ALFRED HILSBERG

The German music industry, as in most places, has had a pretty volatile history. Alfred Hilsberg has managed to ride out that history and become one of the few mainstays in an industry where most people are tossed into the gutter once they begin to go gray or get those gross old people spots on their hands. In 1979, he started ZickZack, a label that gave a platform to the resurgent punk, avant-garde, and post-punk scenes in Düsselforf, Berlin, and Hamburg in the aftermath of the UK punk-hype. During the first few years Hilsberg released records from everyone who set food in his studio with reckless abandon (bands like Abwärts, Palais Schaumburg, Die Tödliche Doris, Einstürzenden Neubauten, and Freiwillige Selbstkontrolle, to name a few), he personally created the term “German New Wave,” and was eventually financially strangled by the decadence of that very movement.

He was in debt and didn’t have a particularly healthy lifestyle, but still managed to keep releasing records. In fact, he founded another label, What’s So Funny About, and got behind little known bands like Blumfeld in the 90s. To some he’s a grouchy old grandpa with mountainous debt–the relic of another, long gone era. Even if there is some truth to that, Hilsberg’s existence, as well as his current work, help to preserve music as a cultural asset. He’s also still releasing records and doesn’t plan on stopping anytime soon.

Vice: We haven’t heard much from you in the last year. Why is that?
Alfred Hilsberg: I had an identity crisis, like lots of people in this country. For me of course, it was all a result of the decline of this old record circus. Then you start asking yourself, “What the hell is going on?”

How often have you asked yourself that?
Everyday [laughs]. Well, almost everyday since ’82. In those first two or three years with the label there was no need for deep questioning. But the collapse of German New Wave (GNW) was a wake-up call to us that we weren’t as independent as we’d liked to have thought. Of course we were in control of what we were releasing, but then the realization finally came that we were still part of the music industry.

How did you see yourselves before that?
We wanted to operate independently of the existing structures of the music industry and its marketing machines. We wanted to be a cultural phenomenon, not a marketing phenomenon. But we couldn’t manage it and it turned into more of a fashion thing. As for GNW, the major companies got their hands on it and filled the market with pretty pointless stuff, which got a lot of media attention. The people weren’t buying anything innovative or difficult anymore. In fact, they didn’t buy anything anymore. There was a vacuum from ’83 until about ’85 or ’86.

That means that the commitment of the initial customers from the ZickZack years had also fallen away.
Yeah. There weren’t many people who saw it through. You know, there were always those people who weren’t just buying it, talking about it, and going along with it because it was “in,” but because they understood it as a culture and really adopted it themselves. But for the others it was just a trend that you had to know about to be able to banter with everyone else.

When did the dark years end?
The identity crisis started to sort itself out because of a couple of commercial successes which were mostly released through the What’s So Funny About label, like Gun Club, Henry Rollins, and Nikki Sudden. By the end of the 80s the atmosphere was generally optimistic again. It was at the time of the so-called reunification. There were new, almost excessive forms of expression in Hamburg which brought up different types of people from the “Hamburg School.” That was a phrase created by journalists. It changed from a label into a marketing term like l’age d’or. We never used it though because that school never existed.

How did the GNW disaster change your business strategy?
Well, through the successes I mentioned before I let the structures of the music industry take me hostage. It started in the 80s when the style of marketing was being replaced. I acted like a major record label, just on a smaller scale. I had to learn all their strategies even though I didn’t want to. In hindsight I can see that none of that actually brought about better quality.

Before, the fans were ripping the stuff out of our hands, and that was without any marketing. Journalists were following us, not the other way round. There were huge queues and they wanted demo records but we wouldn’t let them have them. We told them, “you have to pay.” And they did, gladly. We had to calculate numbers and learn how a company works. Somehow I suddenly owed 25,000 Deutschmark in tax. It was because of the crazy amount of money we were making, but of course we weren’t paying any taxes.

Because of your naivety or on purpose?
It was naivety. I obviously wasn’t doing any bookkeeping. I didn’t even know what it was [laughs]. I had a massive box of receipts, and then the taxman came and said, “that’s not OK.” I came limping out of that one with 25,000 mark.

Is that the debt that’s still on your mind today?
No, that’s bank debt. I went to the biggest Sparkasse Bank in Hamburg and marched straight to the loans department and asked whether I could have a loan for 50,000 mark. I just needed money to restart my life. I explained to them that I knew how to get the label back on track and they could give me the money to do it, thank you very much. The next day the money was in my account but I just never managed to pay it back, and that’s the debt I’ve still got today. It doesn’t bother me anymore though.

You don’t care whether you’re in debt?
It isn’t real. It’s just a virtual phenomenon. It would be more difficult if I had to pay back 500 Euros every month. That would really get to me. But it doesn’t really work like that.

Which aspects of the music industry’s status quo make you angry?
Basically, that the main players stick to the same structures. They just aren’t capable of reform. They haven’t noticed that they’re actually superfluous. Just take Universal, the biggest of the majors, which still works the same they always have: throw 30 acts onto the market and one of them will give some return. It’s the same thing they’ve been doing for decades. They release something relatively cheaply by testing it online. It’s the same principle as a company like Motor. Tim Renner releases his stuff, but not on CD at first. If he’s not convinced that it works, he tests it digitally first. The way he does it, he takes the music industry’s methods to an extreme. When he makes something he wants all the rights. Not just the master and publication rights. He wants merchandise rights, management rights, publishing rights, digital rights, and all the way through to shares in the live business. The days are not far off when record labels will require that their artists bring sponsors into the contract with them.

Can an independent record label still function on that scale?
As far as I’m aware, Renner has made himself a frontrunner on that scene with his methods. It really doesn’t have anything to do with our ideas of independent culture. Because of the structural shifts, it looks like you have to be very rigorous in competition with those artists around you to be at all profitable and survive in today’s market. Lots of them just join in because they haven’t got another way to get their music out there.

The business channels in the music industry have changed radically in the last few years. How do you deal with that?
With regard to digitalization, since 2000 we’ve been asking ourselves daily whether there’s any point still working as a record label. It doesn’t bother me that people download music, it’s the loss of consciousness about the worth of music, that’s the problem.

It’s amazing that consciousness about the worth of music appears to have gone missing, even in an environment like ZickZack’s.
Sadly, that’s completely true. Of course there are still loads of people, especially adults, who inform themselves on the culture pages, and who will continue to buy records or music in physical form. But the younger generation are completely ruthless and seem not to value music as a cultural asset, but as a commodity that you get at every corner.

Is it too late to teach this generation to respect music in that way?
I don’t know what would have to happen to change their behavior. Theoretically speaking, we would need something like a music strike. We would need a whole movement of musicians to announce, self-organized or through a trade union, that they aren’t going to produce any more music until people stop downloading. But how would that work? It won’t. I don’t do it either, running after the Fata Morgana of the internet. Our foundation will remain the physical recordings. I think the internet has done a lot to devalue music. It isn’t seen as a product of society that costs money and needs to be recognized with money in return anymore. People pay for T-shirts or any old crap that they can get their hands on at concerts. Not to mention the ticket prices are insane, and they are happy to pay those.

That’s the point of view of a label owner. But from the consumer’s point of view, do you believe you’re supporting the artist?
For concert tickets in clubs, that sort of behavior is completely fine. But lots of people are making money from the big arena concerts and festivals, and the same with all the merchandise shit.

But the consumer isn’t aware of that.
Consumers aren’t aware, that’s true. Presumably, they also think that when they buy a t-shirt with Ballack’s name on it that most of the money goes to him. They’re not aware of the fact that the German Football Association gets most of it. They just don’t know. 1.2 million T-shirts were sold during the World Cup at about €59 a shirt. Crazy.

There’s often said to be a democratization of resources in relation to digitalization. Would you say there’s more rubbish than there used to be because of the internet, or is it just more visible?
I do think that there is more rubbish because of digitalization. There’s more because everyone has access, because everyone on one level or another can produce, and those levels are completely uninteresting. I think it’s only a pseudo-democracy though, because even now only particular people can really assert themselves–people who have the money, for example. This Arctic Monkeys story was all just staged. Without money it never would have worked.

You refuse to believe that quality can prevail?
Of course there will occasionally be the odd coincident that helps quality come out on top. Either that, or it’ll happen through a clever, timely, and probably well funded ploy on the internet. But lots of people try that all the time. Through the internet I’ve found just as many quality acts as I used to listening to demo tapes. And that’s not many.

Working in the music business as an artist or a label manager mostly means fighting for survival. How long will you go on?
It certainly leaves its mark. You can see the results from the way I look. Just look at pictures of me 25 years ago and you’ll see what’s happened. It wasn’t just drugs, but the daily struggle to survive. Some of the people I know from the business want to know how it’s possible that we’re still alive. They’re pretty surprised that I still release records.

Speaking of drugs, would you say that you have an addiction?
Yes. Although it’s mostly to alcohol. I don’t have to drink, but I like to. It’s been that way for 67 years or so. It started with the music journalism in 1965. I actually worked as a lecturer at the Hamburger School of Art and I had a medical examination when I first started there. They found I had liver damage, but my doctor said, “It doesn’t matter, your kidneys are still working.” That was enough for me. I wouldn’t want to make a direct comparison, but it would be like trying to imagine a world without music. And I really can’t do that.

How are you feeling today?
Recently I’ve been to the doctor for quite a wide range of reasons. I lost my hearing because of the stress and had to take pretty hard medicines, like cortisone, for that. I didn’t realize it would have such an effect on me. On that topic, my doctor told me I might have to deal with my rather obvious alcohol consumption in a different way. Perhaps I should stick with wine. [laughs]

What do you drink then?
I only drink vodka. I’m drunk after one glass of beer or wine. I can’t bare it.

Every other doctor would probably also tell you to avoid stress.
I know, he’s already told me that. He wanted to know whether I actually do anything other than swallow medicine. I told him I try to telephone less and try to make fewer appointments, and he said, “If you don’t end this self-imposed stress, I’ll have to put you in the hospital for your own protection.”

Would you say you are the force behind your poor health and that you don’t spend enough time on yourself?
The way I treat myself is pretty stupid. I really have to do something to sort that out. I’d like to get someone in to help me part-time during the day, but it wouldn’t be enough. I’d need two people to even get near having enough time for myself, but it’s not financially viable at the moment.

Why does German music have such a hard time abroad?
That’s a complex issue. More interesting music is still being made in the Anglo-American countries–at least musically speaking. Lyrics are another matter. Over here in Germany people don’t really listen to the lyrics. Krautrock and Kraftwerk were really exceptions to the rule. There are lots of countries, especially America and Japan, where people want to listen to music just because it’s not from their countries. Einstürzende, Neubauten, Palais Schaumburg, and Blumfeld weren’t just musically interesting, they were an entire attitude. These bands are something original, they were perceived as authentic. And you need that if you want your music to be heard outside of Germany.

Something that’s difficult, of course, is when German bands copy American or English acts.
Totally. Let alone the fact that it’s really difficult to position German music internationally. Since Blumfeld stopped, so many of our international connections have dried up. Not that it’s Blumfeld’s fault. We can thank the new technologies and the crisis in the industry for that.

Were there times in your life when you thought you’d had enough of music?
There were. But mostly around the 1982-’83 time, when GNW collapsed and threatened to totally wash us away. It was too much for me and I just didn’t want to do it anymore. I didn’t have the nerve to keep going. That’s when I started writing for Sounds magazine. I spent my days listening to music and discussing it as well. If you listen to 20 or 30 different things every day, you get to the point where you just don’t want to hear anymore. From the mid-80s onward I carried on, but very selectively. In fact, for about 10 years I stopped noticing, following, and criticizing all the trends. No one can be bothered after a while, and I certainly have no need now to keep up with the cool chitchat about bands.

Did you ever have a back up plan?
Nah. That was probably my mistake, not having one of those. But I’ve never thought too hard about my own existence. I’ve never protected myself enough in that way.

You don’t like to be seen as the patron of punk, do you?
Punk was always to stupid and limited for me–musically and in terms of style. I didn’t want anything to do with it. I had, say, Abwärts on my label, and that was something of a love-hate relationship. I actually listened to them again recently on FM. The band has said to me that I never liked Abwärts, and I said “Yes, that’s true.” Then they said, “but you gladly took our money,” and I replied, “of course!”

Despite all of our differences, we still did a lot for Abwärts, but the band did a lot for themselves in terms of organization. They distributed their own demos and records because they wanted to have control. They also earned more than other bands, precisely because they were so much more involved.

They lived up to your idea of what artists should be.
The ideal artist doesn’t exist. The best you can do is get involved with a wide variety of different characters. I think an artist should have standards for himself to live up to. He should be able to control everything possible. He should be able to see through things and be able to talk the talk as well. He should be there when the homepage is being created, he should know how artists’ rights and copyright stuff works, and know what his performing rights are too. He should know what a record cover is supposed to do–that it’s not just a pretty picture, but that it also creates an image. Lots of artists would tell me knowing these things is overkill, but these are essential points. In some cases it’s taken me until I got bored with the band or music before I realized the musician wasn’t even serious in the first place. For them it’s just a nice, half exciting thing to do in your spare time when you’re not studying.

Is there an artist in Germany that you would like to have on your label?
That’s a tricky question. I’m gutted that Panik aren’t on my label. I got pushed out of the decision making process. I suddenly had a wall of people in front of me telling me I couldn’t have them. Those are old Berlin ties for you. That was one of those experiences I wish I hadn’t had. But I still really like the band!

Did you ever think that you would earn a lot of money with music?
No, I didn’t. Others did, but that was never my thing. I just did what I wanted to.

Did you ever regret a decision of yours?
I should have made the decision to become a concert promoter and organizer and not a label manager. I had the opportunity. An English concert agency asked me whether I would be their German representative because they’d seen me do it. I’d done all the big German concerts 1980–1982, everything from the Cure to Dexy’s Midnight Runners. I had the opportunity to build up a successful concert agency. It was a mistake not to, but I don’t regret it.

You’ve been doing this for 30 years. What’s going to happen in the future?
Despite all of this talk of crises, which I rather enjoy, something exciting always comes along. Sure, lots of that stuff has gone over to Berlin, but that’s the thrill of the capital city. The next two ZickZack releases are Berlin artists, who I’ve been working with for quite a while. Katze is releasing their second album with us now, and Jens Friebe’s fourth album is coming out in October. I don’t want to list them all, but 206 are going to be really big next year. You’ll see, my time will come in my 31st year.

INTERVIEW BY ANDREAS RICHTER
ILLUSTRATION BY FRANK HOHNE
PHOTOS BY SABINE SCHWABROTH