JOHN VANDERSLICE Launches Spacemoth

Rain welcomes John Vanderslice to LaunchLeft today.  John launches Spacemoth, and together we discuss how getting away from the handbook and taking risks can make a lasting piece of art. John doesn’t hold back on his views of creativity, production, artists' treatment, and more. Spacemoth joins in to discuss recording studios and her music. Stay tuned to the end to hear Spacemoth’s vibey track ‘UFO Bird’.  -----------------  LAUNCHLEFT OFFICIAL WEBSITEhttps://www.launchleft.com  LAUNCHLEFT PATREON https://www.patreon.com/LaunchLeft  TWITTER https://twitter.com/LaunchLeft  INSTAGRAM https://www.instagram.com/launchleft/  FACEBOOK https://www.facebook.com/LaunchLeft  --------------------- LaunchLeft Podcast hosted by Rain Phoenix is an intentional space for Art and Activism where famed creatives launch new artists. LaunchLeft is an alliance of left-of-center artists, a curated ecosystem that includes a podcast, label and NFT gallery. --------------------- IN THIS EPISODE: [01:08]John discusses his journey through what, how and why he writes his music.  [07:28] What two artists inspired John to step out of his comfort zone.  [10:27] John’s examples of ‘whatever it takes to get by’.  [11:55] John talks about his collection of instruments.  [13:57] What would John do if he ever stopped making music?  [17:31] What non-attachment means to John and how grieving informs an artist.  [20:29] How John spends his time in and out of the studio and his views of this creative art.  [27:51] Spacemoth talks about finding Tiny Telephone and the different vibes in studios.  [36:40] Listen to Spacemoth’s song “UFO Bird” from the album, No Past No Future.   KEY TAKEAWAYS:  Artists must always find something inspiring. They are constantly looking for gems in music and others. Sometimes when “accidents” happen in the studio, they can result in fantastic music. Collaboration in music is the key to making lasting records while the artists have fun and find joy in making them.   BIOGRAPHY:  The Reintroduction of John Vanderslice by Grayson Haver Currin Nearly 20 years ago, or just after the start of this century, John Vanderslice made some of his generation’s most masterful singer-songwriter records. Life and Death of an American Four-Tracker, Cellar Door, Pixel Revolt: Every year or so, he’d release another set of engrossing songs set expertly on edge, vulnerable excavations animated by a new dawn of endless-war unrest. Those albums sounded like little else, each blown-out drum line or warped calliope melody or sun-baked synthesizer layer a testament to Vanderslice’s laborious process and tireless ingenuity. (There were rumors, possibly true, he once cut 500 hours of tape for a single album.) This dovetailed, of course, with his emergence as a keen analog revivalist and the proprietor of one of the best studios in the country, San Francisco’s Tiny Telephone. But on a sunny winter day in his gently sloped Los Angeles backyard, feet from the little green cabin where he now makes music, Vanderslice beams as he disavows all of it. “I went from this scrappy dude who wanted to own a studio to someone able to record in a big room with a full orchestra, like fucking Frank Sinatra, the end result of an obsession with songwriting,” he says of his maximalist apogee, 2011’s White Wilderness, brushing hair so blonde it sometimes seems white from his suddenly trenched brow. “I should have wrapped it up right there—no more tape, no more reel-to-reel, no more linear format. Let’s blow it up. It took me a long time to learn how.” Let’s round it, in fact, to a dozen years: Crystals 3.0—the culmination of a span of ecstatic experimentation with harsh noise and hard drugs, curious samples and cascading sequencers—is both a new pinnacle for Vanderslice and the manifestation of a revelatory outlook. A seamless 19-minute sequence of melodies so memorable they belong in an ice cream truck, static bursts so meticulous they belong on a Merzbow tribute and beats so spring-loaded they belong on a trap record, Crystals 3.0 applies the unencumbered enthusiasm of vintage Vanderslice records to his ideas about breaking old molds, about avoiding easy interpretation. “Songwriting is inherently conservative, and I just don’t have the mindset to write something like ‘Exodus Damage’ again,” Vanderslice, now 55, says, grinning broadly in his contagious way. “I want to make music that poses more questions than it answers.” The essential elements here are nothing unprecedented for Vanderslice. He was, after all, the sample guy in his acclaimed band of ’90s weirdos, MK Ultra, and his approach to crosshatching rhythms and hooks in playful patterns betrayed a love of hip-hop and electronica at least since 2004’s Cellar Door. During pandemic lockdowns, though, a budding fascination led him to embrace those elements unabashedly—drugs, from acid and coke to mushrooms and MDMA. After years as the songwriter who didn’t drink on tour for fear of how it might impact his craft, the spoils of a libertine Los Angeles became distinct tools, allowing him to tunnel into his creativity in distinct ways. He would build electronic trances on ecstasy or up the mushrooms on recording days, looking for unimagined connections. During 2022, Vanderslice would often sit in his backyard studio in some pleasant psychedelic state and work while a film—maybe something by the Maysles Brothers or Frederick Wiseman—played in the background. If something caught his ear, he’d often weave it into the music, using the distortion inherent in those decades-old documentaries to counter the rigidly clean tones of digital instruments. No context, just the serendipity of overlapping moments. Those samples populate Crystals 3.0 like reawakened ghosts, maybe guests of honor at one of the drug parties Vanderslice throws in the backyard with his partner, Maria. The whole dense little record feels like a distilled fête, its 13 overlapping tracks functioning as fragments from conversations and encounters. Bits of singing that might have fit on Pixel Revolt about sequences that Chicks on Speed would have loved; celebrations of jungle drums run into sunken-keyboard miasmas, like an old friend pulling you aside to deliver some bad news. Vanderslice spent a year building, sorting, and stitching together these pieces; despite the brevity, you may spend just as long trying to unpack every layer, and decode every secret. It is no mystery that the music Vanderslice made at the start of this century is no longer in supreme vogue, not a source of major cachet. He’s not only OK with that but also invigorated by it, the way it permits him to pursue whatever excites him. When he talks about music, he hopscotches between modern rappers and classical composers, abrasive producers and Charles Mingus, beaming as he goes. He gloats about one day dying broke, about creating with no master plan except what’s right in front of him. “You have to move on to more challenging silos,” he says, “or you’re just going to be a boring fucking artist.” Named for a novel method of synthesizing pure LSD, Crystals 3.0 overflows with youthful vim, the sense that to settle into an old pattern is to be dead already. If you have previously loved John Vanderslice, you will hear him here instantly, whether it’s that familiar warble during “Crystals 26” or the way he cavorts with hooks. If you’ve never known him, you will instead instantly hear a mind on post-modern fire, trying, like always, to make sense of our modern mess. This side of John Vanderslice’s sound hid in plain sight for two decades on records that remain essential because of those very interests; it has never sounded more full, dauntless, or thrilling than on Crystals 3.0.   RESOURCE LINKS Podcast - LaunchLeft John Vanderslice - Website John Vanderslice - Twitter John Vanderslice - Facebook John Vanderslice - Instagram John Vanderslice - Bandcamp - Website John Vanderslice - Wikipedia Spacemoth - Website Spacemoth - Bandcamp - Website Spacemoth - Instagram Spacemoth - Twitter Spacemoth - YouTube