Among the albums is a box set of This Mortal Coil recordings that Ivo recorded back in the day with a revolving cast of musicians, some close friends and others mere acquaintances. Some remain friends; others he hasnt seen, talked or corresponded with for many years. No expense was spared in the mastering of this music or the packaging of the collectors CD format known as Japanese paper sleeve, though the high-end quality is more like stiff card, like its a book or a piece of art. These miniature reproductions of the original vinyl album artwork, only reproduced by specialist manufacturers in Japan, is the antithesis of the intangible digital MP3 that now defines music consumption. Im fascinated by the quality of what the Japanese do, and the obscurity of some of the releases they archive and document, Ivo says. Record companies say that no one buys finished product anymore. So why not give them something of beauty?
Shelves and drawers in Ivos rooms contain thousands of these limited edition box sets, which he trades as a hobby, to turn a profit if he can, ordering early and then selling on once they have sold out. After a period of not even being able to listen to music, it has again become an obsession. The music industry, or rather 4ADs place in it, used to be an obsession as well. Not anymore. Now its a foggy, jumbled-up memory of highs and lows, a black dog growling at the foot of his mind.
Much contemporary music has a similar effect. Edgy, glitchy electronic music, the currency of the present technological age, is just wrong for my brain, Ivo shrugs. He also admits he very rarely sees any live music anymore; too many people, too much fuss. The concept of the latest sound, the latest trend, the hyped-up sensation, leaves him cold. It has to be music that exists for
its own sake. Music that can provide what he describes as solace and sense. For the most part, Ivo explains, it doesnt involve the intellect, but evokes an emotional response. It draws one away from analysis, from the brain constantly questioning.
This music often comes from his past, discovered in his youth or while he was building 4ADs catalogue, when he experienced epiphanies, love affairs, drug trips, through a cassette demo or a live show, before there was even the awareness of a black dog or what it meant to run a business. Music from the worlds of American folk and country appear to provide the most solace and sense these days. But the uncanny world of progressive rock rooted in the Sixties and Seventies, fusing the techniques of classical and avant-garde music to play havoc with tempo, texture and access, has become a recent fascination. Give me originality, he says. Give me something challenging. I listen to music now and Im always running an inventory in my head of what it reminds me of. I mean, if youre going to copy, to mimic, without putting an ounce of yourself into it
Ivo hasnt recorded any of his own music since 1997, when he assembled a series of cover versions under the name The Hope Blister. There have been a couple of times where Ive talked about it, he admits. I sent tapes out for people to consider, but I couldnt go through with it. In any case, I havent had an original idea for years. In fact, I have no idea how I was ever that imaginative.
Yet despite his disappearance into the desert and retirement, Ivos opinion clearly still stands for something. Colleen Maloney, 4ADs head of press through the Nineties and currently at fellow south London independent Domino, heard that Ivo had fallen for Diamond Mine, a collaborative album between Scottish vocalist King Creosote and British electronic specialist Jon Hopkins that Domino had released in 2011. Ivos name subsequently appeared on a press advertisement beside the quote: the best vocal record of the last twenty years.
Its so full of atmosphere, so sharp and so sad, he says, nailing the very qualities that so often elevated the music released on 4AD to such sublime heights. But, as the cliché goes, the higher you climb, the harder you can fall. Beneath the beauty, lies a deeper ocean of emotion in which to drown.
chapter 2 1980 (1)Piper at the Gates of Oundle
Far from Lamy, the ancient market town of Oundle in the UK has a markedly different flora, fauna and geography flatter, greener, though just as sedate. In a rural idyll 70 miles north of London in the county of Northamptonshire, Oundle is also isolated: 12 miles from the nearest main town of Peterborough, and almost surrounded on three sides by the River Nene.
The house where Ivo grew up was also isolated the driveway to the main house was half a mile long. The Watts-Russells are inextricably linked to Oundle: records show that Ivos ancestor Jesse Watts-Russell Junior built the town hall and the church, though its the ancient church in the nearby village of Lower Benefield that can be seen through the avenue of trees from the estates manor house.
Ivos family came from aristocratic money, but while they still own much of the land in the area, the low-rent tithes set by his grandmother in the 1930s drastically reduced the income. The farmhouse property where Ivo was raised while his grandmother occupied the manor house had broken windows in every room. Sixty years earlier, the family name was a presence my grandparents marriage was society news, he recalls. But the reality was five of us in one bedroom, and the farm itself was only a modest success.