set, and Q And Not U have a new album coming out called Different Damage. I heard Lungfish is doing another record, which I’m excited about. There’s a couple new bands I really like: the Black Eyes, who I did a tape with. A band called Measles Mumps Rubella, who I think are fantastic and there’s a CD going around right now of a band called Antelope, who I think are great. I still find the music here to be super-engaging and interesting. It’s not always the most entirely satisfying music, but it makes me think. From the beginning, it’s always been that if music kicks my ass, I tend to return the favor.

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