This Guy Named Boothman Made Half of His Album in a Parking Booth, Obviously

Stills from film, 'Rhythm of Cruelty.' All photos courtesy of Liam Mitchell and David Ehrenreich

When you listen to the weird and eerie songs of Edmonton’s Boothman, it’s easy to imagine nights spent alone in a small, windowed box, staring out at a frozen landscape covered in darkness—all of which is pretty much a reality for the producer. Boothman is the pseudonymous, masked musical persona of Ian Rowley, and the product of a decision to opt out of a soul-crushing day job in favor of something a little less conventional. When a close friend passed away in 2014, Rowley says that in the midst of trying to reconcile the loss, he took a step back and began to reevaluate his own life. He had a job at a large-format print shop that was leaving him feeling despondent and uninspired, so he decided to quit before embarking on a six-week tour with his main band, Rhythm of Cruelty.

Returning to Edmonton post tour and in need of work, Rowley heard about an opening for a job at a south side parking booth. To most, sitting all day in a parking lot would have seemed like the ultimate prescription for vocational boredom, but it quickly became what Rowley calls the best job he’s ever had. “It’s very relaxed, and you have the freedom to do whatever you want to do to kill time when you’re not dealing with parkers,” Rowley says. “I’ve been able to watch movies, read books, and record music, so I personally have found it very fulfilling, even though it seems like it’s the most mundane job.”

After clocking a year and a half in the booth, Rowley’s first full-length album Boothman Cometh is the culmination of his experimentation with synths and self-recording at work and at home. “Just fucking around by myself,” he adds with a laugh. “Not being limited by time. I would record it, forget about it and then come back and be like, oh shit, this is cool.” Having time on his side seems to have paid off. As playful, catchy beats blend with sinister synth lines, a low, imposing voice commands listeners into a feeling of ill at ease throughout Boothman Cometh. Boothman, unlike Rowley’s affable real-life demeanor, is a monotone conductor of urgent-feeling rhythms, a dark element on top of an already moody album.

“It definitely is kind of an alter ego,” says Rowley. “That’s why I’m wearing a mask on the cover of the tape too because I wanted it to come across as kind of ominous but also kind of goofy.” For Rowley, just because it’s dark doesn’t mean it has to be overly serious. “Definitely, my tongue is planted firmly in my cheek,” he says. “I find that a lot of current synth or industrial, that kind of scene, takes itself too seriously. Even though some of the songs on the album are pretty dark I don’t want to take myself too seriously because I’m a pretty goofy person in real life.”

Noisey: How much of Boothman Cometh did you compose and work on in the booth?
Ian Rowley: The opening track on the album was entirely made in the booth. And then there’s a track where I just set up a tape recorder in the booth and recorded myself working and talking with customers, which was pretty funny. But I put it through effects and layered it, so you can’t tell too much.

Have people ever walked up to pay for their parking and been surprised to find you sitting there with headphones on fiddling with a bunch of knobs? What has the reaction been like?
There’s been a couple people who have driven past and are just like, “What is that? What are you doing?” And there are some people who just don’t give a shit, which is understandable. I think some people feel sorry for me and my fellow booth men, to be honest. But they don’t even know.

What are you saying on the song, “Boothman’s Lament?” It’s kind of layered and inaudible.
It’s about me complaining or lamenting about the fact that there’s a crematorium and funeral home next to the booth and thinking about all the dead people that have come and gone through that place. Honestly, a friend of mine, when I said that I was starting this Boothman project, he said, “What, are you just going to sing about what you see in the booth? Talking about ‘Crematorium to my left…’” and I took note of that.

How much does atmosphere influence music for you?
I think it almost goes without saying that your environment will influence you. Without sounding too cliché, being in a place where it’s winter more than it’s summer and it gets dark at 4 PM; it can really drain on you. I know that usually—surprisingly I haven’t as much this year—but I usually get the winter cabin fever blues around this time, like in February when you’ve just had enough. But I think you can channel it into the work that you do. Having this weather definitely makes me stay inside more and work on music and art.

Do you think it affects the kind of music you make if the music is more dark is that an expression of the place that you live?
I don’t think there’s tons of happy music that comes out of the north, where we are, it definitely ends up being darker. I don’t know if I think about it consciously but maybe it seeps in.

Grace Lisa Scott is a writer living in Toronto and is in the band Pavilion. Follow her on Twitter

Boothman will be performing at Garbage Daze IV in Calgary which runs June 3-5, 2016.