Pitchfork

"I'm gonna run the risk of being free," sang British glam-goth punk Patrick Wolf on his 2005 track "The Libertine". The line and song could easily double as a personal manifesto. Wolf changes genres (preternaturally confident combinations of chamber-pop, dance-pop, electro, folk, classical, and macabre machine music) about as often as he changes hair colors (stark black, stark blond, stark red). He talks with the lofty gusto of a true artiste; he would probably come across as something of an ass if his music didn't live up to his ambitions. Luckily-- for him and for us-- it usually does.

Wolf's upcoming album, previously titled Battle but now titled The Bachelor, and due June 1 in the UK, looks to be his biggest risk yet. Musically, he's experimenting with rougher textures (there's a self-described "heavy metal" track) and collaborating with both digital hardcore pioneer Alec Empire and Oscar-winning actress Tilda Swinton. On the business side, he's parted ways with Universal-- who released his 2007 breakout LP, The Magic Position-- after the major label didn't approve of his unhinged new direction, according to the singer.

So The Bachelor will be released on Wolf's own Bloody Chamber Music imprint and, in a unique move, some of the funding for the record as well as its marketing and tour budget will be paid for by expectant fans through a new site called Bandstocks. Wolf fans can buy "shares" of the new album for 10 pounds (about $14) each in advance of its release and eventually receive the record along with other fan club-type perks. (Check Wolf's UK or non-UK Bandstocks sites for more info.)

Wolf called us last week from his studio in England to chat about his iconoclastic nature and that time he watched some Satanists drinking blood.

Pitchfork: After your last album was released by Universal, why did you decide to go the opposite direction and self-release your new record and ask fans to help fund it via Bandstocks?

Patrick Wolf: When I split with Universal, the album was about 85 percent finished and I just needed a small amount of money to get it mastered, mixed, and pay for orchestra fees. I was wading through lots of contracts, going back and forth between lawyers, labels and managers. I just thought, "Oh God, this is going to be hell." It's one thing having a new record deal, but it's another thing getting the right record deal. Considering the little respect that I've been shown by A&R men, I thought, "Why would I split my money and my album with you?" I finished it from the bottom of my heart and it has nothing to do with a businessman sitting in his office waiting for the profits to come in.

I ended up taking the most liberal way of releasing the record, which is through Bandstocks. My lawyer told me about it. It's like side-stepping piracy in a way, because people help to finish the album financially, and they get a real copy of it rather than downloading half of it off Limewire. It just seems like an ingenious way of making sure the album format stays alive.

Pitchfork: So most of the recording for the album had been paid for when you decided to release it yourself?

PW: Universal paid for the recording...and that was the whole problem. They weren't expecting a record with a gospel choir, 12-piece strings, experimental noise, and Appalachian mountain dulcimer. They wanted me to make something very conventional, but that just seems like the death of creation to me. I've always done this from a place of pure, innocent creativity and no one can tell me what to do.

Pitchfork: If Universal paid for most of the album, how did you get the rights to the recordings?

PW: I've always had fantastic lawyers around me. I did some good planning before I went into my contract with Universal so I was able to own all my recordings. If the recordings had been owned by someone else I literally wouldn't know what to do at the moment. But we won.

Pitchfork: That's great, but I'm surprised a label as big as Universal would allow you to do that...

PW: I figured out that when someone says "you can't have this," I make sure that I do, legally. I know I sound like a very cold-hearted businessman, but if you think of your work as a real labor of love it's one of the most precious things you can own. If you can side-step a record label owning your work-- which I think is definitely a little more do-able now-- then you're onto something that could support you for the rest of your life.

And I've always been in a funny position with labels. I think I was signed as somebody who could be like Prince or Kate Bush or David Bowie and not just another singer that could be put with a load of hit producers and co-writers. But when England became more conservative in the last year and a half, I was thrown on the scrap heap. But that just made me even more creative and idiosyncratic.

Pitchfork: Was it awkward when you played the album for Universal and they didn't like it?

PW: I'm actually legally not allowed to talk about it, but I have a very big mouth! They weren't interested because they've had success with some very mediocre bands in England based upon all the retro, 1960s ways of making music. For them, I guess middle-of-the-road is the safest place to be. But, for me, it's a place where you're going to get smashed in the face by an oncoming truck. If I was ever described as "middle-of-the-road" I would literally commit artistic suicide right there and be re-born as a Parisian noise artist. Universal wanted me to conform, but it's not going to happen. Anyone who knows my work knows that I can flirt with the commercial world, but it's not where I belong.

Pitchfork: So why did you go with Universal at all, then?

PW: I blindly went into a life of music and touring after running away from home very early. After my first two albums, I had offers from six or seven major labels in England, and I thought, "I'd be very stupid not to take up this whole new way of working." I wanted to try it, and why not?

In hindsight, I really chose the wrong label. But they took me on a journey for a year and a half; I learned a lot about a different kind of world-- stuff like "Jimmy Kimmel" and "Conan O'Brien" and "The Charlotte Church Show". I don't regret a thing that I've done in my life, but it just wasn't working. I became obsessed with my Pixies albums again and I started to learn the electric guitar. I started thinking a lot of about German industrial and noise music. All sorts of things that draw blank expressions from major labels.

Pitchfork: Is it true you did some work with German industrial artist Alec Empire on the new record?

PW: I did quite a few tracks with him in Berlin, and we ended up doing two co-writes for the songs "Vulture" and "Battle". He worked a lot with synthesizers on these big electronic tracks, and there's one heavy metal track. I've always just produced and written my own songs, so doing a co-write and co-production was totally like losing my virginity.

Pitchfork: Based on his music and image, Alec seems like the type of person that may be intimidating to work with...

PW: Alec's a sweetheart. I'm sure he's going to hate me saying it. What I love about going to his shows is that there's this amazing hardcore energy, but there's also comedy behind that as well. He'd be crucifying himself and cutting himself onstage, but there's a slight cheekiness to it.

You know, even Charles Manson was probably a fun person to hang out with. I'm not saying Alec is Charles Manson, but everyone who's capable of destruction is normally capable of good humor. I've got songs about cutting my penis off and being raped by a child molester, so people think I'm going to be a really scary person. But then they see me drunk doing karaoke in a pub and they're like, "Is that Patrick Wolf?"

That said, I had all of these Satanist explorations in Los Angeles and I became a real voyeur of Satanism for a while. And then I worked with Alec, who was like 666...6. He was one-up on Satan. So that kind of helped me overcome all my Satanist urges. It was getting healthy-- like boot camp with Alec Empire.

Pitchfork: What kind of Satanic activities are we talking about?

PW: I spent a week in a hotel outside of L.A. before I went on "Jimmy Kimmel". I even find it hard to tell my boyfriend what happened, but it left me feeling extremely vulgar, dirty, and I just wanted to be re-born. Not Christian re-born, but I wanted to get rid of all these experiences that had left me just feeling filthy. I basically realized that Satan is the biggest myth-- as big a myth as Jesus or Allah. They're all just fictitious characters we create in order to be subservient to some ridiculous figure of dominance.

Pitchfork: Was there any, like, blood-drinking?

PW: Yeah, there was blood-drinking, showing daggers and guns, pledging allegiance to the flag and burning it, all that kind of stuff. I didn't do it myself, but I was watching it go on and thinking, "Wow, this is kind of like going to mass on Sunday in Venice. They think they're being reactionary to the Catholic church, but they're actually just being as ridiculous as the Catholics are." I'm sure Marilyn Manson would disagree.

Pitchfork: What's the most out-there thing you saw during that week?

PW: I can't say-- I could probably get arrested.

Pitchfork: Fair enough. Did you meet any famous actors when you went on "Jimmy Kimmel"?

PW: Oh, who was it? It was someone like David Hasselhoff. I think it was Harrison Ford-- he really liked my music. It was someone like that, one of those L.A. kind of people. Maybe Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Pitchfork: I think you're the first person in history to potentially confuse Harrison Ford and Arnold Schwarzenegger.

PW: I'm very English like that. It's all fake tan and Botox to me.

Pitchfork: I know Tilda Swinton does some spoken word narration on the new album, how did that come about?

PW: It was a real last-chance kind of experiment because I had written spoken word parts for the album and I was speaking them myself, but it just confused the whole story. I was desperate for someone to do it, and Tilda was at the top of my list. I thought, "Oh, how's that ever actually going to happen?" Normally with these things you go through official sources and everything gets lost in the process.

With Tilda, I turned up at a premiere and gave her a CD of a couple of my songs. I got really embarrassed and thought it was never going to work, but she loved the tracks. In three days we were in the studio together. With people like Alec and Tilda, there's no fear because you're agreeing on a creative concept. She was really testing the creative atmosphere, really hopeful, positive, and hilarious.

On one of the songs, she plays the part of my mum, who's found me at the end of a self-destructive period of my life. She's trying to tell me that I look like death, absolutely sick and disgusting, and to snap out of it. When I told my mum she called up her friends and was like, "Oh, an Oscar winner is playing me on this album!" I've actually got my mum playing spoons on one of the tracks, and then I've got my dad playing bass clarinet and my sister doing backing vocals. It's a real return to family with this record.

Pitchfork: Based on some of the snippets I've heard from the new record, it seems pretty full-blown. Have you thought about bringing it to the stage yet?

PW: Yes. I'm trying to be like the male Britney Spears, where I do a proper stage show with a headset mic and everything. I'm learning a lot about how to communicate as a dancer. I guess I'm quite influenced by early Kate Bush and late Britney Spears performances. I'm just looking to new ways of performing. Maybe making it more multimedia, more epic. I don't like the word "theatrical," but maybe more performance-based. And hopefully-- when I can afford it-- I'll bring in the 12-piece strings and the gospel choir.

Pitchfork: Is that the sort of thing you'd use the money fans contribute to Bandstocks for?

PW: Yeah. The main luxury of having a major label deal is the tour support-- you can fund quite a big production. I don't do things by half; I had my years touring solo with just a laptop and an organ, and I got a bit bored. But I've just lost my financial backing so the Bandstocks money will be poured into the live arena, definitely.

Pitchfork: If you do well with the album and on tour, there's a possibility fans can actually make money from their Bandstocks investment. Do you feel pressured by that at all?

PW: I'm lucky because a lot of this very expensive album has basically been handed over for free to me. So I've turned to making money back for everyone else-- and if everyone else is making money, I am, too. It's a kind of communist scheme. I've got the next album sitting about, which I'm finishing in April and I plan to be touring for two-and-a-half years. So there's a lot of time to make the fans' money back, and I'm a very hard worker. I genuinely will not be swayed by commercial failure; I'm not scared of initial defeat.

I hope it works, and if it doesn't I'll find another way. I'm gonna be around for another 80 years-- well, I'd be 105 then. I may not make it that far. But I've got many more albums in my body and God knows how they're going to come out.