Rocktambulos Archives: Unreleased Interview with ARIEL PINK about “Loverboy”

After a long hunt, we finally found the missing link: the lost interview I did with ARIEL PINK between March and May 2013. There were three in total and one had vanished—until now. To me, this is the most interesting one: the core is Loverboy (2002), with a bit of House Arrest (2002). Between the lines, there are valuable statements about his recording method, the nuts and bolts of each album, and his life as an artist—with all the surprises that brings. Hours and hours of conversation with my terrible English as a brand-new journalist. Once again: THANK YOU, ARIEL!

Facundo Guadagno: How’s everything?
Ariel Pink: It’s going okay. Kind of mellow.

FG: Let’s start with Loverboy. Was there a clear goal?
AP: My goal? Well… there wasn’t really a goal, exactly. I came up with the name Loverboy after I already had the songs. I recorded House Arrest and Loverboy at the same time and split the total songs between the two. They basically came out together. I decided one would be the fifth record and the other the sixth, but they’re kind of interchangeable.

FG: You’d mentioned JOE MEEK.
AP: JOE MEEK is interesting to me as a stylistic kinship, but not like a family relation the way it is with R. STEVIE MOORE. With MEEK it’s style; with STEVIE it’s family—if that makes sense.

FG: Back to Loverboy: Are all the songs yours? Any guests?
AP: Almost all are mine, but yes—there are guests. JOHN MAUS is on two tracks. COL worked on some bonus tracks like “The Birds Sing In You’” and “New Trumpets of Time.” There’s also “I Don’t Need Enemies,” which is the first HOLY SHIT appearance; later that song shows up with MATT FISHBECK.

FG: What gear did you use?
AP: Same as always—very basic. A beat-up guitar, a CASIO (CZ series), an ARIA PRO bass, a vocal mic, maybe a tambourine. Everything into a cheap multi-effects (like a Tech 4/FX): delays, modulation, reverb, compressor, gate—scroll and go.

FG: Walk me through your writing/recording method.
AP: I start with a loose idea on guitar or keyboard and lay down a skeleton. Then I do mouth-drums, then bass, then keys, and vocals last. I write lyrics fast, right before I have to record. I improvise a lot, do live takes (no samples), and repeat a million times until a performance feels acceptable. A song usually takes about a day.

FG: On “Don’t/Go Talk to Strangers” there’s a very “live” feel.
AP: That one was basically a single performance—drums (mouth/programmed via keyboard) and me playing keys on the same track. I played it a million times until it clicked. Really, they’re all live takes—it’s all done with my hands and my mouth.

FG: Where does that signature sound on Loverboy (and parts of House Arrest) come from?
AP: Mostly the keyboard running through the multi-effects. I use a lot of wah and modulation. House Arrest is more guitar-based; Loverboy leans into that processed-keyboard signature.

FG: I asked about a kind of “saturation”…
AP: If you mean that “wow” thing, or an inside/outside feeling—it’s a filter. It’s intentional, but more of a mix choice. I had many mixes of each song, with different EQs, and I tease out frequencies I like. I tried a bunch of approaches and kept the one that fit.

FG: Did you work on cassette? Is that why there are artifacts—or even mono in places?
AP: Yeah. I recorded to cassette, made stereo mixes off that, then digitized to “master.” I actually prefer the cassette versions; the CDs are hard for me to listen to. If anything ended up mono or with a weird image, that was me learning how to digitize and testing stereo-spread/binaural—not a concept decision.

FG: There are odd tempo entries or edits that “bite” attacks—like in “Didn’t It Click?”
AP: I work without a click, actually. I lay guitar first; when I add mouth-drums I notice offsets and do tiny punch-ins—pause, rewind, record. Sometimes I cut a little too much and lose a guitar attack, or the tambourine comes in late, so it feels off-time. Those are just frequencies popping in and shifting level perception. There are ways to make things smooth or dynamic; I don’t really know how to do either on command. For me it’s captured practice—I don’t obsess over “right” or “wrong.”

FG: Do you see yourself more as singer, musician, or producer?
AP: I’m kind of pretending to be all of those. Spirit-wise I’m a bassist, plus producer/sound guy. The bassist is the one not in the video—the secret ingredient. I sing because I’m the only one who can be the face of that expression. Live, it’s hard not to be the sound engineer—I know how it’s supposed to sound in my head, and it’s hard to separate.

FG: Press and virality—Coachella, Rock & Roll Circus, Mexico. Does that get to you?
AP: I barely consume media. I say things and they get printed or repeated, but I don’t think much about my image. Those three shows were high-visibility with cameras everywhere, but the set-up wasn’t right. I can’t pretend to enjoy it—so it seems “unprofessional,” but it’s because I take it very seriously. People around me need to keep the environment right if they want me to perform. At Rock & Roll Circus I ended up singing to tracks; they’d told me I could come in on a horse with a Burger King crown, and at the last minute said no—so I just sang over the master.

FG: Did you think of quitting after that?
AP: It’d be sadder to quit because of that. When The Doldrums came out on Paw Tracks, it was the first time the world even registered my name. I read the reviews—rude awakening. I kind of designed myself not to fit any context, so I was curious what would happen if suddenly I did. There were people against it and for it. I value the negative stuff more—it tells me what I need to hear and forces me to face fears and limits. Sometimes I think my stuff isn’t current enough, but it surprises me people still talk about me. In a way, the world came to me—over time I seemed less weird because people got used to things I (I think) helped introduce.

FG: The audience and the media (say, Pitchfork)?
AP: A lot of people need others to tell them how to feel. If something’s on the radio all the time, it sticks. Pitchfork says “pay attention to ARIEL PINK,” and more people listen. It’s mob mentality. I almost never go to shows—I prefer listening at home. I respect people who enjoy it differently. As for Pitchfork: they slammed me for six or seven records, then when I made a cleaner one they couldn’t really keep failing me just for sport. Honestly, I thank them—any publicity works; if they bother, it means they care.

FG: Ego and money?
AP: Small ego, lots of anxiety/insecurity. I live minimal—no TV, no computer, just a phone. I’m bad with money; no manager; I budget the tours and pay the band well. Someone makes money off me and it’s not me. But it’s enough to travel and play with five people, hop on the bus, and keep going. It’s been like that 8–9 years.

FG: Do you use a computer to listen or produce?
AP: No. No computer, no TV, no stereo. I do everything on my phone.

FG: Personal money problems?
AP: Not really—I don’t have material needs. I don’t buy clothes; just food, maybe instruments or gifts. I moved out young, worked, paid rent, lived cheap. I’m minimalist. Band-wise, though, sure—if I’d done the usual thing in this business with the popularity I had, I should’ve made a lot. Instead I give it back to the band… and when I fire someone they sue me. So yeah, I could fall back in the hole any time.

FG: Your live history—shows, pay, label.
AP: I started playing live in 2004 and I’ve toured a lot since. Some shows were disasters—that’s what people remember—but they’re the exception. I hit around 200 shows a year for 8–9 years (close to 2000). Early on I wasn’t paid well; I wasn’t popular and the band was unprofessional. I thought labels would just show up after The Doldrums, but no. When I built a committed band, we rehearsed, played the old songs better, reviews got better, and 4AD got interested. With a cleaner record, Pitchfork stopped giving me automatic fails.

FG: Influences and scene?
AP: R. STEVIE MOORE is my model—the outsider who commits to his expression. JOE MEEK is a stylistic cousin. I listened to FAITH NO MORE as a kid—saw them back then. I know JOHN ZORN, not super into him. Generally I tried not to sound like me, and by trying, I ended up sounding like me.

FG: Lyrics—how do you write them?
AP: Lyrics matter a lot, but if I force them, they’re bad. So I write them at the end, fast, to catch the moment without overthinking. I make noise, try to make it less noisy, and when I sing I have to say something—even if I have nothing to say. If I think too much, it ruins it.

FG: A concrete case like “New Trumpets of Time”: that dance-ish base and the CASIO?
AP: I started with a simple drum pulse, then bass, then a drum track, aiming for a dance feel. The CASIO was a CZ-100 or CZ-20—CZ series. Lots of whammy; even though it’s digital, it feels analog—almost ARP or Buchla-weird.

FG: How do you look at Loverboy and House Arrest now?
AP: They’re moments in time. I was driven, single-minded, desperate to leave a mark; less cynical than now, but more at war with the world. I’m proud because I honestly don’t know how I did it with so little and so isolated. Most of my friends today came because of the music and the belief that kept me going when I had no technical chops. I recorded practice upon practice. R. STEVIE MOORE’s example—“your expression above all”—was crucial. I’m happy he’s recognized; I hope our relationship helped him not be forgotten while he’s still alive.

FG: Your life before music and the jump to living off it?
AP: I worked in record stores from 17–18. I stopped having non-music jobs when I toured in 2004, at 26. Since then it’s only music. Being a session musician is more stable—I depend on how popular my personality is at any moment. If someone hired me as a session bassist, I’d love it; usually they want me to come in and “be ARIEL PINK for five seconds” on a record.

FG: Anything else you want to add?
AP: I enjoyed this—it’s a trip down memory lane.