Praise For How To Ru(i)n A Record Label
Its so rare to get to have an independent label thats putting out bands that are in a scene, a place like Gilman Street, where we come from. They [Lookout] were putting out my favorite records at the time, whether it was Crimpshrine, Operation Ivy, [or] Isocracy
Billie Joe Armstrong, Green Day
Larry writes incisively and tellingly about an era he didnt just witness, but helped define.
Danny Penman, author of You Are Not Your Pain and Mindfulness For Creativity
A brilliant book by one of the greatest tastemakers in the history of punk rock.
Grant Lawrence, award-winning broadcaster and author, former lead singer of the Smugglers
Praise for Spy Rock Memories
Livermore writes with deference for his time spent on Spy Rock, finding a way to keep nostalgia from clouding his experiences, and the books breezy nature finds its middle ground between music memoir and personal essay. Spy Rock Memories paints its characters in lush details, allowing for readers to be welcomed into the culture of Iron Peak, just as Livermore was all those decades ago.
The AV Club
Spy Rock Memories is an unflinching look at life in Northern Californias Emerald Triangle, a world usually hidden from view. Part social history and part personal history, it is as critically insightful as it is hopelessly romantic.
Aaron Cometbus, Cometbus
Larry was always deemed the troublemaker up on Spy Rock for telling and writing the truth.
Tre Cool, Green Day
Livermores book Spy Rock Memories provides a glimpse at Livermores trials and tribulations as a brutally outspoken, city-punk, post-hippy, trying to survive in an unforgiving environment that proved to be just as deadly and threatening as it was beautiful and nurturing.
The Willits News
Copyright 2015 by Larry Livermore. All rights reserved. Manufactured in the United States of America. Except as permitted under the United States Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
The views and opinions expressed in this book are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the thoughts or position of the publisher. The author has made every effort to ensure the accuracy of the information within this book. The author and publisher do not assume and hereby disclaim any liability to any party or entity regarding any loss or damage incurred, or alleged to have incurred, directly or indirectly, by the information contained in this book.
Billie Joe Armstrong and Mike Dirnt quotes on the praise page and cover are used by permission of the artists, from their 2015 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame Induction speeches.
ISBN (paperback): 978-0-9891963-4-5
ISBN (hardcover): 978-0-9891963-5-2
e-ISBN: 978-0-9891963-6-9
Cover art: Patrick Hynes
Cover design: Nolen Strals
Layout: Doan Buu
Author photo: Kenneth Bachor
I would like to offer my heartfelt thanks to my long-suffering editor Zach Gajewski, to Murray Bowles for his invaluable work in documenting the East Bay scene and allowing us to use his photos here, to David Hayes for being my partner in getting Lookout started, to Aaron Cometbus for all his help and support, and to Tim Yohannan, who despite our well-publicized differences, helped create the environment in which our music and culture could thrive.
Special thanks, of course, go out to Christopher Appelgren and Patrick Hynes. Even if Lookout could have survived without themwhich is doubtfulit wouldnt have been nearly as much fun. I also want to thank all the musicians and artists who worked with us, the fans who attended the shows and bought the records, and you, of course, for being here to read about it.
Contents
A Note To The Reader
If you picked up this book to find out who played bass on your favorite bands obscure second demo, or how many copies of so-and-sos 7 were pressed on red vinyl as opposed to purple, youve come to the wrong place.
How To Ru(i)n A Record Label is a highly personal account of my time at Lookout Records. It leaves out many people and events that could and maybe should have been included, some because they slipped my mind, others because there just wasnt enough room.
To those who might feel I represented their words, actions, or motives in a less than flattering light, I can only say that I did my best to recall things as they actually happened. In doing so, I drew on a combination of personal correspondence, fanzines, flyers, and recollectionsmine and those of othersall of which can be fallible. I didnt set out to hurt or get anyone, only to illuminate and arrive at the heart of the story.
Whether I failed or succeeded, what Ive written here is but one facet of a many-sided memory. If you feel hard done by, if you remember things differently, if you feel I overlooked the best or most important parts, by all means pick up a pen or keyboard or camera or microphone and tell the world how you saw it.
D etroit felt like a strange and wondrous place when I was growing up, if not an especially pretty or pleasant one. You could literally hear the gears of industry grinding. The air was foul with thick, stinking clouds of red and black smoke, and the river streaked with fluorescent streams of toxic waste. The ground shook with the dull, booming roar of dynamite from the salt mines beneath our feet.
I found the noise, the smells, the raucous upheaval more than a little intimidating, but this, adults reminded me, was the price of prosperity. When youre old enough to start looking for a job, theyd say, youll thank your lucky stars you were born here.
I wasnt so sure. Asked when she decided to leave Detroit, actress Lily Tomlin reputedly said, As soon as I realized where I was. Id reached a similar conclusion by the time I was four or five.
I nagged my parents, demanding to know why we couldnt move somewhere nicer, but they just laughed at me. Retreating inward, I taught myself to read and spent long hours with my head pressed up against the family radio, idly twirling the dial in search of somethinganythingworth listening to.
Thats how I discovered doo-wop, and the first stirrings of rock and roll. On muggy summer nights Id chase fireflies around my front yard and watch the teenagers on the corner work out harmonies and dance moves to the latest hits.
It was on one such night that I spotted a mysterious orange glow spilling up from the horizon, covering nearly half the sky, before slowly fading away. The light was soft, ethereal, mesmerizing. I could hardly take my eyes off it.
Whats that? I asked my dad, hoping hed spin some yarn about angels or wizards setting the world on fire, but he shrugged and said, Oh, theyre just emptying the blast furnace out on Zug Island. I had no idea what he meant, but the day would come when Id find out.
When I was 13 I joined a gang, but not, unfortunately, the singing and dancing kind Id been hoping for ever since seeing West Side Story. These guys were more into breaking stuff, running smash-and-grabs on local stores, and fighting turf wars against kids with the wrong kind of haircuts.
