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CHICAGO—It was in January of 1984, a scant two weeks after his local-phenomenon technofunk duo Ministry had signed to Arista Records, that Al Jourgensen found out the rainbow’s-end Big Recording Contract he’d coveted so long more resembles the business end of a barnyard animal.

May 1, 1985
Moira McCormick

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JOIN THE MINISTRY

CHICAGO—It was in January of 1984, a scant two weeks after his local-phenomenon technofunk duo Ministry had signed to Arista Records, that Al Jourgensen found out the rainbow’s-end Big Recording Contract he’d coveted so long more resembles the business end of a barnyard animal.

No sooner did Al settle down to produce his debut album than record company flacks—“Whose main concern was figures and tax charts”—began making “suggestions”.

Well, several volumes of legalese later, which freed him at last from the leg-irons of that Big Recording Contract, our pal Al now finds himself as one of three top dogs at intrepid Chicago-based independent Wax Trax! Records.

“Ministry’s always been my baby,” Jourgensen elaborates. “I do all the writing, and I know what I want. But I’m not a tyrant; I take input from the others [who each pursue separate projects when they’re not Ministering]. We all think along the same lines, musically.”

Fellow Ministry comrades now include Al’s wife of one year, Patty Marsh Jourgensen, who mans keyboards and contributes backing vocals; longtime drummer Stevo, session man extraordinaire (he provided the beat on Ric Ocasek’s solo album and has been courted by Robert Plant, among others); Beantown stalwart Brad Hallen (rhymes with "ballpeen”) on bass; John Soroka on keyboards; and occasionally Yvonne Gage on backing vocals.

Ministry’s been churning around the Midwest and parts of the East of late, reintroducing the masses to its aggressive, intelligent brand of dance-floor fuel. Meanwhile, Al’s put out a handful of singles on Wax Trax! Records (who’d released his first-ever single some years ago, and to whose welcoming arms he returned post-Arista). A new Ministry album was in fault underway at Syncro-sound in January.

“We’re a blue collar band,” Al declares, “and we intend to remain that way.

“What appalls me about the music business is what initially attracted me to it—the limousines, swimming pools, movie stars, black gold, Texas tea,” he goes on, reciting the Beverly Hillbillies litany backwards.

“I don’t care about money, I honestly really don’t, just as long as I can pay the rent and keep putting out records. I care about creative freedom.

“I mean, I’m alive, I’m happy, I have a wife, and I have a kid who’s due in April.” Jourgensen pauses, reflects, grins. “Hey, in 18 years I’ll have another keyboard player.”

Moira McCormick