I stumbled upon your release by Ray Ragnhild Adams, “Allande,” a fantastic, enthralling reissue that captured my attention from start to end. I was reminded of Sun Kill Moon, or other artists channeling a rootsy folk aesthetic; however, the sounds were more synthetic at times—intriguing me throughout its runtime. I promptly began digging through your record label, Frederiksberg Records, and was stunned by the diversity of genres and styles on display. From Swedish ambience to Cosmic Jazz to Island Disco, by far, your label represents one of the most interesting reissue labels that I’ve seen in a while. The plethora of styles has kept me coming back since. I understand that you’re as much of a documentarian as you are a music lover.
What is it about telling stories with and about music that appeals to you?
Thanks for the kind words. I really appreciate that.
I think stories are important, not only as documentation of who these artists are, but because they provide context and create a deeper connection to the music itself. For many underappreciated artists, that documentation never really existed beyond whatever happened around the time of release.
I personally appreciate many different genres of music, which is something the label reflects. When I look back at these releases, one of the highlights is always the human connections that were forged and what I learned about an artist, a scene, a country, or a culture I may have known very little about before. Even though I rarely write the liner notes myself, I’m always deeply involved in the research process, which is something I genuinely enjoy on a personal level.
It’s hard in the internet age not to get swamped with perspectives and opinions. I appreciate the clarity of vision and passion on display with your reissues—there’s a real attention to detail in how you describe the artist’s story behind their release. The aesthetics contribute to your messaging well; the excellent choices of color and imagery make it a wonderful cocktail that enhances the experience of the music. This focus behind each release, despite the diversity of genres and styles in the music, is the unifying factor—the glue—that makes Frederiksberg Records stand out to me as a leader in releasing not just music, but experiences. I’d love to learn more from you about what you think works well for your label.
When deciding what album to choose for your next release, what makes the album’s story stand out to you enough before you decide to pursue reissuing it?
By far, most ideas never come to fruition. Either I can’t find the people behind the music, they want too much money upfront, or all kinds of other issues pop up along the way. Some people are nervous about signing contracts and would rather leave things alone. I’ve even experienced someone passing away after I sent them a contract but before it was signed.
Every project is different, but one thing is certain: there are always bumps in the road.
Before I settle on a project, the music has to be really good. Sometimes the stories are better than the music, but those aren’t the kinds of projects I’m interested in putting out on my label. Ideally, great music comes with a compelling story. At the same time, some people who have created incredible art struggle to tell their story, even when it’s fascinating, and vice versa.
I think of myself as someone who works behind the scenes, focusing on the details and trying to make the best reissues possible. I usually try to keep Frederiksberg Records out of the spotlight on the releases themselves. Sometimes I wonder if it would be better to put a larger logo somewhere so people remember the label more easily, even if it makes the record less aesthetically appealing. It might also help if I made myself more the face of the label, being more visible by DJing more or being more active on social media, but that’s never been why I started the label. It isn’t about me, and it shouldn’t be. The artists deserve the spotlight.
I picture you, a grizzled adventurer, seeking to remove the sacred treasure from a long-lost tomb, barely escaping after dodging booby traps and other pitfalls—perhaps a companion betraying you along the way—only to have your treasure stolen by somebody else at the end. Perhaps you also have a fear of snakes and go by the name “Indie?” That’s “Indie” for “Independent Record Label,” and not “Indiana Jones.” Humor aside, I imagine that you’ve had some treasured records that “got away” while exploring the vast world of music.
How do you handle this rejection? Do you ever treat any record as truly lost, or is it just not the right circumstance yet for that release?
It’s not only my decision whether a record gets reissued. The people who own the rights make the final call. I’ve had more projects slip away for one reason or another than I’ve been able to release successfully. Reissuing lesser-known music is a tremendous amount of work, and nearly every release can feel like an uphill battle. The payoff is rarely monetary; it usually comes from feedback from listeners, artists, or their estates.
The competition for great projects is intense. From the time I licensed the Upstate New York jazz group Compass to when we were finally able to release the record, I think five other labels or individuals reached out to try and license the album as well. Nobody gets every project. That’s simply a part of the business.
I do have a fear of snakes, though not literal ones. I mean people you think you can trust. There have been a couple of times when people presented themselves to me as music fans or fellow label owners while also reaching out to artists they knew I was working with in an attempt to license the material themselves. After doing this for more than ten years, people don’t surprise me much anymore. I try not to dwell on the disappointment and instead focus on the human relationships that make this work worthwhile.
Your video journalism parallels music reissues nicely—both are about cataloging events and telling stories. Your desire to convince the late, great Carsten Meinert to reissue his hard-hitting record, “To You,” and tell his story to a wider audience is partially what motivated you to start your label. While I listen to music, I often see the musicians in my head playing their instruments with the passion that I hear in the performance; oftentimes, I see the times that they recorded in—the ’60s to ’80s, a very different world from today. That said, the best reissues I’ve heard do a great job of describing the times so well that I feel almost uncomfortable listening to the record, as if I’m actually in that time period and unsure how to behave or act—all while the musicians are jamming on stage.
How would you compare your knowledge of video journalism with running a music reissue label? Was there anything you had to unlearn to succeed in reissuing music as a business?
There wasn’t really anything I needed to unlearn, but I definitely had to learn a lot about the record business in order to make reissues happen. It might even be a stretch to call it an actual business. I’ve hardly ever paid myself for the amount of work involved. A lot of these projects are driven by passion.
There’s so much music out there, and streaming pays so little, that nearly every digital-only release I put out loses money. If you can sell around 500 physical copies, you can usually break even. For lesser-known music, at least in my experience, sync licensing is really the only reliable way to make money, but every label and their interns are competing for those opportunities.
It’ll be interesting to see how AI-generated music changes the sync licensing landscape over time and perhaps also the business model for reissue labels like mine.
A dusty hard drive sits in the back of the shelf. It’s been a while since they’d dug in the storage shed, but now that Dad is gone, someone’s got to do it. As they rummage about, somebody takes the drive and plugs it into their computer—they have to use a converter cable, but, fortunately, there’s a dusty one already sitting on a shelf nearby. On the drive are troves of music snippets: oddball experiments and strange melodies that sound like a cross between Jazz, chiptune, and Samba. They pause unloading their father’s belongings and sit and listen, transfixed. After the album finishes, they continue sitting, dumbfounded, until one suggests, “We need to post this online. Dad’s not here anymore, but everyone needs to hear this.”
With the internet becoming an archive of forgotten digital music, how do you see your strategy changing from finding physical media reissues to diving into the more modern black hole of forgotten, beautiful music?
Coming from the perspective of a record collector, physical media definitely plays a role in what I seek out. I listen to a lot of digital-only releases, but I haven’t really explored reissuing material from the digital era yet. That said, I’ve already reissued something that originally only came out on tape, and I currently have a project in the works that was only released on CD. Most of what I reissue has existed in some kind of physical format.
Still, there’s nothing that would prevent me from reissuing music from the digital era. If the music is good, it’s good. Hopefully there’s a meaningful story to tell alongside it, too.