Hunger Makes Me a Modern Girl: A Memoir by Carrie Brownstein

Author:Carrie Brownstein [Brownstein, Carrie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Biography & Autobiography, Personal Memoirs
ISBN: 9780349007946
Google: N8lbCgAAQBAJ
Amazon: 1594486638
Publisher: Hachette UK
Published: 2015-10-26T11:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

SELLOUTS

With the modest success of Call the Doctor and our CMJ buzz, a fair bit of attention had turned toward the band. Chainsaw was the tiniest of indie labels, and we had the inkling to look elsewhere to take the next step. An obvious front-runner was Kill Rock Stars, the Olympia-based label run by Slim Moon, who had put out Bikini Kill and Elliott Smith, among others. They had a diverse roster and the label was a statement as much as anything, the moniker itself like a middle finger aimed at profligate decadence. But there were a slew of other great indie labels across the country, and major labels, too, some who were quite interested in seeing what was next for us.

We met with A&R people from Warner Bros., London, and Geffen. (The A&R—artists and repertoire—division of a label is responsible for scouting and developing talent.) People—men—took us out to gluttonous, exclamatory-laden dinners previously of the sort we’d only experienced for birthdays and graduations. The kind of meal where I felt license to order soda and wine, with refills on both. They also paid for us to stay in swank New York City hotels. The Soho Grand had just opened, and we each got our own room for the first time in the band’s history. I called my friends from the phone in the room, ordered ice cream sundaes, and stayed in bed the entire time, wanting to relish every second of this novelty excess. We borrowed a convertible Cabriolet from one A&R guy and drove to a show at the Middle East in Boston with what we could fit of our equipment jammed into the trunk. For all the time we’d spent being suspicious of or even vilifying major labels, this courtship had a humanizing effect. Everyone was kind, intelligent, genuinely interested in the band.

While in New York we also met with Matador Records. Home to albums and artists I adored at the time—Liz Phair, Yo La Tengo, Guided by Voices, Pavement, Helium—Matador had more muscle than most of the indies back home in the Pacific Northwest. Matador felt like—and should have been—a viable contender. With label cofounder Gerard Cosloy’s keen ear and prescience coupled with the savvy business and social acumen of his partner, Chris Lombardi, Matador was not only capable and successful, it was cool, free of preciousness or folksiness. It had a wide-reaching and solid reputation, a presence. Moreover, it was cosmopolitan, like a relative you might fantasize about growing up to be, who lives in the big city and sends theater and art reviews, teaches you about bourbon and millineries, hip and savvy, brimming with strategy and game. Matador was a legitimate possibility, mostly because they offered us a sense of one. So why didn’t we sign to Matador?

My attitude may have been a factor.

Our meeting with Matador was in the early afternoon. I hadn’t eaten anything, and I was famished, agitated, and fidgety from low blood sugar. I told Janet and Corin that

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