It will happen. It will. The true message this song delivers is profound. Singing Dance Impromptu Celebrity. All Trending. All Dance. All Celebrity. All Singing. All Impromptu. All portuguese. About Terms Privacy. All rights reserved. He took an old Bonnie Raitt song and turned it into something completely new! Randy Aragon. Related Stories. Buddy Hackett is still entertaining people with hilarious duck joke he told in Rebecca Reid. It was right when that record was taking off, and she was like, "This album was kind of named after me.
So Sara posts on Justin's Facebook, like, "Hey, I know you're looking for [artwork], you should look this guy up. So, knowing all that, Justin looked at my work, bought a piece and, about a year later, we hooked up for the album cover. Pitchfork: On the surface, the cover is reminiscent of a kitschy painting that your grandmother would have on her wall.
What's your take on that comparison? GE: The history of landscape painting is where my work takes its roots from. And those things are always political. But people climb out of their cars, take photos of these vistas, and then get back in their cars and drive away on a road that was made by tearing half of a mountain face away. So I'm putting these totally kitschy, idealized landscapes inside of these paintings that are just torn apart.
I include all this garbage in them-- the Bon Iver cover has found styrofoam in it below -- and I cut them up to expose the illusion of those types of paintings. GE: He initially sent me this really long e-mail with about 30 of my paintings in there with notes about which parts he liked. It'd be like if someone gave you 30 different Led Zeppelin riffs and beats and said, "Make a song out of that. GE: Our life philosophies are pretty similar. It was an opportunity to participate in defining a decade of music in Minneapolis.
For a couple of years, I also worked with Mike Cina , who is a book and record collector, and really learned and internalized a lot about typography and album art in my time with him. My practice has expanded outside of that through zines and the internet, but a lot of my work to this day has spawned from this continuum.
This project, however, could be whatever it wanted to be. The original desire from the start was to create a robust world of work. So instead of pursuing a specific vision right off the bat, we just worked and experimented and tested ideas. I worked closely with Justin. I worked at April Base—the recording studio—a couple times a year, each time was a unique experience focused on that stage of the music.
Usually with an intimate group of two or three guests musicians, writers, chillers, curators and the studio crew, for a week or so at a time, to make a unique creative space, where each of us would be a part of defining that period of creation. The whole Bon project is for the most part entirely driven in house. Each visit would be a new experiment—creating temporary installations and interventions, painting murals, sharing books and inspiration, playing music.
We came to listen and work and get to know one another, to get a feel for how to work and talk and think together.
Not overthink anything. Developing the conversation, making art, and sharing our scope of vision and capabilities. In the rural setting of Eau Claire, when it was freezing outside, almost everything took place inside the studio, and we barely even left the property. It puts you in a certain headspace, and you develop a pattern of waking up and just getting into the work and process of it from noon to midnight—an uninterrupted cycle for a week at a time.
There were some early birds in the studio, and of course the night owls as well. The amount of people shifted depending on what was happening, and the vibe changed depending on who was around. I think the Indigo Girls were recording the week before I first visited, and there was another project in one of the sound rooms overlapping with my time there. That first visit was one of the most frenetic, fluid experiences, multiple projects developing and recording simultaneously.
Sax and string players visiting to record their own work, and then session on the album in process as well. The later visits were more focused—everyone was there for the album, in a no distractions kind of mode.
Later, these sketch pages became a reference point for the final work. There was an honesty in the notes and collection process that very much influenced the final work. The songs were all numbers from the start, multiple numbers at first. So we would listen to each song, talk about the numbers, talk about the song, watch the lyrics take form, makes lists, make drawings. Real references and experiences are collaged in both the music and the artwork. I was able to interview and interrogate each song—digging into weird cores—and by the end of each visit, each song would develop a matrix of new notes and symbols.
A book of lore. A lost religion. The Rosetta Stone. Something to invest some serious time and mind in. Something that presented a lot of unanswered questions and wrong ways. A distant past and future. An inner journey somehow very contemporary. When I saw the artwork for the first time I immediately recognized the feeling of it, the general design language. Was Bon Iver looking for something different than their previous, pastoral vibe? Symbols just naturally come out of me, which is why I use them so much.
Icons, signs, symbols—they are cultural fragments and a well made one can cut so deep into our language. The anarchy A, yin yangs, Mr. I admit that one of my desires regarding design and art is to add something to that deep cultural symbolic well of knowing.
But they also come from a decades-long conversation within this specific community. I designed the Gayngs symbol for Ryan Olson in and worked with Doomtree in on their No Kings album, which also involved the generation of a series of glyphs. These ideas—claiming icons, masks, unknowables, unsayables, unpronouncables—resonate with that community. The Artist Formally Known as Prince. And as far as the feeling of the previous Bon albums, I mean, they brought me in for a reason.
The new album remains explicitly connected to those before it, but the feeling has undeniably evolved, as has the culture around it. I spent years in a perfectly weird corner of the heartland making apocalyptic noise art in the vibrant community of Minneapolis.
Landlocked bloggers. High and low are just as much the fabric of our home as is a melting pile of snow. So on the surface, the new album aesthetic might seem like a dramatic shift in the Bon aesthetic, but I see it true and deeply bonded to its current state as well as the history out of which it developed. For 22, a Million —in their creation—they felt automatic. I enjoy the puzzle of creating a ligature.
Justin assigned a specific meaning to the numbers and a logic to their creation, but in the end, they are open containers to be filled with new meaning. As the artwork developed, it became clear how we would seed the material into the public. With 10 symbols, we would make 10 murals, and 10 videos, and a page book, etc. As with many numerologies—just follow the numbers—be them true or not.
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