BON IVER - Alexis N. Sanchez

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DA R K
Issue 1 | November 2011 | $3.99 | darkmagazine.com
LUREof
the
‘The Misfits’
a tribute to
16 mm
Black Power
& Mixtapes
bundle
up
FOR A
BON IVER
36 | dark | November 2011
good winter
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I
story by Grayson Currin
Photography by John Smith
t’s nearly 4 a.m. in the Milwaukee casino
Potawatomi, and the roulette wheel
isn’t cooperating. Justin Vernon, the
lead singer of the band Bon Iver, is in his
second stack of chips totaling $200, and
this set, played with smooth teal tokens,
appears to be going no better than the last. The ball
tumbles and pauses just past his chosen numbers,
often skipping his splits entirely.
The dark-headed, uniformed man controlling the
table is polite but also diligent. He appears permanently slumped from staring at the wheel and the
board day and night, like a Lamarckian cave dweller
whose body has bent to its function. When the ball
stops, he calls out the winning number, looks at the
board and takes the losing bets into his possession.
The slot machines and video games fill the room
with a near-psychotropic hum. Cigarette smoke
moves in great, unseen clouds. When Vernon asks
for a Budweiser, a cocktail waitress says that they’re
done serving beer for tonight and instead offers
him a Pepsi in a paper cup. He doesn’t protest like a
celebrity might, or tell her the truth—that, by proclamation of the Mayor of Milwaukee, today is Bon
Iver Day in the city. That he’s just sold out the first
show of one of the summer’s biggest tours a mile
away and that he’ll do the same tomorrow night.
That he just debuted a nine-piece band as sharp
as any outfit in the country, that he sold more than
100,000 records of his second album in only one
week last month, that he’s friends with Kanye West,
and that he’s probably Wisconsin’s most recognizable celebrity.
Rather, wearing a black Bon Iver shirt, red chino
shorts and a dirty blonde beard that juts abruptly
from his jawline, Vernon, now 30, looks just like any
other post-grad looking for late-night fun. He just
scratches his head and grabs a Pepsi as the man
with the slumped shoulders calls out another wrong
number. Vernon’s stack is disappearing.
“Oh, well,” he says, leaning heavily against the
far end of the table. “I was up $800 the other night.”
Vernon’s entire party seems to be down right
now. Matt McCaughan, one of Bon Iver’s two
drummers, is playing for small stakes, pulling just
$40 from his wallet and steering clear of the cash
machine. His chips quickly disappear. Like Vernon,
Darius Van Arman, who founded the record label
Jagjaguwar in Virginia 15 years ago, is playing large
and losing large, too. Kevin Duneman, one of Jagjaguwar’s employees, stands behind everyone else,
agreeing that roulette seems like a good way to lose
a lot of money very quickly.
Vernon hears Duneman’s doubt and, after
asking for a few lucky numbers, offers a morsel of
encouragement: “You’ve got to keep playing for a
while,” he says, turning from the wheel to Duneman
and back to the wheel, “and eventually something
crazy might happen.”
Sure enough, it does: Van Arman is the first to
have luck with the once-unmerciful wheel. He lands
a series of successes—21, 22, 3 and 14, in particular—and Vernon starts following his lead. The bank
rebuilds. Every few turns, the man with the slouched
shoulders asks his boss to exchange a stack of 50
chips for a $100 piece, so that Van Arman and
Vernon’s piles don’t spill over the sides of the table.
Van Arman hands some chips to Duneman, who
now obliges the invitation to join at no risk. He soon
pays Van Arman back and starts making his own
money.
It’s now nearly 4:30 a.m. Everyone is sitting
instead of standing. But high fives and smiles are
abundant; they are finally winning.
Less than five years ago, Vernon wasn’t really
winning at all. He was living in Raleigh, in a little
duplex off Wade Avenue that sat in a wooded lot
along Fairall Drive. His college band, DeYarmond
Edison, had moved from their hometown of Eau
Claire, Wis., to Raleigh in August 2005, looking for
a change of pace that would spur their creativity. In
Eau Claire, they were hometown heroes, a band of
brothers and best friends who played (as Vernon
put it the first time I ever interviewed him, in 2005)
rock with “a certain kind of tenderness.”
They did well in the Midwest, but they wanted
to test their songs for new audiences with different
expectations. They visited the Triangle once and later found a house on Craigslist. That summer, eight
of them—four band members, three girlfriends and
an old pal named Keil Jansen—made the move to a
big white house at 2209 Everett Ave., across from
the city’s first shopping center, Cameron Village.
In Raleigh, DeYarmond Edison feverishly
evolved. Not only had the band started to cultivate
an allegiant local following, but they were also
pushing their artistic limits well beyond the earnest
folk-rock of Silent Signs, the album they had made
just before moving south. Shows suddenly incorporated growling, textured drones and extreme dynamics in volume. During a very quiet passage at an
early show at Raleigh’s Kings Barcade, a bartender
actually turned on the house music, thinking the set
had ended; the band asked that he turn it off, and
continued playing.
A month later, DeYarmond Edison began a
four-show residency at the multimedia space
Bickett Gallery. Their stated goal was to expand
the reach and techniques of the band by assigning
each member an area of expertise to research. They
would then develop a repertoire based on what
each member had learned. Drummer Joe Westerlund explored free improvisation, while keyboardist Phil Cook mined early American string band
music that DeYarmond Edison could reinterpret.
His younger brother, Brad Cook, started writing
homages to experimental 20th-century composers, while Vernon made a simple request: Everyone
in the band should just sing, without reservations.
For the first time, he even tried to use a voice that
wasn’t his comfortable, rustic baritone. In a haunted
falsetto that was as uncertain as it was beautiful, he
delivered Mahalia Jackson’s version of the spiritual
“A Satisfied Mind.”
In retrospect, the residency pushed the band to
the breaking point, exposing the dichotomies within
the members’ respective musical tastes too much
to remain functional. Vernon soon recorded a solo
EP, Hazeltons, releasing it by himself in an edition of
100 homemade CD-Rs.
November 2011 | dark | 37
One subsequent Sunday afternoon, the band was
rehearsing at Vernon’s house on Fairall. He’d been
sick—feverish, tired and a little grouchy, symptoms one
doctor thought might be Lyme disease. During a group
improvisation, Brad Cook, his best friend since they’d
met in summer camp as kids, noticed that Vernon
didn’t seem to care, that he seemed to be checking out.
Vernon couldn’t deny it.
“The Bickett residency, ironically, was the most
I’ve ever learned about music and simultaneously the
reason we started to break apart. We realized there
were so many things we’d never explored as musicians,” Vernon told me earlier this year. “I had this
intense friendship with all these guys, and it was like we
had gotten divorced. We made all these life commitments to each other. I couldn’t imagine going through
something deeper.”
But DeYarmond Edison’s dissolution wasn’t
Vernon’s only problem in Raleigh. Rather than Lyme
disease, he suffered from mononucleosis of the liver.
He had given up his job at the restaurant The Rockford,
so he was broke, too. He wasn’t speaking to his best
friends and bandmates of the last decade, and he had
just broken up with his girlfriend, Christy Smith, who
remained his roommate in the duplex. He wrote songs
that were fueled by the break-up, including Bon Iver’s
hallmark “Skinny Love,” and played them for Smith in
the duplex. It was, as they both remember, awkward if
bittersweet.
Vernon had never really loved North Carolina,
something he confessed every time he returned from
a DeYarmond Edison tour in the Midwest. But now he
had a gambling problem and no money, some songs
and no band. He was ready to go back to Wisconsin.
As a press release posted on DeYarmond Edison’s
MySpace page said, “Justin will temporarily/ indefinitely be heading back west, recording and performing
as himself. I am sure there will be new recordings from
him in no time.”
Before Vernon could leave, Ivan Howard of The
Rosebuds introduced himself at the first show by
Megafaun, the trio that the Cooks and Westerlund
formed immediately after DeYarmond Edison broke
up. Howard knew that Vernon had recorded bands
for years, and he also knew that The Rosebuds’ third
album, Night of the Furies, was at a standstill after two
producers. They needed help. Vernon spent the next
two months in and out of The Rosebuds’ small brick
home across town, helping them to finish the album not
just as a producer but as a collaborative band member.
Suddenly, he had a new outlet. The Rosebuds’ Kelly
Crisp remembers it as a sort of artistic live-in, where
everyone in the house would do everything together,
from eating crepes to watching Freaks and Geeks.
When someone had an idea, he or she would just head
to the next room.
“It was a really inspiring time for us, and the record
we were making felt maybe secondary to how much
fun we were having together,” she says. “Whatever
the spirit of creativity was, it was so strong that I don’t
think it left him when he left us for Wisconsin. It didn’t
leave us, at least.”
Echoes Howard: “A lot of our music isn’t based on
theories or chords. It’s based on a feeling. I think maybe
that rubbed off [on Justin].”
Vernon finally retreated to northern Wisconsin at
the start of the winter. He lived alone in his family’s
cabin in the woods, a tale that’s basically become
folklore. He worked some on the property, clearing
brush and piling lumber, but mostly he just recorded
the sound of his spiritual and mental escape. »
36 | dark | November 2011
Have no idea what’s
going on in this story? See a timeline of
the events surrounding Herman Cain’s
sexual abuse scandal.
Touch here for more
information. Note:
You will need access
to the WWW.
I
t’s been four days since Politico
reported that two women once accused Republican presidential candidate Herman Cain of sexual harassment in the late 1990s, thus upending
the Republican race and driving media
organizations to dig into the candidate’s
tenure as head of the National Restaurant Association.
But even as the political press devotes
extensive resources to covering the Cain
story, major news organizations -- such
as The New York Times, NBC News, ABC
News, the Washington Post and Politico
-- have held back the names of the two
women.
Joel P. Bennett, an attorney for one of
the women involved, told The Huffington
Post that he’s currently fielding about
150 media inquiries a day and has had
discussions with reporters about the issue of naming names. “I would just tell
them, she’s a private person,” Bennett
said, of conversations with reporters.
“She doesn’t want to be a public figure
and it’s their call.”
That particular call has been a topic of
discussion in newsrooms all week, including at the Associated Press.
On Wednesday, the AP broke the news
that a third women who worked for the
NRA had considered filing a complaint
against Cain over “what she deemed
aggressive and unwanted
behavior.” The AP did not
report the name of the
woman, who spoke on the
condition of anonymity.
The AP mentions in the
story that its reporters “located and approached” the woman
as part of its “investigation into
harassment complaints against Cain.”
Over several days, the woman described “situations in which she said
Cain told her that he had confided to
colleagues how attractive she was
and invited her to his corporate
apartment outside work.”
Since the third accuser didn’t
make a formal complaint at the
time, there isn’t similar documentation that could be used to
back up her claim. So AP editors
had to make a determination
whether her anonymous comments, along with additional
reporting from sources, were
enough to run the explosive
story.
Ted Bridis, news editor of
the AP’s investigative team in
Washington, explained one
major reason he felt secure
running with the story.
“If this woman had
The GOP presidential candidate jokes about recent scandals. Michael Calerone
45 - Herman Cain: “Dat Ain’t Me.”
The Party Don't Start Till Herman Cain Walks In
come to us over-the-transom, I would have been exceedingly dubious,” Bridis said. “It would have been a
real challenge. That’s not what happened. We wanted
to be transparent. We found her and we reached her
and she was exceedingly reluctant to talk to us.”
But the woman eventually did speak to the AP, and
her claims have only added to the growing political
media firestorm surrounding the former Godfather’s
Pizza CEO who was recently vaulted to the top tier of
2012 Republican candidates.
The Cain campaign has been taking shots all week at
the “inside-the-Beltway media” -- a phrase tossed out
immediately after the Politico and AP scoops -- and reporters’ use of anonymous sources. However, shooting
the messenger hasn’t worked out too well. As reporters dig in and ask more questions, Cain has repeatedly
changed his story, shifting from originally claiming not
to have known about any settlement, to acknowledging some details of past complaints made against him.
And the controversy hasn’t gone away.
Still, the story may recede from the headlines if one
of the accusers doesn’t eventually come forward and
speak on the record. In these types of political scandals, it often seems like only a matter of time before a
major network or newspaper announces its exclusive.
Politico, in its original Sunday story, cited “privacy
concerns” as the reason for not publishing the names
of the first two women. NBC News, which confirmed
that one woman settled with the NRA shortly after that
night, simply said it was “not disclosing the name of
the woman nor characterizing who she is.” The New
York Times, reporting late Tuesday night that one
woman received a $35,000 severance, also didn’t publish the name.
What if we had a scoreboard of sex
scandals in the Deomcratic and Republican Parties?
- Adam Parson, Designer
view the video
46 - Herman Cain: “Dat Ain’t Me.”
come to us over-the-transom, I would have been
speak on the record. In these types of political scanexceedingly dubious,” Bridis said. “It would have been
dals, it often seems like only a matter of time before a
a real challenge. That’s not what happened. We wanted major network or newspaper announces its exclusive.
to be transparent. We found her and we reached her
Politico, in its original Sunday story, cited “privacy
and she was exceedingly reluctant to talk to us.”
concerns” as the reason for not publishing the names
But the woman eventually did speak to the AP, and
of the first two women. NBC News, which confirmed
her claims have only added to the growing political
that one woman settled with the NRA shortly after that
media firestorm surrounding the former Godfather’s
night, simply said it was “not disclosing the name of
Pizza CEO who was recently vaulted to the top tier of
the woman nor characterizing who she is.” The New
2012 Republican candidates.
York Times, reporting late Tuesday night that one
The Cain campaign has been taking shots all week at woman received a $35,000 severance, also didn’t pubTiC the
designer
Adam Parson
creates
scoreboard
and Republican sex scandals.
“inside-the-Beltway
media”
-- aaphrase
tossed for
out Democratic
lish the name.
immediately after the Politico and AP scoops -- and reporters’ use of anonymous sources. However, shooting
the messenger hasn’t worked out too well. As reportWhat if we had a scoreboard of sex
ers dig in and ask more questions, Cain has repeatedly
scandals in the Deomcratic and Rechanged his story, shifting from originally claiming not
publican Parties?
to have known about any settlement, to acknowledging some details of past complaints made against him.
- Adam Parson, Designer
And the controversy hasn’t gone away.
Still, the story may recede from the headlines if one
view the video
of the accusers doesn’t eventually come forward and
46 - Herman Cain: “Dat Ain’t Me.”
!
Comb your hair and
shave. And for the love of
God, don’t walk in there
with a neck beard. That’s
just wrong.
Take a hint from Darren Criss.
Don’t hit up that interview in a
wrinkly Polo. Look nice and get a
job. Look like a hobo and be prepared to eat Easy Mac for the next
two months.
Iron your shirt, kiddo. It
takes five minutes.
When in doubt, wear a
jacket. Otherwise, you’ll
look like you should have
a pocket protector.
DRESSIN’
to make an
Don’t be afraid to show
some personality. Just
because you’re at a job
interview doesn’t mean
you have to look like an
agent from Men in Black.
Impression
Dress yourself, ‘fore you wreck yourself
Scroll to see this guy show
off at every angle.
72 - Dressin’ To Make An Impression