Q&A with Damien Jurado

Damien Jurado's first few records with Sub Pop were brooding, acoustic guitar-driven efforts; his 2000 release, Ghost of David, is a near-perfect piece of moody urban folk. But last year, the talented songwriter surprised the hell out of lots of fans with an album called I Break Chairs. A dozen mostly straight-ahead rockers, the record proved that the Seattle resident's versatility had been vastly underrated.

Jurado recently left Sub Pop to record with Secretly Canadian, which will release two of his records in the next four months. (One is an older collaboration with Dave Bazan of Pedro the Lion; the other is a more typical solo record.) Jurado, who plays the Knitting Factory this week, took time recently to discuss his less-than-happy tenure at Sub Pop, his current and future work and why he hates touring.

I read the stories in your songs as fiction, but how much of it is autobiographical?

For the most part with my songs in general there's always some sort of nonfiction to it. But most of it is fiction. I like to mix the two together. I don't use people's real names, or sometimes I'll just put snippets of someone I know into a song. Maybe it's only the first two lines of a song, but there's always some sort of reality to the song.

You switched labels not all that long ago. How come?

There was a lot of artistic difference with Sub Pop. They're definitely a label who, I found, is more into promoting themselves than their artists. And to back that statement up, you can just look at most of the records that come out on that label, except for maybe a handful that you hear about. They have all this money, they have all this clout and recognition, but they're not into promoting their bands at all.

How do you mean? They promote the Sub Pop name brand?

Pretty much. They're more like a Levi's in my eyes. It's like, yeah, sure Levi's has all these jeans, but you may not see ads for a particular pair of jeans. It's kind of like what Sub Pop was to me. I'm not saying that I'm not thankful for what they did. I totally am. But they did a poor job of promoting who I was. And also, with Secretly Canadian, my new label, I had a chance to make money. With Sub Pop I made not a dime.

You really didn't?

No, I made no money off of any of the records at all. There was a lot of shady stuff with royalties and publishing, and Sub Pop, they [pay] on the points system, which is a lot like a major label does. Most indie labels they run on a 50/50 or 60/40 split. With Secretly Canadian they were doing the 50/50. But plus, it's funny, too, because by my second record Secretly Canadian was already courting me. So when I finally got off Sub Pop and told [Secretly Canadian] that I was ready, they were like, "All right, let's go. Let's do it."

Your last record with Sub Pop was louder, more of a rock record than anything I've grown used to hearing out of you. How long had you been wanting to do that, and how much of a departure was that for you?

This is what most people don't really know. When I got signed to Sub Pop I had already been playing in a band with Dave Bazan from Pedro the Lion for about three years, and it was all loud. So for the people who knew me the acoustic thing was more of a departure to them. I don't want to make a record that sounds like the last. I guess one of my goals was to have people put the record on and have them hear the first few chords of the first song and go, "What the hell is this?" I just don't think a lot of records do that these days.

You mentioned the economics of it. You work another job, don't you?

I work at a preschool. I'm basically a teacher's aide.

How much time do you spend doing that?

About 30 hours a week.

That's out of economic necessity.

Yeah, for right now it is because I just switched labels. I haven't seen any checks from Secretly Canadian yet. That's because my new record isn't out yet. I have a two-year-old son of my own and he goes there with me, and I love working with kids. I used to work with kids before I did music.

There's maybe been too much made of it, but you're a fairly religious person. Say, a song like "Tonight I Will Retire" from Ghost of David?there's some pretty direct religious imagery on that. ["Tonight I will retire/To loving arms of my savior/And we will walk through his gates/To the skies of heaven"] How much does that part of your life affect your work?

I think I have friends who disagree with this, but my faith doesn't really play that much of a role in my music. It's sort of like saying does my marriage or my job at the preschool play a role in my music. It really doesn't. I'm one of those people who is really black and white. I like to keep things separate, and I think if you look closely at the songs you'd realize?especially with "Tonight I Will Retire"?it's more of a guy saying, "If there is a hell, if there is a fire, well, then I'm just gonna burn." There's a song on the new record that's coming out where the religious imagery is more like traditional folk music, talk of Jesus and talk of the pearly gates, it's mentioned, but it's not evangelical. It's not like saying, "This is what I believe." Even as a person of faith, I have doubts like everyone does.

Talk about what the next record will sound like.

It's the darkest record I think I've ever done. The opening track is about a serial killer. It's a very dark record in the fact that it deals a lot more not only with death, but also with murder. But there's also sweet love songs as well. The entire record is sort of like the soundtrack of the jealous lover who wants to bash someone's head in. I don't know if a lot of people are gonna relate to it.

I know you have a family at home. You like being out on tour?

I hate it. I hate it for the simple fact that I don't see my family. And the whole thing with the 10-hour drives?dude, it sucks. The only reason I do it is because people buy my records. The craziest e-mails I get daily: someone saying, "I just lost my wife of five years. She left me with my child or two kids." Or, "My mom has cancer. Your lyrics really helped me out a lot. Why don't you come to Atlanta?" So therefore I feel like I should.

Damien Jurado plays with Songs: Ohia and T.W. Walsh, Weds., Oct. 23, at the Knitting Factory. 74 Leonard St. (betw. Church St. & B'way), 219-3006.