Hermit-genius Phil Elverum is a model for the kind of DIY productivity the Vera Project hopes to foster in Seattle’s youth. He’s been writing and recording his own songs as both Mount Eerie and the Microphones for over a decade, and he currently runs his own label, PW Elverum & Sun, which releases his own work and that of his friends. Elverum’s also a good example of how an individual artist can benefit from the support of a creative organization. Under the aegis of K Records, he acquired the skills needed to run his own business and progressed from home four-track recordings to the lo-fi studio wizardry heard on the Microphones’ masterworks The Glow Pt. 2 and Mount Eerie. He even has a hand in his hometown’s own small-scale all-ages space, the Department of Safety, a sort of Anacortes-sized Vera Project. All of this makes Mount Eerie uniquely suited to close out the Vera Project’s inaugural weekend at their new digs in Seattle Center.
Tell me about PW Elverum & Sun.
It’s just my house. I guess it was four years ago that I decided to try to put out my own records, just to see what it took. I was just really curious to see how much work it took to do it all myself. So I started this—it’s not really a record label; it’s basically just my address that I put on the records. I don’t really put out other people’s stuff, and I’m not interested in becoming a big label, but I am interested in doing every step myself. I really like that.
So what are all the steps involved in doing it yourself?
Coordinating the printing of the covers, dealing with the pressing plants, dealing with the mastering guy, paying the bills, buying the plastic bags, dealing with the distributor, shipping boxes of records, selling mail-order records to people from the website and through the mail. I spend so much of my time actually just packing orders and mailing them, which in some ways is kind of a drain on the creative side of my brain, but in other ways it’s really satisfying to do… everything.
Is there any significance to the spelling of “Sun” in PW Elverum & Sun?
Well, I don’t have a son, yet. But I like the way it sounds like an old-fashioned business. In old photos of old city streets, pretty much every business was a person’s name, regardless of if they repaired shoes or sold sheet music or whatever. So I was going for that sort of fake nostalgia.
And that’s sort of how businesses used to relate to their communities and develop trust.
Yeah, and I really like that aspect of it, and how that’s been lost and been replaced by brand loyalty rather than human loyalty. I never really thought about it in those terms, but it’s true. It’s kind of a funny, romantic idea. The idea of my neighbors buying records from me, from my window, like, “Hello, Mr. Elverum, what do you have for sale today?” You know, that’s not the world we live in, but it would be nice.
So what’s your relationship with Anacortes as an artist living there?
I don’t think many people in town know what I do, really. For the most part, I make my living by leaving town and going on tour, or through mail order, just sending things away. Very little of it is actually based in the city. My PO box is there, and I live there. I walk down the street and I buy my food at the grocery store. There is one record store in town that sells a few of my records occasionally.
I try to do things locally. I had this realization the other day: I was going around town trying to find a place that could output films from artwork to use for silk-screening, and I went to the printing place, and I went to a couple different places that sell souvenir T-shirts, trying to figure this thing out. And I realized, that’s the sacrifice of living in a small town—you can’t do your cosmopolitan, futuristic, independent record label. There are just tools that you don’t have, that you would have in a larger city. And it was kind of heartbreaking in a way to realize that I can’t actually do my living locally.
If Anacortes can’t sustain you and your business, do you feel kind of disconnected from the community that does?
Yeah, I suppose, but I have a lot of my life that’s lived outside of my business. I do relate to the community in a lot of other ways. Very few businesses in town that I can think of are actually there to serve the residents of the town.
What about something like the Department of Safety?
Well, they were founded with this kind of utopian vision of “this is where all the young people of town will socialize and learn these skills and get acquainted with these tools of production.” There’s a darkroom, and an art gallery, and recording studios. And it fluctuates, how enthusiastic the young people of Anacortes are about it, but lately it’s been pretty sparse. The shows there have been pretty sparsely attended, and the most successful shows there are filled up with people that come from Seattle, Vancouver, and Portland even. Which is kind of a harsh reality of small-town life. Like it would be nice if this town could sustain something like this, but it’s just kind of a relentless challenge.
How does that differ from something like the Vera Project?
Well, the Vera, they’ve got their shit together. They’ve got funding and the support of the city. They’re well organized, and they’ve got a good volunteer system. And a lot of that probably just comes from being in Seattle, having more people involved. Department of Safety is kind of trying to do the same thing, but with only a few people, and with no funding or support from the city at all, which is kind of depressing. 