Chris Harford is an artist of many forms—musician, painter, photographer—with each a means of expression demonstrating his enduring resilience. He’s had the major label record deals, the attention of a flattering press and appreciative audiences, and yet he remains concerned only with the quality, not the profitability, of his work. On April 21, he will perform with his Band of Changes at the Brooklyn Bowl, and on June 5th will travel to Washington, D.C. to appear at the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts with Pulitzer Prize-winning Irish poet Paul Muldoon. We spoke to Chris about the upcoming Bowl show, his uncommon business practice, and the value and purpose of art.
You’re a musician, but you’re also a painter and a photographer. What does music mean to you as an art form?
Music is a true form of expression and celebration of all things that language can’t seem to suffice. Like, Sufjan Stevens’ last record got me through the death of my dad, or something like that. Music hits with such an impact and can be so all-encompassing. It’s so all-consuming with the senses; with the heart, the mind, the body, and the memories. It’s working on so many levels.
How does it differ from the other mediums in which you work?
It differs in that I get to work with other people. That’s huge, in that manner, to have the conversations you have with musicians on the stage, improvising. Or, when you create in the studio. It’s all about working with other people.
What do you look forward to about this upcoming Brooklyn Bowl show?
The unbridled joy of performing with your mates; playing music and creating something with your friends that is so absolutely, unequivocally fun. Hopefully that comes out to the audience. It’s getting excited about Joe Russo and the way he’s drumming. Or Robbie Seahag’s guitar solo. You’re thinking to yourself, this is out of this world.
Is there something you can reveal about your plans for the Bowl?
We have enough material to draw on where we can do three to four-hour shows. The best Band of Changes experiences are when we’re allowed to play for a while; when we can warm-up and jam, and figure it out then and there. We’re taking this ride with the audience. We’re equally as surprised as the audience is as to where we’re headed. That’s probably what’s going to happen.
When I see the name Band of Changes, I understand the connection to a revolving, changing line-up performing a variety of songs, but what I thought of first was Jimi Hendrix’ Band of Gypsys and their song “Them Changes.”
You’re making me smile. That’s exactly where it came from. My brother did the artwork for my double-album, Band of Changes. He took the font from Band of Gypsys for that. You’re spot-on about the Hendrix thing. It’s also a nod to the Book of Changes. And, you’re right about the band members changing, and the music, too. I feel like now I personally prefer it to be Band of Changes, and you list who might be in it that night. Or you could leave that a mystery. I’m in a position where I’m playing with these crazy musicians a lot of people know from other projects. People are coming out of curiosity. They might not know the music or the songs, but they’re coming for that person, which is great. They’re still discovering it, in a way.
Your website allows fans to acquire your music on a pricing scale that ranges from free on up? Why do this?
I think when you have been around as long as I have, and you’re making the music, and the business changes over the years, there is so much to do when you DIY (do it yourself). The business aspect of the music is the thing I prioritize the least. I would love to charge a premium dollar for that kind of thing. Maybe it’s the examples that have been set by my peers. Maybe it’s noticing people would prefer to pay six dollars for a cup of coffee, but not a dollar for a song. Maybe it’s giving the consumer a choice; let them decide what’s the value of this. It’s been so difficult to negotiate those waters. I just want the music out there, and if somebody wants it, I want them to have it.
As a ballpark estimate, what would you say most people pay?
I’m going to guess more pay something than not, and a small percentage pay more than the most amount of money.
It reminded me of a patron system. You are not placing an exact value on your art, rather you are allowing people, in essence, to support your art with what they can afford. It’s less a business model and more an art model that elevates the music above commerce.
You just said it better than I could have. That’s it exactly, really. A lot of people who come to my painting shows say my paintings are so low, and I really need to raise my prices. If somebody wants a painting, and they get really excited about it, sure, I’d love to get a lot of money for it. But, the point really is that if someone is moved by a piece, I want them to have it. If they can’t afford it, I’ll still give it to them. You want to make a living, and you want nice things, but this can’t be the way to go about that.
How do you decide what medium—music, painting, or photography—will be best to express an idea you have at the moment? Do you separate that creative energy between them?
I wouldn’t deny one over the other, or do periods, per se. If there are periods in between doing the work, it’s only because life got in the way. Otherwise, it’s sort of full-on let’s create. However that’s going to come out will come out.
Does your music reflect where you are personally at a given time?
Yes, it does. Not all of (the songs) do, but a lot of them do. It does involve that, but it doesn’t have to, by any means. I try to write a lot of different ways, all in an attempt to write a good song.
Is this a time in history when it’s great to be you, given so many advances in technology, or can you see a better fit for who you are as an artist?
My friend Katie, the other day, said, you strike me as somebody who needs a patron and would’ve thrived 150 years ago. It’s quite possibly the case that it would’ve made more sense 150 years ago, let alone 35 years ago. It’s got to be the consequence of being a child of the ‘60s. When I was a really impressionable youth, what was going on musically was so heavy and so good. I wanted to try and do that. I don’t think there was ever a great time to be me. I just went for it, whole-heartedly. My earliest memory is seeing The Beatles on Ed Sullivan. That’s what I’ve wanted to do ever since. I’ve tried to design my life to do it. I’m pretty focused on remaining in the moment. Here I am, an older guy still doing this, somehow getting a chance to play a place like Brooklyn Bowl. It’s remarkable to me.
