by Benji Heywood (@benjiheywood)
Aaron Turner never stops. The musician, visual artist, label owner, and tattooist has released albums at a relentless pace since the mid-90s. For the last decade and change, Turner has helmed SUMAC, the experimental heavy music super group featuring the former ISIS frontman along with Brian Cook (Botch, Russian Circles) and Nick Yacyshyn (Baptists). Their discography is as varied sonically as it is pulverizing, encompassing improvisation, noise, sludge, mammoth riffs and everything in between. Their music is patient, punishing, and at times, staggeringly beautiful.
With SUMAC’s fifth album, The Healer, arriving later this month via Thrill Jockey, Post-Trash took the opportunity to speak with Turner on the eve of the band’s upcoming tour. Our wide-ranging conversation is perhaps best framed as a discussion of aesthetic ontology in the digital age—what is art today and why still make it? For a band who routinely releases albums with hour-plus runtimes where individual songs are more akin to orchestral movements than traditional metal songs, these are questions worth exploring.
This interview has been lightly edited for length and clarity.
credit: Paulo Gonzales
Post-Trash: You’re speaking with me today from your home on Vashon Island in the Puget Sound. In the past, you’ve lived in cities like Los Angeles and Boston. Do you find you’re more creative outside of a metropolitan environment?
Aaron Turner: I’ve thought about that a lot. I think place affects state of mind but I don’t think I could draw a direct correlation between place and creative output. There’s one practical element about being here: Unlike in most city situations, the place where I practice and record is on my property. I don’t have to drive anywhere. It’s literally out my front door.
PT: Is that where you write what becomes SUMAC material?
AT: Thus far, yeah. All the SUMAC albums start here. I make demos of the music then send them to Brian and Nick for review, then we get together as a group and tighten them up.
PT: Improvisation is an integral part of the band. How much space do you allow for improvisation when you’re writing the music?
AT: A part never comes out fully formed, so I’d say all of it comes from sitting and playing intuitively. And I use that word “play” intentionally. There has to be joy in creation. And that's part of the reason why improv is so fulfilling, and such an important part of our practice, because it allows for the uninhibited creative spirit to fully blossom which then frees your consciousness to an extent. Because there's a level of seriousness to the music there also needs to be a level of fun in making it, otherwise, there's not really a reason for doing it.
PT: Are there entirely different versions of recorded songs based on these differing improvisational sections? For example, on “World of Light” (the first track on new album The Healer) there’s that sparse section with tape loops and wandering guitar. Are there multiple versions of that?
AT: There aren’t multiple versions of the song, but yes, we definitely recorded a few different versions of that section then picked the one we liked the best. The same thing with the beginning of the song, too. The solo section of “Yellow Dawn” was tracked a few different ways, as well. Sometimes, we’ll splice two different sections together.
PT: For me, the improvisational sections in SUMAC are part of what gives the band such breadth.
AT: I really want what we do to be reflective of the full spectrum of human experience. That's subjective to a degree, because it's based off the experience of the three of us. However, I'm hopeful that there is sort of universality to the experience that comes across in the music and resonates for other people, which sounds like it does for you. That’s really cool to hear.
PT: It goes to show what is objective about music. The individual experience itself may be subjective—what makes you feel sad or happy may not elicit the same response in me—but the fact that music produces a subjective experience in us at all is universal.
AT: Exactly. There's a lot of people who would listen to SUMAC and not find anything about it that sounds fun or joyful. And for me, there's certain kinds of music that are considered fun and happy that for me feel extremely oppressive and grating.
PT: Such as?
AT: Whenever I hear a Police song or Fleetwood Mac where they sing “da da da” or “la la la,” it fills me with rage. Many people find that sing-song-y shit happy and fun but it drives me up the wall. These subjective connotations are based on our understanding of a word and the discrepancy of true meaning between the word and what it's supposedly signifying. I'm trying to make music that for me, bypasses all those complications, music that operates as a more real representation of the experience of life without those linguistic complications diluting its expression.
PT: I’ve long been deeply skeptical about whether language can articulate meaning in the same way music can. But at the same time, with music, meaning is a process. Music begins with the band or the artist but then music is transferred to the listener. So, I'm curious, how you think about where the meaning of a song ultimately resides? Is it always subjective to whomever is listening? Or is there a meaning for an artist like yourself that is different from what everybody else hears?
AT: That’s a really good question and a supremely difficult one to answer. There’s clearly deep meaning for both the listener and the creator, otherwise music would never have an appeal for people who encounter it outside of that initial process of making it. This is especially true for instrumental music or in cases where the lyrics are difficult to decipher. People experience it on a more emotional, even spiritual, level.
PT: Do you consider your voice an instrument?
AT: Ah, yes. I mean, I have to sing words. I can't just make sounds. That part of it for me does rely on words, and those words have to be specific. They have to carry some kind of weight for me in order for it to feel like they're appropriately married to the music. Obviously, I choose to sing in a way that isn't easily discernible. But that doesn't really concern me because I feel like the intent is there. So ultimately, the voice exists to serve the character of the music rather than the other way around. There's a lot of different kinds of relationships that exist between a singer and the music. This is just the way that feels correct for us.
PT: The new album is fantastic. I’ve been lucky enough to listen through it in its entirety multiple times before speaking with you and it’s truly remarkable. I noticed you worked with Scott Evans (Kowloon Walled City, Yautja, Great Falls) for this album. He’s one of my favorite producers. How did you connect with him and what was the experience like for you?
AT: First of all, I just want to say thanks for taking the time to listen to the album in its entirety. I know that's not an easy thing. Increasingly in our music listening culture, people are absorbing things in small chunks. In SUMAC, we're kind of working in the opposite direction and hoping that there are people who are still willing to listen that way, also.
As for Scott, I’ve been aware of his work for some time. Ultimately what led us to working with him was we were on tour and every night our sound engineer would tune the room using a song by Scott’s band Kowloon Walled City.
PT: Yeah, they’re great. Which song?
AT: I’m terrible with song names, even my own. It’s the first song on Container Ships.
PT: “The Pressure Keeps Me Alive.”
AT: Exactly. And that song sounds amazing, so I think it seeped into my consciousness. When we were discussing who would record the next album—I think Nick and I were walking around some city after soundcheck—Nick said we should have Scott do it. We’d been hearing that song every night and it sounded good. I thought it might be a really great fit.
PT: How does Scott approach a session differently than other producers you’ve worked with like, say, Kurt Ballou?
AT: Both Scott and Kurt have the ability to capture the live energy of the bands they’re recording. To us, that's crucial because our music is made to be played live. And the energy of it is something that we very much want to capture. And it's something often lost in the recording process. Scott’s approach is cool because he really uses a studio in an interesting way. He likes to accentuate the space he’s working in. He also hones in on the idiosyncrasies and nuances of the musicians he's recording and really captures their sound. It's almost like an exaggeration of the characteristics that are already there; he really brings those things to the fore.
PT: This album rewards close listening. All the tiny moments and intricacies; it’s quite a headphones album.
AT: That’s due in part to Scott’s mixing. His approach to mixing is a little bit different from Kurt's. Scott carves things out in a way so they become more noticeable. And Kurt takes a little bit more of a wall of sound approach where things are stacked and layered.
PT: SUMAC is known for collaboration. On The Healer, you collaborated with your partner Faith Coloccia, who plays organ and tape loops.
AT: Faith has actually been on every SUMAC album. It’s basically become a tradition. In terms of wanting music to be reflective of our experience, my partnership with Faith is a huge part of my existence. Faith has a creative character and a perspective I really value and that I also think really suits certain aspects of SUMAC. There's artwork she's made that I've gotten her permission to use for things we've done. And there’ve been passages on SUMAC records where I felt like there needed to be something else and I asked her to provide something. Sometimes I’ve had a specific idea or sometimes I just leave it up to her to figure out what sounds right to her to add.
PT: You mentioned artwork. One thing I’ve always appreciated about SUMAC albums is the time and care put into making the vinyl packaging. Each one is like its own work of art.
AT: We do that for the same reason we put so much effort into making the music. It’s a desire that stems from when I was a kid and listening to punk and hardcore records and getting records that were handmade. I found I really connected to ones that had interesting cover art. This desire (to make physical artworks) has been heightened by the fact that, in the digital-only streaming age, music has become much more disposable. In response, I really want to provide something that feels worth spending the money on. I want to give that physical artifact space within their living environment. It’s unfortunate when people don’t put time and effort into their work because at this point, resources are getting more and more scant, right? And if you are going to make the decision to use up those resources to make a physical object, then it should be for something that's worth it for the people who are buying it.
PT: I’m glad you mentioned this. Music has become more disposable because it no longer costs the listener anything to access it. With songs on TikTok it barely even costs you your time. I wanted to ask you, because your musical career has spanned the CD age, the Napster age, and now the streaming age and the resurrection of vinyl, was there a sweet spot between art and commerce? I mean, there’s no denying that the Internet provided an equity of access to everything that wasn’t present before, but is that always good?
AT: I think it’s mostly bad. (laughs) And I'm not just saying that to be a pessimist. I just don't think it's really done much good. I mean, you could talk about the whole phenomenon of tape trading in the 80s. People from countries all over the globe were trading tapes with each other. They found each other and found a way to access this music. So, you know, I think it's cool in a certain way that people from any part of the globe, any walk of life, can potentially access any kind of music at any given time. But I don't think that they necessarily are. I don't think that there's hard proof that awareness around certain types of music has grown significantly. The cons outweigh the pros in that sense.
PT: I guess it’s a little like how we now have access to the whole of human history in our phones but if you don’t know what question to ask, what good is that information? You can have access to every song ever but how do you find what to listen to without context?
AT: I’m sure there’s something that I’m missing. I think this is just a product of aging. The time at which my ideas about music were being formed, and the time at which my career was taking shape, in many ways, to me, is the essence of music. I’m not sure the younger generation can point to any massive benefits of streaming music. From what I can tell, streaming has really only devalued the music and made it harder for people to really dig into.
PT: Records are so fleeting now.
AT: The way a record only exists in someone’s consciousness the day it comes out—or increasingly now even before it comes out—I’m troubled by this. There's a lot about the way music is being made, being promoted, being released, that is detrimental to the true art of making music. At the same time, the commercial aspect of music has always worked against the music itself. In some ways streaming is just another iteration of that. People want to sell music and make money from it. This is entirely or almost entirely at odds with the integrity of the music and the process of making it for the artist.
PT: I hate being that guy who says everything sucks now, but there is something missing when art becomes something to consume rather than to enjoy or experience.
AT: I don’t think everything sucks now. A lot of music technology is great, that there’s a more direct way for people to create and then immediately share it with the world. That sort of accessibility is great. It does level the playing field. At the same time, I know people now whose kids are tweens or teens and they didn't even know there was ever a time where you had to pay for music. And of course, at the root of this problem is capitalism. But at the same time, it's also a huge problem that musicians can no longer expect to get paid for their work. And again, the music industry has largely been unfair to musicians, in many ways from the dawn of the music industry. But I will say, we're spending the same amount of money on recordings that we were 15, 20 years ago, but the returns we can expect from that are less than half.
PT: Which makes me appreciate people like you who continue to do it and still put the time and effort into it. On this upcoming tour, you’re doing a special collaborative show in Los Angeles. Tell me about that and then I’ll let you go.
AT: We arrived at this idea of doing two shows in LA because we just couldn't find a good show for San Diego. And if we are (going to play two LA shows), what would be the point of doing two shows in the same place? It was an opportunity to present two different sides of our existence. One show will be the self-contained version of SUMAC where it's the three of us playing versions of our songs from our studio albums. And then the other show is SUMAC as an open door, a creative entity that can invite in other collaborators. The three of us have such a kinship creatively and we get along quite well as people. That mixture of personal and creative connection is really important to us. So, we thought about who we would like to collaborate with, and both Patrick (Shiroishi-saxophonist) and Zachary (James Watkins-guitarist) immediately came to mind. We talked to them about it, they were both open to the idea.
I'm curious to see how it goes, this two-show thing. I try to approach all the activities SUMAC does with a lot of curiosity. I find it's better to approach things with curiosity rather than expectation. If you set specific expectations, there's quite often the chance for things to go in entirely different directions. Whereas if you approach it with curiosity, you can just enjoy the outcome as it unfolds.
The Healer is available for pre-order now from Thrill Jockey.