Close your eyes and imagine a music industry that actually cares about music. Yes, I know it’s difficult. Think of an environment where creative artistry is paramount and profits are an afterthought. Where strict genres like rock and jazz all but vanish, replaced by a diverse sonic stew that consistently smudges the thick, inky-black lines often used to separate such categories. A world where the futuristic whirls of a synthesizer live in the same neighborhood as smooth, slinky jazz guitar lines and pummeling hip-hop drums. A place where groundbreaking musicians from Japan to Chicago can coexist peacefully and without question.

Although this innovative utopia may seem light-years away, it”s actually located in a neighborhood nestled between the southwest bend of the Chicago River and the West Side rail yards. Along with the best Mexican cuisine in town, Pilsen is the home of Thrill Jockey records, a bastion of quality independent music that celebrated its 10th anniversary in September.

Thrill Jockey is a modest establishment with its name placed on its door in letter stickers — like those on a mailbox — and a staff of seven. But in its 10 years it has amassed a loyal following and has more than 100 releases to its credit.

‘I”m definitely prone to give a band more of a chance if they”re on Thrill Jockey,’ said Ben Scully, the rock show director at Northwestern”s WNUR-FM (98.3) — an award-winning station known for its diverse, religiously independent play lists.

‘It”s their broad, non-genre characteristic that makes them so great,’ said Scully, the dim amber lights of the station”s control room console accenting the moody, ambient noises leaking from the speakers. ‘Their artists are scattered over disparate fields but all of them are the cream of the crop within their field. It”s inventive music, but instead of turning people off, they get more people into it.’

There are even added bonuses, Scully said.

‘They”re much nicer than some of the other independent labels I deal with, and they”re not pretentious at all.’

SINGLE VISION

Thrill Jockey”s range of sounds comes from Bettina Richards, the very tall and very slim founder and president of the label. The word ‘toothpick’ definitely came to mind as I met Richards on a soggy October afternoon in the modest converted bar that is now the label”s world headquarters. The tidy warehouse/office space houses Richard”s six friendly workers, two large dogs and stacks upon stacks of CD”s.

Like the reassuring diplomas that hang in a doctor”s office, colorful promotional posters cover the drab grey walls of the open room. The youthful Richards reminded me of my best friend”s cool older sister who I always wanted to hang out with in high school. Hospitable but not boisterous, the label president tucked her hands in her sleeves as she talked about her unlikely beginnings in the music business.

‘The driving force behind most independent labels is the person who runs it,’ said Chicago Tribune rock critic Greg Kot. With that in mind, it”s not surprising that Thrill Jockey has enjoyed so much success for so long.

Richards, 37, did not have any type of master plan when she graduated from New Orleans” Tulane University in the late 1980s. ‘I never set out to go into the music industry,’ she said. ‘It was one of those things where it was my senior year of college and everyone was interviewing for a job. I was a history major, and the music industry wasn”t something I was particularly interested in, but I couldn”t see myself going into an office everyday.

‘After college I just ended up packing up all my stuff, selling my car and moving to Australia, where I got an internship at a record company,’ Richards said. ‘There, I was able to think about doing something for a living that I really loved.’Richards landed a job with Atlantic Records when she returned to the United States. The fit was close but not close enough.

‘I was pretty na*ve about how the major industry worked and, fairly quickly, learned what I didn”t like about it and what could be done differently.’

REVISING AN INDUSTRY

During her brief stint at Atlantic, Richards was put off by the lack of communication between the artists and management, as well as the money-grubbing nature of the major label, which is currently responsible for new albums by artists such as Matchbox 20 and Phil Collins .

“Inherently, the structure of a major label is not something I’m comfortable with,” she said unapologetically. “The label to artist relations are much more directive as opposed to cooperative. Financially, it’s very unequal. I really believe the system we have is a much better way to go.”

Richards’ Thrill Jockey system involves a 50 percent profit share between the label and artist, which guarantees that the more albums artists sells, the more money they make. It also means that these artists don’t have to sell millions of records just to break even. In comparison, according to Richards, most major labels offer at most 18 percent of profits to artists, with most new acts getting less.

“You work with an artist because you believe in them, and financially you’re equal partners. With Thrill Jockey, it’s not a directive thing as much as a mutual, conversational model,” Richards said. “You make suggestions based on what they’re comfortable with and in the end you agree on a plan for their record that works with who they are as people and musicians. A large corporation, by its nature, can’t be that flexible. “

Kot from the Tribune, who has known Richards since the late ’80s, said her choice to quit Atlantic and start her own label was brave.

“Let’s face it — she could have had a lot cushier life as an A&R (artist relations) scout at a major label,” Kot said. “She could have made a lot more money and not waited tables for years while she was putting out records out of her tiny bedroom apartment.

She could have been traveling the world on somebody else’s dime. Her decision was clearly for the love of the music and not her own financial well-being.”

THE DECADE BEGINS

Back in 1992, Richards knew exactly what she didn’t want to do when she started Thrill Jockey — named after the delinquent posse in the 1959 film “Speed Crazy.” But she was clueless about the amount of work she would have to exert to make her ideas of fiscal fairness and artist communication take off. Working out of her small apartment on 7th street and Avenue C in New York City, Richards was soon swamped by what she initially thought would be just a fun hobby.

“I had saved a little money and, honestly, I decided to do it because I didn’t fully know what I was getting into,” she said with a chuckle. “I though it was something I could do amongst a list of other things, but as soon as I got into it, I barely had enough time to do anything else.”

In the last 10 years, the label has become arguably the country’s most potent force in promoting challenging, exciting, off-kilter music. You’ll probably never hear any of the artists on the radio while you’re bopping away to your favorite Top-40 station, but that’s not really the point, Richards said.

“If you’re an active music listener, you’ll find what you want at Thrill Jockey,” she said. “But if music is something that you do in your car or something that you’re marginally interested in–I don’t think that’s our audience.”

For Richards, however, recreational listeners just aren’t enough. “I’m not really interested in working with that disposable pop culture. I’m interested in working with music as art, and there’s a strong audience for that as well.”

Beyond the courteousness or the intelligence of a label’s personnel, however, the ultimate fate of an organization like Thrill Jockey lies within the music and the artists.

On the surface, the music of Catherine Irwin, Fred Anderson and Eric Claridge doesn’t seem to be connected in many ways. But, with their like-minded ideals and courageous attitudes toward the music they love, they have more in common than one may think.

SOUTHERN DRAWL

S
itting in the loft above Chicago’s Hideout, a tiny bar/club curiously located in the middle of a warehouse-filled industrial area, Irwin’s soft-spoken Kentucky drawl was as casual as it was sincere. Unassuming with her brown hair loosely pulled up in a bun and her dark doe-eyes underlined by world-weary creases, Irwin seemed like an affably shy country girl.

But then I noticed her pants. The shocking, bright red velour indicated that the singer, whose traditional country tunes are the soundtrack to a thousand broken hearts, might not be quite so timid. These suspicions were delightfully confirmed when, a few hours later, she teased her audience by telling them all about her underwear, or, more accurately, lack thereof.

“I usually don’t wear any underwear,” she told crowd members, who smirked and cheered. “But I tried to start because I thought it would make me more mentally together. Well, I just took them back off about a half hour ago. I don’t think it makes any difference.”

Irwin, 40, has been one-half of the country duo Freakwater for years, and Thrill Jockey recently released her first solo album, Cut Yourself A Switch. It features sparse, acoustic country music that recalls days gone by. Backed only by an acoustic guitar, a bass and the occasional fiddle, Irwin’s creaking, twangy vocals are prominently highlighted to great effect on the album’s old-time tracks. Each tune sounds like a relic of the past, only recently unearthed under the lonesome shade of a Kentucky afternoon.

But, even with bleak song titles like “Cry Your Little Eyes Out,” “My Old Unlucky Home Far Away” and “Dirty Little Snowman,” and dreary lines like, “The clear blue sky comes like a slap across my face / I want to close my eyes until the dark clouds roll in,” Irwin’s music has an intangible rawness and passion that makes it a joy to listen to.

“Basically, I made the album and I’m touring now so I don’t have to go back to painting bathrooms,” said Irwin, straight-faced. When she’s not making money through music, Irwin paints houses to pay the rent. “It’s contemplative,” she said of her second job.

She may not show it during her live shows, but when we talked, Irwin seemed unusually modest and unaware of her obvious talents. Even after many years of performing, she still doesn’t look forward to playing in front of people.

“I don’t like people staring at me,” she said, her slight southern accent peeking through. “We were going to call this tour the ‘What Are You Looking At?’ Tour and make T-shirts — but we didn’t.”

“I once told my friend that I felt uncomfortable with people staring at me onstage and he said, ‘These people paid $10 to get in here. They have the right to stare.'”

Irwin utters only kind words about her relationship with Richards and Thrill Jockey. “She’s the best, smartest, most scrupulous label owner there is. Nobody tells Bettina what to do, and she doesn’t have to answer to anyone. So the music that she releases is basically just what she likes. We’ve never had any problems with her at all, she’s never told us we couldn’t do anything,” she said.

Toward the end of the interview, Richards strolled up the spiral staircase and entered the loft to wish Irwin luck before her show.

“We’ve just been talking about how great you are!” Irwin said.

“It’s all lies!” Richards replied, a broad smile sneaking across her face.

STYLE MASTER

Fred Anderson was practicing his tenor saxophone when I knocked on the door of his South Side jazz club, The Velvet Lounge, on a chilly Saturday in November. The 73-year-old Chicago jazz legend still plays his avant-garde, free-blues style with forceful tenacity on stage — and he still practices about two hours a day.

“I usually like to practice in the morning,” he said as he gently took apart his instrument, placing it in its case with the meticulousness of a heart surgeon. “At the start of the day, your mind is clearer because you haven’t dealt with the rest of the stuff days usually bring.”

Oil painting of jazz greats Charlie Parker, Miles Davis and Billie Holiday hang around the club that Anderson has owned for 20 years. “I think if Charlie Parker would have lived, he would have been into what’s going on now,” Anderson said of one of his biggest inspirations, his voice as smooth and wise as his warm, inviting saxophone tone. “As I listen to his music now, a lot of kids try to play what he played but they can’t. He was at least 50 years, almost 100 years ahead of his time. He took chances and he was very creative.”

Anderson should know a thing about creativity himself: He co-founded the Association for the Advancement of Creative Musicians in 1965. The organization promotes and educates free jazz musicians, offering them a mutual community and a way to pass down lessons from forefathers like Anderson to younger generations.

“You have to think about being original, and you have to think about what’s going on around you,” he said, talking about his personal outlook on music.

“I remember years ago, jazz cats would take Tin Pan Alley songs and rearrange them,” Anderson said. “I usually don’t take anyone’s melody verbatim. If some of the music I’ve listened to years ago comes out in my music, it’s not done on purpose, it’s more spontaneous.”

Anderson’s style of free jazz is sophisticated and, though it could never be confused with the unmistakable sound of straight blues, there is no doubt that his music is rooted in the blues tradition. In 1994, after 30 years of making music, he had only recorded five albums. But thanks to the release of several new recordings over the last decade, Anderson is just beginning to reap the accolades he has deserved his entire career.

“I’ve always had notoriety, but not like some other people,” he said. “I didn’t pursue it or go out on the road a lot because my circumstances didn’t really permit me to. That was my choice. But this is the best time. All my kids are grown and this is a good time for me now.”

Last year, Thrill Jockey released his album Duets 2001: Live at the Empty Bottle. The album features Robert Barry’s untraditional, understated percussion along with Anderson’s ever-moving solo lines. The album dips, soars, slows-down, speeds-up and maintains an air of unpredictability throughout. Anderson’s music, with its futuristic translations of traditional jazz influences, fits snugly into the genre-bending Thrill Jockey canon.