Lawrence Azerrad
THE DEZINYL INTERVIEW
LAWRENCE AZERRAD is a two-time Grammy award-winning creative director, author, and curator. He has created album artwork for Wilco, The Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Silversun Pickups, among many others. His studio LADdesign works with musicians, educational, and cultural institutions who seek to visualize the future in all its forms. Dezinyl recently caught up with Lawrence to chat about album covers, his earliest design jobs, and his thoughts on the future of music.
D: What are some of your earliest album cover memories?
LA: I grew up in and around West Hollywood during the late ‘70s and early ‘80s, and I remember going to the famous Tower Records on Sunset Boulevard. I was a bit too young to be a regular customer, but my parents would take me there and it would just seem overwhelming. They had this giant poster advertising Stevie Wonder’s Hotter Than July, and I remember thinking that this man — with those glasses and long braids — was just so enigmatic!
I also recall that the stars and stripes painted on Don McLean’s giant thumb was such a weird image. There was nothing that adventurous in my parents’ house; the prevailing musical taste was pretty mainstream. I mean, some of my earliest album cover memories involve some Sesame Street records [laughs] — really great stuff like Grover Sings the Blues.
The earliest “adult” record I remember seeing was my dad’s copy of Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band. I was captivated by the Beatle’s satin military-style uniforms in the gatefold image, but I didn’t really get it. I knew they were trying to be quirky by putting all those famous people on the cover — some in black and white and some in color. I always wondered why someone chose to combine so many different styles into one image.
D: Did you see an album cover when you were younger that made you want to design them someday?
LA: Well, my entrée into the music industry was a bit less obvious than that. I was in love with art and design and illustration, which is what I studied at the California College of the Arts in San Francisco. When I was about to graduate, I talked to some faculty members who could help me line up some interviews — with the intention of moving back to Los Angeles. One of them recommended a job at Warner Bros. Records, (which is the job I ultimately got later on).
When I went to school, I studied what I would call more traditional graphic design. At that time, the design industry was very boutique-driven — especially in the Bay area. I spent my time making wine labels, annual reports, and work for fashion labels. The notion that people could actually practice design at a record label just didn’t register with me until, you know, I actually took the job at Warner Bros. So, I kind of came into it in a roundabout way, but I fell in love with it once I was there! I did have a colleague who actually grew up with a burning passion to design album covers. But for me, it has always been my love of practicing graphic design.
D: What was the first cover that you designed at Warner Bros.?
LA: They tend to throw the smallest bones to the new guy, right? To be honest, the first few things I designed don’t really exist anymore — things like promotional CDs that would be sent straight to record stores to showcase new releases.
I worked on one called Heck on Wheels. We were going through the phase in the ‘90s where everything looked purposefully messed up by hand. So, playing off the concept of a wheel, I decided to get a box of donuts (keep in mind, I was fresh out of art school at this point) and set them on fire out in the courtyard of Warner Bros. Records! Everyone was looking at me and wondering, “Who let this kid in?”
But the first major project I worked on was a package for Elvis Costello. It was a boxed set from his tour with Steve Nieve, the pianist from The Attractions. It was the first time I worked with an established artist. I was able to discuss the project with Elvis — which was a nerve-wracking experience! [laughs] After that, I designed ads for Costello’s proper album release from that year [All This Useless Beauty], and it all kind of grew from there.
D: That’s great! It’s true that you have to work your way up in every industry, right?
LA: Yes, you have to work your way up, and you must have patience. Of course, I was impatient and wanted to get to the top quickly. It was an exceptionally fun time: being in your late 20s, working at a record label, and going to lots of shows. So many kids want to get ahead and make a name for themselves, but it’s important to enjoy that phase of life — just soak it all up!
D: You’ve designed several memorable album packages for Wilco. How did your relationship with them begin?
LA: I started by creating some print ads for Wilco when they were about midway through recording their album Being There. They were still a growing band at that time, and the label had a lot of hopes and expectations for what they would become. I realized that this was the moment to really focus in, and doing so eventually led to an opportunity to design the first album package I did for them, which was Summerteeth.
D: You’ve worked with such a wide spectrum of musical artists since that point, including Silversun Pickups, Red Hot Chili Peppers, and Esperanza Spalding. Could you share a bit about your general process for designing an album package?
LA: That’s a great question. It took me a while to understand that it’s not my record, it’s their record. It’s so important for a designer to tune into that, but that doesn’t mean you’re just hired to be “a wrist” either. You’re not just what some would call a “pixel pusher.” I mean, pixel pushers do exist, but that’s not really what you want to be for very long. People hire you for your talent, knowledge, and experience. I believe it takes a certain level of sensitivity to listen — not just to the music — but to the spirit, tone, and personality of who the artist is, as well as the hopes and ambitions of that particular project. Sometimes these indicators don’t come in the form of words or conversations, you just have to get good at intuiting how to define the visual voice of their music through the practice of design.
There are different approaches; some designers might be sought out for their personal style. Some designers want to put their thumbprint on the work, to say, “I did this.” But I think that path is a little misguided — in the end, that art becomes more about them than the actual music.
Even though, as you pointed out, I work with a variety of artists across the musical and visual spectrum, there’s a thread running through all of that work — like there’s a certain “me-ness” to it. Yes, I am influenced by certain segments of graphic design history or things that I find personally captivating; I can’t shut that off. But I do my best to focus on what the record is about. And with those particular artists that you mentioned, it is nice that I have this recurring relationship with each of them. That breeds a certain level of trust — and to a degree — a sort of shorthand.
To answer the question more acutely, I always start by asking if there are certain lyrical or conceptual threads that carry through the record. Sometimes those exist, but it might be hard for the artist to articulate, or even readily share, them with me. And before I start designing, I generally use mood boards to create a basis for the visual cues. It helps to get some sort of agreement on the likes and dislikes in order to have a sense of where to take the project.
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But, it’s hard to apply that strategy to the artists you mentioned, particularly Wilco and Esperanza; they are both so enigmatic that you’re really starting from a place of genius. You’re just swinging as hard as you can right out of the gate to get to a place that’s not typical. Because that’s just where they operate. They push the work to places that I wouldn’t have gone on my own; It’s just a given that we’re going to go on a process of evolution together.
D: Why do you think vinyl records are such a special medium for designers?
LA: Well, it’s (most obviously) the large surface area. It’s physical; it’s tangible. I recently started an initiative called Designing the Future of Music. We are living in an era of digital experiences, where you’re largely experiencing things in (I hate to use this term) the metaverse. Yes, streaming music is incredibly convenient; I love that I can listen to anything, anywhere, anytime. But for all of the benefits, it has changed our relationship to music.
Today, most people’s relationship to music is more fleeting. Listening to music has now become something that happens in the background, while you’re working out, walking to work, or whatever. So, the whole point of the Designing the Future of Music initiative is to explore the ways in which we can build deeper connections to music through design. It doesn’t necessarily have to be physical design. It could certainly be in the space of AR, VR, or some futurist technology that hasn’t been invented yet. It could be anything that stops people in their tracks and makes them change the way that they listen.
But a vinyl record can certainly be an element that informs this experience. That artifact is the known end-point expression of what the music actually is in the physical sense. Traditionally, many people read the liner notes while listening to it. Because of its history, and for its resurgence, the album is kind of an icon that represents the music — a logo, if you will.
There’s really no reason why the album image in Spotify should still be a square! But that vestige remains because album covers stood to represent so much more than what they were. By that, I mean some of the classic album covers that represented larger social movements like Jamie Reid’s design for the Sex Pistols or what Andy Warhol did for The Velvet Underground or The Rolling Stones. Those weren’t merely designs — they were totems for certain beliefs, ways of life, and movements.
D: I’m glad you mentioned your “Designing the Future of Music” initiative. I wanted to ask, why does the future seem to show up as a recurring theme in your design projects?
LA: Well, in the case of music, I noticed that the role of design was transforming, and we have an opportunity to enlighten the human experience through innovation in design. Music, and music design, could go in a couple of different directions. It might move towards pop commercialism that makes people feel good, which is fine. But at the same time, music fulfills a core function of the human experience. It reminds us of what is important. It stands as a marker of key moments in our lives: moments of revolution, protest, loss, as well as moments of triumph. Music becomes a way to bond with your community and your people.
I think that both music and design can serve as reminders of the best of who we are, and the best of what we can be. —Lawrence Azerrad
I believe that design is worth more than simply making things look good. If design can lead people to use creative ingenuity to understand each other a little bit more or help us improve our communities, or even just increase empathy — then that’s good. We only have one life on this planet, and you have a choice: make it better or make it worse. The notion of not wanting to elevate or improve things just doesn’t square with who I am as a creative.
D: So much of what you said relates to the mission statement of Dezinyl. I truly believe that music can bridge cultural gaps and help us connect with people from different backgrounds.
LA: That’s cool.
D: I’d like to ask about the album package for Wilco’s Ode to Joy. Similar to the Voyager Golden Record boxed set and the recent deluxe reissue of Wilco’s Summerteeth, this thing moved beyond the normal LP release into the realm of a full-fledged interactive experience. How do you know when an album design needs to become something more expansive?
LA: It goes back to what I was saying earlier — people want the artifact. They’d like to own part of that experience, which essentially becomes a piece of art. The Voyager record and the Ode to Joy pop-up book are really art objects that you can keep coming back to. I mean, why do people have any art in their house? It’s usually something that brings them joy every time they encounter it.
The Wilco pop-up book concept completely came from Jeff Tweedy. Seriously — at the very first meeting he said, “I want to do a pop-up book.” Of course, there are many sophisticated examples of pop-ups nowadays, but I still wondered how we might accomplish this.
It was a very direct idea, but our working process usually begins much more abstractly. My first few versions of the cover were very representational, showing different objects, but later iterations kept becoming more and more abstract. We kept reaching for something that was unclear. There was still this pattern and texture there, and the presence of something felt misaligned with the true nature of the album. Jeff would express his thoughts in a general way, but he’d never say, “I’m thinking it should be this.”
One day, we finally figured out that it was truly about nothingness. After that, I kind of knew where to go with it. There’s a long history of color-field Abstract Expressionist painters like Mark Rothko who’ve done that sort of thing. So, I ended up creating this collage that, somehow, shows something and nothing at the same time.
D: It’s the ultimate reductionist method for creating an album cover!
LA: Yeah!
D: Are there any other projects in the pipeline that you’re excited about?
LA: I am working on something big for Wilco. It’s…a large project, and it’s not a new record. That’s all I can say.
D: Very mysterious…
LA: Besides that, I am most excited about continuing the “Designing the Future of Music” project. We’ll be starting the third year of a graduate design program in that area. We’re currently running a joint program with California College of the Arts, the Royal College of Art, and Imperial College London. We also have an online exhibit at the Museum of Design in Atlanta called “The Future Happened,” which is currently being turned into an in-person version, hopefully opening in 2023.
D: Thank you so much for taking the time to speak with me, Lawrence.
LA: Awesome — happy to do it!
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