Of the members of punk rock's second generation—Bob Mould, Henry Rollins, Jello Biafra, etc.—Ian MacKaye has had the greatest influence on music and commerce: The DIY ethos he and his peers established in early-'80s Washington D.C. affected the genre as profoundly as his music. When his high-school punk band, The Teen Idles, decided to release a single, he and bandmate Jeff Nelson created Dischord Records, which remains one of independent music's most respected labels. Musically, MacKaye made his first big impact in legendary hardcore group Minor Threat, which helped establish D.C. as a punk hub in the early '80s. The Minor Threat song "Straight Edge," about MacKaye's choice to eschew drugs, alcohol, and promiscuous sex, fomented a youth movement that has since warped into a cottage industry. After Minor Threat, MacKaye briefly led Embrace, whose deeply personal style gave birth to emocore—and the bands selling a lot of records today. In the late '80s, MacKaye formed Fugazi, which became one of the most important bands of the era, and easily the most influential post-punk group of its generation, before going on hiatus in 2002. Now in his 40s, MacKaye remains contrary with his latest group, The Evens. The duo—guitarist-vocalist MacKaye and drummer-vocalist Amy Farina—plays understated, quiet songs through their own small PA, which makes virtually anywhere a performance space. This quiet M.O. may be MacKaye's most revolutionary idea yet. Just as The Evens' sophomore album, The Get Evens, came out, MacKaye spoke to The A.V. Club about his new approach, his past, and the porn director who took his name.
The A.V. Club: The Get Evens is your first attempt to record an album yourself. Why go that route?
Ian MacKaye: Part of what was going on for us was that, with the first record, every studio ultimately, a repetition is developed. Because of that, the sound starts to come off as processed. There are certain sounds that in recording get smoothed out… The first record, a lot of people responded to it. We were surprised by the response, because they said it sounded great. But I don't think most people really got it that we were a two-piece because it just sounds full. The illusion was maybe a little too effective. There were no overdubs—just a baritone guitar and drums. There's a lot of overdub vocals, but the music itself is live. So we were thinking we'd really like to record something, try to make it a bit more rough-hewn, because then maybe it would be more revealing of the actual content of what we're doing here… We just thought this would be a good experiment. Ultimately, I'm quite happy with the sound. It was a bit daunting in terms of the technical problems we had.
AVC: Like what?
IM: Things were sounding weird. We had all these things, and you finally have to execute what essentially would be the "definitive" version. It was pretty goddamn daunting, but that ain't nothing new. There's always something. I think it's my nature to engage in things that are more difficult. Keep in mind, we still book ourselves. We have our own PA, our own lights, we do everything on our own. It would be a lot easier on some levels to just have other people do all those sorts of things—you know, do what everybody else does. I've often thought about it—like, you could drive from Chicago to Washington in 12 hours. You just take I-80 across. You hit the Pennsylvania Turnpike, all that. Sure, [you could] take the major highway system. It's an effective vehicle if that's the way you want to travel, but the little roads will get you there as well. It might take longer, but you might see far more interesting things—and somewhere in there, there's an analogy for the way I go about doing things.
AVC: Do you think you'll hear a lot of first-timer's mistakes in time?
IM: Maybe, but first-timers' mistakes can be first-timers' charm. The first time I ever recorded, which was into my boom-box, I was like, "Wow, check that out." It sounded great. The narcotic of it was so intense—it was pleasurable. I was like, "You sound like a band." Then I ended up spending the rest of my life trying to chase that initial high again. With Fugazi, for instance, we played a thousand shows or more, and I can tell you now that the definitive version of those songs in my mind was not on any of those records, because I played versions of those songs at some point, at some show, at some circumstance that was just incredible. There were times for a while, where hearing a Fugazi record—and I don't listen to them hardly ever—when I thought, "Oh, the version on the record is just so not right." But at some point, Fugazi stopped playing shows, and [there's] this idea that we may never play a show again. To that degree, the versions that exist, they're about as good as it gets. I think it's the same way, listening back to anything. I'm not that critical. I don't have regrets. I certainly don't have shame, like "Oh, I can't stand this." I'm actually like, "Right the fuck on! We did it!" If anything, it inspires me. If there's a beef, if I have a problem with any recording or the process, then I try to figure out the better way. It keeps me perpetually engaged.
AVC: It takes a long time to figure out.
IM: And once you figure it out, you become predictable. But you can never figure it out, because it's always moving. If you think you've figured it out, then you're just a hack. I can tell you now, I definitely don't think I've ever figured anything out.
AVC: Especially with recording, because the technology changes so often.
IM: I'm really anti-option, so computers have been my nightmare with recording. I don't want endless tracks; I want less tracks. I want decisions to be made… Now, it's like you could be making decisions forever! You record, and you could just take the whole thing and break it into a million little dots, however you want to. Madness! Madness, I say.
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