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Martin Atkins is known to work twice as hard as necessary just so he can do things his way. Yet even by his own standards, 1998 has been hectic. Not only is he working overtime to complete an album with Skinny Puppy's Nivek Ogre, but he's simultaneously trying to kick-start the most elaborate and expensive tour in the 10-year history of his independently owned label, Invisible Records. "It feels like an explosion of activity," he says in his British-accented voice from Invisible's Chicago office. A buzz of chattering voices, clattering keyboards and ringing phones in the background verifies his statement. Not that you'll find him complaining about the effort. Despite the unending labor and potential for fiscal disaster, Atkins would rather stay independent, "pursue [his] vision of things" and have "nobody telling [him] shit" than sign his life away to some suit who views music as a profession instead of a passion. "It's extremely dangerous," he says, comparing his existence to "walking down the edge of that razor blade" between success and subsistence. Is he worried the financial cost of the tour could destroy all he's worked for? "Yeah, I'm always worried. But it's when you sit back and go, 'Everything is fantastic!' that you are so heavily screwed." Regardless of whatever triumphs he's had during two decades of making music, Atkins has never succumbed to such complacency. His winding career path started behind the drums in Public Image Ltd., John Lydon's post-Sex Pistols project. He quit in 1985--just as PiL was achieving popularity with "This Is Not a Love Song"--because he was sick of the business aspects of being a major-label artist. Following that farewell, he founded Invisible and smacked the skins with seminal acts such as Killing Joke and Ministry. During a 1990 stint with the latter group Atkins and other tourmates decided to break out of the usual "rehearse-record-tour-retire" band rut. What they did was negate the very meaning of the word "band"; their creation, Pigface, is an ever-evolving collective of musicians and madmen that has counted among its ranks approximately 200 people. Although initially viewed as an industrial-rock supergroup since it featured Ogre, Trent Reznor, En Esch (KMFDM), Paul Barker and Chris Connelly (Ministry/RevCo) and others, Pigface showcases a diverse crowd of alternative icons, including Jello Biafra, David Yow and Flea. So what exactly is Pigface? Is it merely Martin Atkins' pet project, or is it an untamable, 200-headed beast? Can it be categorized at all? Atkins doesn't think so, and doesn't even want to try. He says "categorizations are helpful when you're in the record store. Like, 'Where do I put this soundtrack to The Sound of Music?' Well, in the bin. But categorization is also limiting--and a problem. People think of Pigface as an industrial band because I played in Ministry and Nine Inch Nails and Killing Joke and the label's in Chicago. And really, when you have a bunch of people with sitar and tambourines and Christmas tree lights and harps and cellos and three drum kits...that's just music. That's just great music." He applies similar reasoning to describe the Invisible roster, composed of an eclectic assortment of electro-noise, twisted techno and other idiosyncratic indefinables. "All this stuff is uncompromisingly something-or-other, whatever it is," he says. "They said in 1990 that industrial music was just the new term for danger. I don't know what the new term for danger is now. Maybe [it's] Invisible Records. I'd like to think that." Inspiringly wild words from a man who, way back in '76, bleached his hair, became a punk rocker and got fired from his government job. Now, while his former PiL boss busily reaps the filthy lucre from a contrived Sex Pistols reunion tour, Atkins is putting his own money on the line to bring a "living, breathing version" of his label to the kids, "so people could leave the show shell-shocked, sweaty, in whatever condition they want to be in, and understand a bit more." He also insists he's not planning on mellowing out anytime soon, sarcastically scoffing (and sounding uncannily like Lydon, in fact), "Yeah, I'm putting 24 people in two buses, flying FM Einheit over from Germany with a four-piece band, bringing out Bagman [from England], bringing out 8,000 watts of low-end reinforcement with my number-one choice of sound man, a fantastic crew of people, just to have a mellow evening." Later, in a more serious mood, he proclaims, "I'm excited by music. That's what Pigface has given me. That's why I give so much to it, because it's given me a smile on my face when I'm playing my drums." So begins another 10 years dedicated to the spirit of independence and creative exploration. Hop on board: The Pigface express is ready for departure and everyone's invited on the trip. |
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