At 60, Nonesuch Centers on Community

News, From the Magazine, The Bad Plus, Joshua Redman

By Stephanie Jones I Sep. 24, 2024

The Bad Plus, plus Joshua Redman, one of many creative pairings Nonesuch has developed.
(Photo: Cameron Wittig/Jay Blakesberg)

Can an online experience mimic the record store hunt? Can streaming new singles transmit the feeling of stalking down aisles, through rows of familiar names and half-familiar images; of drawing from shelves a thin sleeve, shrink-wrapped and weighted, with the hope of discovery?

In the years since independent record stores and sprawling retail outlets began closing their doors permanently, avid listeners and collectors of the eclectic have established new rituals. Through the midnight album drop and the grocery-run playlist, they create their own communion with the music. Reddit threads reveal how many fans won’t listen to single releases until they have streaming access to the entire album, from start to finish. But many still miss the freedom to explore, shielded from algorithmic matches and automated RIYLs. They miss those moments of strange solitude among clusters of people in search of something both physical and intangible.

“Everything we make, without exception, we put out a physical version of,” says Nonesuch Records President David Bither. “Whether that’s vinyl in some cases or CDs in 100% of cases, that physical component is very important to us because it’s the canvas on which the artists paint.”

Now celebrating its 60th year, Nonesuch Records, which began as “a budget classical music label,” has remained — much like those beloved indie record stores — steadfast in its commitment to the community that drives its purpose and sustains its success: the artists, listeners, writers, designers and conceptualists who value — who thrive on — originality and ambition.

“It’s not a particular genre or style of music, but I think there was the intent, throughout the whole 60 years, to do something original that we weren’t hearing anywhere else,” says Bither, who began consulting at Nonesuch in the mid-1980s while at Elektra, its then umbrella label under Warner Communications. “We’ve never made decisions simply because we felt something would be successful. That’s clearly one [reason for] everything we do, but it’s not the only reason. It is about hearing something fresh and original that we feel we haven’t heard anyone else try.”

Among the artists and creative thinkers involved in what Nonesuch calls its “broad mission” through the years, the label advanced through the vision of “essentially three people,” says Bither. Across six decades, he, Bob Hurwitz and the late Tracey Sterne signed or closely partnered with a roster of individualists that includes Cesária Évora, George Crumb, Laurie Anderson, John Adams, Steve Reich, Buena Vista Social Club, Kronos Quartet, John Zorn, Rhiannon Giddens, The Black Keys, Brad Mehldau, Caetano Veloso, Wilco and Cécile McLorin Salvant. These and countless other artists have become part of the community that, according to Bither, “draws artists and listeners [to Nonesuch] more than anything else. Sometimes it starts early, sometimes it’s a little later. Cécile was a recognized, multi-Grammy-winning figure when she moved to Nonesuch. But I think [she], too, saw the community here and it spoke to her bigger ambitions as an artist.”

In December 2023 another such artist, Ambrose Akinmusire, issued Owl Song, the first of three records he’s partnered with Nonesuch to release following his prolific tenure with Blue Note Records. The trio album unites New Orleans drummer Herlin Riley and guitarist Bill Frisell, a former Nonesuch artist who released with the label for more than two decades.

And in the spirit of that broad mission, Akinmusire seized the opportunity to revitalize his creative impulses and stretch his sound. “I’m thinking a lot about how we’re living in a day and age where a lot of energy is going into erasing boundaries and erasing these walls,” says the trumpet player and composer. “You see it in gender equality, you see it in genre, you see it in all these things. Even in a physical space — [for Owl Song] I thought about removing the bass [as] the wall between piano and drums.”

Roughly a year-and-a-half before the pandemic, Akinmusire began talks with Nonesuch with a desire to “have the freedom to do whatever I wanted to do, without associations.” Affirming his gratitude and appreciation for Blue Note, and acknowledging its earnest efforts to “stretch and push and deal with things,” he found himself drawn to the Nonesuch community of expansive styles, voices and perspectives. “I honestly have never felt comfortable only being [considered a jazz artist]” he says. “I’ve had classical commissions that I’ve wanted to release, and I didn’t feel comfortable doing that on Blue Note. I just wanted to have the freedom, going forward, to do what I wanted to do.”

According to Akinmusire, the encouragement, from a label, to abandon traditional classifications of genre transforms his approach to composing. “It changes my process completely,” he says. “Even if I do choose to do things that easily fit under the umbrella of jazz, I think the music feels a little bit different if it feels like it can grow into other spaces.”

To celebrate 60 years of ambition, originality and an unwavering commitment to artistic expression, Nonesuch presents new listeners and longtime fans with a suite of programming and official merch, including a playlist of more than 750 tracks; an exhibition and portfolio set featuring 25 years of artist portraits by photographer Michael Wilson; and classic vinyl reissues, plus a partnership with Vinyl Me, Please to release its Paragon Series comprising reissues from Anderson and Kronos Quartet, The Black Keys, Philip Glass, Morton Subotnick, Allen Toussaint and Akiko Yano.

While no label in the digital age can replicate the treasure-hunt anticipation of an hour spent wandering through aisles of LPs, Nonesuch provides listeners a similar feeling of community and discovery. Its commemorative YouTube series Nonesuch Selects features artists like Anderson, Mehldau and guitarist Mary Halvorson stopping by the New York office to browse its physical archive and share recommendations. Through her three-minute video, pulling vinyls and CDs from drawers and shelves, Halvorson renews her sense of discovery, and repeats a refrain familiar to every ritualistic listener: “This is one of my favorite records.” DB