MICHAEL GOLDSTONE: FROM A&R STAR TO INDIE ENTREPRENEUR

Before he launched indie label Mom+Pop Music in 2008, Michael Goldstone—Goldie for short—made a name for himself as a major-label A&R executive at Epic, DreamWorks and Sire. The Long Island native is best known for discovering and developing grunge standard-bearer Mother Love Bone, followed by Pearl Jam—formed by Mother Love Bone’s Stone Gossard and Jeff Ament and Eddie Vedder—and Rage Against the Machine. Goldie also oversaw Epic’s double-platinum soundtrack to Cameron Crowe’s 1992 film Singles, which kicked the Seattle scene into commercial overdrive, and 11 years later inked acclaimed singer-songwriter Regina Spektor to Sire.

Mom+Pop, which is celebrating its 15th anniversary in 2023, has established itself as an inviting oasis in the musical landscape through an innovative, artist-friendly business model and a high-quality roster that includes Courtney Barnett, Maya Hawke, Beach Bunny, Alice Merton, Porter Robinson, Madeon, Caamp, Ashe, Lucius, Alan Palomo/Neon Indian and Tom Morello.

Goldie and I were friendly rivals in the A&R game during the ’90s. When we said hello for the first time in years prior to this conversation, he quipped, “Let’s plan to attend a show at Perkins Palace”; he was referring to the Pasadena concert hall where we checked out bands in decades past when he was working for MCA and I was at Zoo Entertainment. Those were the days.

What inspired you to roll the dice as an entrepreneur when you started Mom+Pop?

Back in 2006, it became apparent to me that music was going in a direction where the kind of artists I wanted to work with weren’t necessarily constructed to be doing four- and five-album deals. It reached a point where a lot of the things I was gravitating toward had real substantive value but weren’t necessarily the multimillion-selling artists the majors were looking for.

I’d actually wanted to start Mom+Pop and maintain my job at Sire—try to have my cake and eat it too the way James Diener did when he started Octone. And what I learned is that corporations don’t want to turn employees into entrepreneurs. It’s the nature of the beast. When I realized that, I walked out and started Mom+Pop.

So you came right out of working with Seymour [Stein].

Yeah, it was a very long process because I ended up working without a contract and had made my intentions known. I’d been in the A&R space for a long time, and I wanted more freedom and more empowerment. So there was a period of about a year where I knew I was leaving and stopped signing acts because I didn’t want to bring anybody in if I wasn’t going to be around. What was valuable about that period was the ability to meet with entrepreneurs—people you never get to have a non-transactional conversation with, which are the best conversations to have. So it took a good year and change, and I was fortunate to have some meetings along the way that really were catalytic. At one point I got to spend some time with JAY-Z and Roc Nation. I was starting a company, which gave me a chance to be out there in the world for the first time, because I’d worked for other companies since I was a kid.

At that point, Sire had sort of been dusted off, and with things like Tegan and Sara, Regina Spektor, H.I.M., The Spill Canvas, Jack’s Mannequin and Veronicas, it seemed like we were creating another sort of Sire-esque chapter, where it all weirdly fit together. So that time was incredibly precious. I was the kid in the candy store who gets to have the title of president of Sire and go do something with Seymour. That put off my entrepreneurial appetite and was that last major-label gig that felt like the right thing to do.

I worked for Seymour between ’97 and ’99 when Sire was a stand-alone label. It was a weird time, frankly, because there didn’t seem to be any guardrails; Seymour would sign things and we’d make these records, but a bunch of them never came out.

I think because of those kinds of experiences, by the time I came in, the cynicism on his part was pretty significant. And week one, they threw me into the deep end: OK, here are all the things that are on the table and Seymour and I need to figure it out. It took a long time to build trust with him to the extent that he would allow somebody in, but it was super-rewarding and super-fun, and we had some amazing times chasing those bands. It was like traveling the world with your awesome crazy uncle.

Do you have any Seymour stories to share?

Within two or three weeks of my starting the job, he said, “We ought to go to France to see The Distillers.” We fly to France, we go see The Distillers and taking a train back to the English Channel, I’m staring out the window and he looks at me and goes, “What’s that?” And I go, “It’s an iPod.” He says, “What are you listening to? What does it do?” “It’s got music in it.” He goes, “What are you listening to?” I knew how to poke at his button. “I’m listening to a Russian immigrant singer-songwriter named Regina Spektor.” He goes, “Give me that.” Grabs the thing from me and starts listening to it. In about 30 seconds he goes, “Well, where the hell is she?” I said, “Actually, she’s playing in Brussels tomorrow with Kings of Leon.” He goes, “Then what the fuck are we going to London for? Let’s go to Brussels.” Five hours later we’re in Brussels. He’s backstage singing show tunes from the 1940s and ’50s to Regina. We signed her eight months later. That’s what he was about. There were a lot of fun times with Seymour, and I’ve missed him since the day we stopped working together.

In terms of mentors, it’s interesting that you not only had Seymour but Mo and Lenny, these Mount Rushmore figures that you worked closely with.

Without a doubt. I was very fortunate to work with Lenny and Mo—and I had some access to David [Geffen]. In the early days, I had Richard Griffiths and Michele Anthony. I’m close with both of them to this day; I get a chance to see Richard from time to time, and Michele put us together. It ended up, in some ways, being the most inspiring time, to be within a bigger system and to work for somebody who was generous in terms of assigning credit. It meant a lot to me then, and it means a lot to me to this day.

It was an incredible experience working at Epic because I got a chance to move back to New York, which I’d always wanted to do. I showed up with half a band, and then the Ozzy [Osbourne] record [1991’s No More Tears], and then Pearl Jam and Rage Against the Machine, and that gave me the freedom to charge through A&R with more certainty and less fear.

And now Rage is going into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame.

Having known them for the duration, I’m incredibly happy for them. For me, it’s surreal and inspiring to see them get their deserved recognition. They’re one of the most influential bands of all time, and I’m proud of them. I’m proud to know them.

The first time I saw them was in a rehearsal room in L.A., and 20 seconds after they started playing I was freaking out, so I ran out the door, called Richard Griffiths in New York and said, “How soon can you get out here?” He ended up coming out pretty quickly and did the signing. It’s super-rewarding to see their relevance maintained.

When you were hitting those home runs at Epic, I was running the A&R department for Lou Maglia at Zoo. It was such a heady time, and I was naive, but it seemed like anything was possible after Nirvana and what you did with Pearl Jam and Rage. A&R is so different now. It seems like a completely different business.

Those were some of my foundational experiences. The key was to take the value you got from those experiences but not get stuck in them. And that’s where being able to start Mom+Pop was so empowering, especially having very direct and transparent relationships in terms of creative controls. Because I was gravitating toward artists who really did not need help making records and learning that my value could be in helping them finish those records—maybe it’s a follow-up record; maybe it’s the next record. And over time it became valuable and wonderful—the diversity in what artists needed and didn’t need.

And to be able to take the ethos we had to advocate and fight for, starting with the mindset of how you deal with artistry, was extremely impactful for all these talented younger executives working here now. And there was so much I was able to take with me from those early experiences—like the nature of a small versus a big label and the differences in philosophy.

It really did inform a lot in 2008, when someone would say, “What a horrible time to start a label,” or “No one else will be doing that—what a great time to start a label.” So it was a daunting time, a weird time, especially with the stock market being what it was [during the Great Recession].

How did you fund the label?

It was funded by Peter [Mensch] and Cliff [Burnstein]. I’d met with a lot of different people and then wanted to find a management component alongside a record component. They didn’t think that being a record company per se was their strength. I’d known them for years and had brought them a number of acts over those years, so they subsidized it. It was fortuitous for all of us because we essentially started it with $300,000—that was it.

So we were able to start the label on that first act [Joshua Radin], and we had the Q Prime team, so we were able to hit the ground running and put that record out, and it performed well enough for Cliff to say, “OK, this is proof of concept; go do what you need to do.”

So it didn’t take long for you to feel this was going to be viable.

Well, to be frank, I was fortunate that I was slightly naive in ways that made it less daunting than the traditional [model of] raising money, getting investors, having expectations and things like that. Peter and Cliff were creatives themselves and understood the process. It was really helpful at the beginning, because we were able to go out and do things that didn’t necessarily make a whole lot of sense to build up our destination.

During those first few years, I learned so much, and the indie community was much more welcoming than I’d anticipated. I figured if I kept my head down for 10 years, maybe I could look up if our work reflected the culture. But the people I worked with in [Sony’s RED] distribution were incredibly helpful, and there was a whole ecosystem of people I’d never dealt with before. Because in a major, as you know, it’s, like, “Sign bands, make records. We don’t need you to do anything else.” And all of a sudden I was responsible for doing everything.

And now Mom+Pop is a pillar of that community.

There are so many talented people working here, and I’m really proud of them. My partner is Thaddeus Rudd, who started as a marketing consultant and now co-owns the company with me. We’ve built this roster with the team. Thad contributes not only in the marketing space but within A&R as well, plus he has such strength at radio.

Having worked within bigger companies for a significant portion of my career, I’m really thrilled with the team we’ve built. We have an incredibly committed, dedicated, engaged group of people who are the ambassadors for our ethos, because we’re extremely transparent in terms of everything from the deal to the process to the budget to the marketing to the decision-making. They’re ballers. They have great energy around artists and managers, and it’s something people point to when they talk about the experience they’ve had at the company. Watching them thrive and being in a position to facilitate their growth has been one of the most rewarding things I’ve ever done in my career. And it’s been fun to continue doing A&R and sign bands and go through that process of the hunt and the strategy.

As bad as it might have seemed in 2008, I imagine the timing turned out to be perfect because there was a niche no one realized needed to be filled except, I suppose, you and the people who believed in you.

I think Glassnote was already up and running when we started, and some others came along. But threading the needle in terms of the indie ethos and the ability to compete resource-wise with some of the bigger companies is something we strive for.

So we’ve been intentional about figuring out creative ways to be in business with people as opposed to working within a major label—and turning that inside out in terms of the mindset. I learned from JAY-Z to find talented people and let them lead you to more talented people. Don’t worry about the deals; don’t worry about making money. Just find the talent. And it was inspiring, especially from someone like him, who I didn’t really know. There were a number of people like that who gave me enough information to get it moving.

Were you competing with the majors for the acts you were attracted to, or did you recognize that these acts were not suitable for major labels at that point?

Initially, no. The times where different and the numbers were different. Josh Radin had put out a record and maybe there wasn’t a champion so it left the system, and it had sold close to 100,000 records. He had a new, really cool finished record, and we ended up jumping in. The barometer of success was different in those days—it was pre-streaming and more sales-based. But to me, selling 100,000 of anything seemed like a solid number. So in those days we weren’t really competing with the majors.

With Sleigh Bells in 2010, we went up against some majors, but over the last three or four years we’ve more consistently been on the short list with a couple of majors. We strive to put ourselves in a position to say, “Here’s another way to do it.” And that other way is extremely aggressive in terms of being artist-friendly. There’s never anything less than a 50/50 global profit split. That’s the floor. There have been a couple deals that for whatever reason people wanted a little bit more money and we accommodated them, but in general, it’s been the 50/50 for as long as I can remember.

That would give you a decided advantage if you’re competing with a major, because they don’t offer anything close to 50/50.

It depends on the leverage. There’s an ease of doing business and a simplicity we’re striving for, but it’s competitive out there. In the days when we’d all be standing around with arms folded in the same club looking at a band, the majors seemed to be able to compete and figure out ways to get deals done. They’re still getting plenty of deals.

A&R has transitioned from arms folded in clubs to a completely different cosmology. How does talent come to your attention now, or in the last few years since streaming took over?

Thankfully, one of the blessings of starting your own shop is being able to spread the curation, which is as rewarding as anything in terms of watching A&R people develop and putting them in positions to succeed. Look, we could spend the whole interview talking about the value of data, but it’s like anything else—when you get into always and never, you will inevitably get in trouble.

We’re the opposite of cynical when it comes to those platforms; it’s our responsibility to find talent within those platforms. They’re being used now as a way for artists to speak way more directly to their audiences. It’s on the A&Rs and creatives to find the talent within the talent. There’s so much music being exposed that’s forward-facing, and that wasn’t the case when A&R was in its infancy. Now everybody can see everything—everything’s transparent. So we’ll use data to figure out if there’s great artistry, and we’ll look at great artistry and see if there’s consumption. But it would be disingenuous to act like you can just walk something into Spotify and say, “This is great music” and get anywhere with that.

So we’re looking for things that can be telling of potential growth, and it isn’t necessarily just streams; we’ve found an incredible amount of talent by recognizing bands that are building touring profiles. If the streams aren’t as dynamic but they’re consistent and catching up as the band gets bigger, those are great artists to find. I don’t think the TikTok psyche of pulling somebody out of their home and throwing them onto a stage with a viral song is the be-all and end-all.

To what extent does the fundamental aspect of traditional A&R, gut or taste, enter into the equation now?

I guess in some ways it depends on your orientation. I imagine that some A&Rs had the nose for it and others had the ear for it. The better ones had both. But you’re still constantly evaluating, making different choices when it comes to artistry. There are more great artists than there have ever been, and there’s more competition than there’s ever been. And there are a lot of different ways to put out music now, especially at the beginnings of careers. It’s growing constantly, and that keeps it a healthy business.

But I still believe that more often than not it’s going back to those ori-ginal instincts. It’s always been that way for me. And even though our instincts are more informed, the process of making those choices still comes down to that gut. In general, you’re just more aware. You don’t necessarily have to jump on a plane to see an act the way we used to. I’d be thrown out if I didn’t embrace the technology and figure out how that data can work for us. We try to take the best version of that and find the artistry around it.

Your breakthrough as a rock A&R guy occurred in a world that was quite different from today’s—the conventional wisdom now is that rock is dead. But at the same time, the indie bands I listen to like The War on Drugs, The National and Spoon are part of a vibrant underground scene, and to a certain extent you’re still playing in that sandbox. What’s your take on the current rock situation?

I think it’s healthier than it’s portrayed. It’s impactful and powerful, especially in festival culture. It feels like there are a lot more younger bands grabbing guitars. The War on Drugs, The National, Vampire Weekend and MGMT are all bands in that space. The rock connotation can go through negative phases and positive phases, but I feel bullish about bands with guitars and songs. There’s a resurgence in that space that’s coming to balance things.

What’s your roster looking like now?

We’ve re-signed Ashe and extended Courtney Barnett, our iconic artist. We recently signed MGMT, Goth Babe and Magdalena Bay. There’ll be music from Courtney, MGMT, Maya Hawke, Underscores, Del Water Gap, Orion Sun, Frances Forever, Tycho, Madeon, Porter Robinson, Beach Bunny, Ryan Simon and Alan Palomo, who was Neon Indian.

In terms of career development, what’s the distinction between what Mom+Pop does and what the major labels do?

Being smaller and more flexible has made it easier for us. Our staff and roster are both around 25. We’re still putting out 12 albums at most in any given year, and this year we won’t put out even that many. So we’re trying to match our infrastructure with our artist roster as equitably as we can. We want to get bigger—we’ve got the resources to get bigger—and we’ll need to find those artists before we can hire those people.

I try to imagine what Chris Blackwell would do if he started a label now. What would Jerry Moss do? I’ll never be those people, but in what ways might they approach it? And it still comes back to artistry, and having respect for artistry is ultimately what will bring you success. That part, thankfully, hasn’t changed.