The midwest United States is, for many people, the birthplace of modern electronic music. The area has produced a long line of influential labels, DJs, and producers, as well as playing a key role in developing genres and shaping new directions for future generations to follow.
A number of artists have left their mark over the years, but few have made an imprint on as many different strains of electronic music as Jason Snell; the shape-shifting musician who has made quality contributions to a wide range of styles via an ever-growing list of projects.
His late-90s cassettes turned heads worldwide, and he soon found himself releasing material on a number of influential labels. From Hangars Liquides in France, Addict and Ghetto Safari in Milwaukee, Vinyl Communications in California. The visionary Detroit label LowRes even dedicated the Division 13 sublabel to his output.
The Hard Data dives into the heart of darkness and brings you an in depth look at the man behind the monikers.
You’ve produced work under a number of different aliases over the years. At what point does a new project emerge? Do you discover, as material nears completion, that it stands apart from other work and deserves its own name, or do you enter into the creative process with fresh concept in mind and approach it differently from the outset?
It initially comes up as a need for new expression that I can’t comfortably produce under the Bombardier name. I’ve had the Bombardier moniker the longest (started around 1997) so each new project is in relation to that foundation. When I find myself working on new material I like but it doesn’t feel like a “Bombardier” song, I start considering other options. After having so many monikers in the late 90’s – Bombardier, 13th Hour, Kamphetamine, and Useless Generation – I was reluctant to start anything new again, particularly because in retrospect all that late 90’s material is very similar in tone and could have easily fallen under the Bombardier name. So for years I tried to expand the Bombardier umbrella rather than start new projects, but I’m constantly exploring and eventually ran out of runway.
The purpose of new names isn’t so much to distinguish my work for listeners but rather free me up to express what I need to express. The last few years I’ve wanted to explore more melodic, pretty ambient music and kept balking at pursuing it because it didn’t feel “Bombardier” enough. The Bombardier ambient sound is more atonal and dark and I felt restricted by that history and body of work. The result was The Space Where She Was, which was initially a song title about the strange phenomenon of when someone leaves or dies and their physical space, the room they lived in, the bed they slept in, the space they occupied in a community is now empty.
In contrast, my 5th of July band project was created as a fresh concept. I was auditioning different vocalist when I lived in the Bay Area and connected the most with Jessica Schoen. She grew up in Chicago and listened to the same industrial and goth bands I did in the 90’s. She liked the dark atmospheres and percussion of my Bombardier work and we both wanted to work on something down-tempo. I love working with her vocals and she’s incredibly tolerant of how much I manipulate them in the mix. I’ll often start with a simple backing track and she’ll sing lyrics that either of us have written. I usually then break the backing track into individual sounds, chop up her vocals and reverse them. I listen to the vocals and sounds and get a sense of its unique DNA, and build the song from scratch. Once we did our first show (January of 2016) the visual aesthetic came together – a sort of David Lynch meets Sleep No More. That led to a number of film shoots in the spring and the overall project is becoming more multimedia than just a band.
On the subject of the visual component, you do much of the graphic design for your releases. Is there a difference in how you approach creating moving images to accompany music and how you craft the elements that go into the package elements of a release? Does this process of matching images to sound differ greatly from providing soundtracks to film, where the images come before the audio?
There are two different directions. When I design album art, I know the music and look through my photos to find something that connects well with the sound of the song or album. When I work on films (whether scoring someone else’s film or shooting my own), the footage / image comes first and I then began to “hear” the corresponding sounds in my mind that fit. And the challenge then is getting my machines to make the sound I heard in my head. So with graphic design it goes sound to image, and with motion picture it goes image to sound.
An interesting aside as I’ve learned more about sound production and mastering – the process of adjusting levels, pan, or effects to move the musical elements in the sound field – is its incredible similarities to graphic design. Changing the alpha on a graphic element feels like changing the volume on a musical element, etc… They use a similar non-verbal part of my mind that moves from focusing on individual elements to the whole picture, back and forth, during the editing process.
You’ve moved around a lot, is environment something that has a distinct impact on your output?
It definitely does. There’s an inverse relationship between the amount of chaos in an environment and the amount of risk I’m willing to take creatively. When I moved to NY in 2000 I thought the activity of the city would inspire me creatively. However the opposite happened – I began to take less risks with my music. It’s only when I’m in quiet places that the loudest music comes out of my brain. When I left NY in 2009, my art and music had atrophied to the point where I thought I was just out of ideas. I moved to a quiet apartment in the Bay Area and slowly began to feel creative again. However that city-type of compression came back up as the tech boom hammered the Bay, and I started to lose focus again. I moved to LA and that helped, but as it is also becoming more expensive I know I won’t be here forever. I spend a good amount of time in Iowa where I have a comparable studio set up as my California one. Some of my best ideas have come out there. On the flip side, I need some exposure to great artists and new music to stay inspired, so I do this balance of spending some time in cities, seeing shows and jamming with other artists, and some time alone in the middle of nowhere making music.
Do you use different gear, or tailor your studio set-up for each individual project?
My Bombardier work has been heading in the direction of outboard gear again. I started with gear in 1995, a drum machine, and slowly built on that. I didn’t use software until about 2011 when a friend loaned me Maschine for a weekend and I liked what it could do. Using software has taught me a lot about sound production – EQ ranges, compression, effects – that I didn’t learn from my early gear because I just blasted the signals through distortion pedals and a 4-track. However making music just with software doesn’t fit my style. I like the erratic sounds of wires getting crossed and the hum of machines and pedals. It’s a more raw sound and fits the Bombardier style.
5th of July began software based and still is, although I’m experimenting with bringing in some sounds recorded from my modular of gear into it. Because of Jessica’s vocals, working in software makes it easier to arrange around them. It’s more delicate work and software helps with that precision.
And the melodic, lo-fi sound of The Space Where She Was is outboard gear. Even if I use a software synth, I route it through a chain of external pedals. Most recently I’ve been experimenting with an AI I programmed into my Refraktions iPhone app. I’ve been having it send generative sequences to my desktop synths (the Waldorf Blofeld, the Analog Four) and my modular kit to make its own songs. I set it up, tap the iPhone screen a few times, and let it create a composition while I turn knobs – essentially like having a robot band mate. That’s produced some really beautiful results – lo-fi melodies and drones that fits the project well.
You mention ‘generative sequences’ in relation to The Space Where She Was. That term was coined by Eno to describe the use of algorithms or processes to compose ambient music. This is fitting considering the ambient nature of the material, but also suggests an influence in terms of approach and structure. What are some of your biggest influences, and who are some of the artists you’ve been exposed to recently that you’ve found particularly inspiring?
I use the term “generative” in the same way Eno did – a composition run through a series of algorithms that generate new sequences. I’m pushing myself and the music by developing an artificial intelligence in my Refraktions app that can remember and respond to a musician’s initial choices before the algorithms are applied. The generative code in the app began as randomized selections of sounds and notes. Now the AI has a memory matrix that remembers the musician’s choices, stress-tests those choices against a randomized element, and produces a result that is new, yet favoring the instruments and notes the musician prefers. It’s a blend between existing trajectory and new input, which is how I experience life in general. My goal is to make this sequencer generate sequences and rhythms that are as organic and life-like as possible within a technological environment.
In terms of influences on this process and my ambient music in general, Mahr is the top of my list. She is a musician out of Madison whose music strikes a balance between dark and beautiful, complex and understandable, like a lucid hallucinogenic trip. Perhaps there is something about the Madison area, because I credit Ablecain as the biggest influence on the breakcore I’ve made.
Other influences include the abundance of performers I’ve been able to see in Los Angeles these last two years. Orphx’s modular set was the best performance I saw in 2016, followed closely by Richard Devine and his two coffin-sized modular racks. Also Autechre, Alessandro Cortini, and local artists from the LA modular scene like Bana Haffar and Baseck (who I’ve known now for 19 years – we used to trade breakcore cassette demos). Not a week goes by without several world-class electronic artists performing in Los Angeles. It’s an honor and privilege to be here right now.
How different is your live set-up from the studio you use for production?
I’ve experimented a lot with my live set up – playing off gear, Ableton, Traktor, modular, or any combination of them. When I’m traveling a lot, I usually have a Traktor X1 mapped to be a 4 channel mixer, with a live stream going into the D deck. That live stream could be a drum machine, synth, my app – just depends on the set and the sort of sound I’m going for. I experimented with Ableton for a while (and certainly will again) but gravitated towards Traktor so I could play full songs that have their progression built it. It also opened me up to mixing other artists songs into my sets, which was new for me because I started as a producer and not a DJ. So my production studio is often what I’m traveling with, but when I’m stationary, I have a set of hardware synths, pedals, Maschine controller, and Elektron boxes. Here’s a full list of gear that’s scattered between my 2 studios:
Maschine Studio
Elektron Rytm and Analog 4
Moog Delay, Bass Murf, Drive, and chorus
Electro Harmonix delay, flange, reverb, phaser
Novation Bass Station, Bass Station II, Super Bass Station rack and drum station
Waldorf Blofeld
Roland JV-880, R8, MC-50
Boss SYB-3 synth filter, DD5 Delay, Metal Zone, and Hyper Fuzz
That last pedal, the Boss Hyper Fuzz, is the piece of gear I’ve had the longest and is a fundamental piece in all my favorite tracks. I started using it in 1993 with a guitar and amp, making feedback and learning how to get beautiful tones in noise. Later I started running 808 kicks (from the R8) and that began my hardcore and industrial catalog.
At Furthur you played a techno set on the Network 10 Venus stage on the Friday night, and then were called upon to take a Saturday night slot on the mainstage. You were able to perform a completely different style with no notice. How did that come about, and how much work goes into always being prepared to shift gears like that?
There were a lot of factors, but basically it boils down to something I heard in NYC years ago. Luck = preparation + opportunity. It’s sort of a Karate Kid thing, waxing the car and painting the fence over and over because it’s the next task in front of me then in all comes together in important moments like these.
The preparation element was being on tour that summer and playing about 15 shows before Furthur. They were DJ + live hybrid sets, each one being unique, something I did as a personal challenge. I was also pushing myself to move away from the safety of planned out sets and pick the first track of a set just seconds before I start. I’d try to launch off the moment, transitioning from the previous artist and reading the energy of the crowd. By the time of Furthur, I knew my gear, I knew my songs, and could enter and exit at any point. I was listening to Fixmer McCarthy’s last track and knew to pull up a techno track I did called “Pavement” that my friend Joey (Blush Response) had told me sounded like Nitzer Ebb. I knew my destination, which was to ramp things up to a hard set by Perc, and I was filling in for Lenny Dee, so each time I looked for a new track I simply thought, “harder.”
The other part was the opportunity, which came about through several tenuous, simultaneous threads. Even the night of the event, several random coincidences occurred (me watching the show from backstage, Perc being delayed at the airport, Joel not finding out that he was needed at 1am instead of 3am) but what is even more interesting to me were the threads that began more than a year and half before at a very small show in LA.
I had been booked to play a Thursday night in the outskirts of LA. I knew other people who had played this venue and liked it, but for whatever reason the turnout was really low. It was essentially artists performing for each other and about 5 other people. The venue was huge so it felt painfully empty. It was one of those nights where anyone could have bailed and no one would blame them. But my attitude is to do the best I can with whatever is in front of me so I enjoyed playing and listening to the sets on their big system, hung out with the other artists, and enjoyed the evening.
One of the other artists was JB (Zeller) from France. We hit it off and the next summer he booked several shows for us in Europe. In June, I played a hardcore set in Renne, posted it online, and that was heard by Maria 909 in New York. Later that summer, David (Cervello Elettronico) – who also was at the LA show – booked me to play at Nothing Changes in downtown New York. Maria showed up at that show, we hit it off, and a month later at Furthur she was key in advocating for me to play in Lenny Dee’s spot.
If I rewind the tape and think if I had bailed on that small LA show or had a bad attitude, would JB or David want to continue playing shows with me? Would I have been in Renne and Maria heard that recording, or met her in New York?
All of these elements combined to make that moment where Kurt asked me if I could play main stage with 5 minutes notice. Without hesitation I said yes and the rest was auto-pilot: Plug in the gear, get a sense of what to play immediately, and perform the best set I can play.
Do you see common elements that connect your entire body of work?
I think the common elements are darkness, hard-driven sounds, grief, and a sort melancholic beauty. That comes out in almost all my mediums – illustration, painting, film, and music. It can pendulate from hard techno to dark, beatless atmospheres. The Space Where She Was project is probably my biggest deviation from those themes because it moves into pretty, melodic sounds, although they are probably still on the dark side of the spectrum compared to most melodic music.
I think another element that comes out is that my body of work is uniquely me. Of course this or that element is going to overlap with my peers, but I don’t think people hear one of my tracks and say “oh that’s just like so and so.” I was talking to a friend in France who I did a remix for and he said “You’re an ovni in the industrial scene.” I asked what ovni was and he said “UFO,” meaning my sound is unique. I took that as the biggest compliment.
Over the years, I’ve heard many times that my music is too dark, too hard, too weird, too whatever. The benefit of that is I’ve developed an incredible amount of resilience and persistence. A few years ago I was in a slump and wondered if I should stop making music. I thought it through and wondered, “well, what else would I do?” and realized I’m built this way. I have to create. It’s not up to me. I wouldn’t be happy being a Wall Street broker or project manager or full-time dad. I find my equilibrium through creating. So I do it regardless of whether it’s going to land well with others or not. It’s emotional survival for me. There are times where it connects with a lot of people and times it doesn’t, and during the down times it becomes about what the music does for me, not others, that gives me persistence and meaning. It’s cynical, and usually with experimental music at some point it goes from being “weird” to most people to becoming “visionary.” It’s a validating feeling, but not something I need to count on to keep going.