Jeff Jank is the long-time art director for legendary Stones Throw Records, which is the home to several notable artists such as Madlib, J Dilla, Mayer Hawthorne and Aloe Blacc, just to name a few. Responsible for providing covers for almost every artist on the roster, Jank (an alias of obscurity) has a knack for creating artwork that perfectly reflects the music or the musician.

In some of your work, it’s apparent that you have implemented the physical “weathering” of album art. That’s an intriguing design approach because of the digitalization that has occurred in the past decade; people aren’t very used to seeing and feeling the covers anymore. Why is it important to you that people make cover art (or art, in general) with their hands and physical paint rather than using a computer and doing graphic design work?

I first saw that weathered “ring of wear” on a new, un-worn record in the late ‘90s; everyone who has a stack of vinyl knows that pattern of wear, but this was a brand new LP. It’s a pretty basic design gimmick, but it was also the first time I remember seeing vinyl as a fetishized object to reference the past.

I tried it out myself on some random rap oldies we reissued just to have fun with it. But on a few other releases I tried to take it to absurd new heights, like making a record look so dirty you might not want to touch it. For me, it’s really just a reference to the kind of culture the artist, or we at the label, are involved in. One thing at the core of the guys I work with is a sense of being hyper-aware of recorded music and vinyl itself rather than simply “the music,” and having a concept of the music we’re doing evolving from an era in the not-so-distant past.

Like I said in the last question: with digitalization, less people are purchasing vinyl, experiencing package design, or even seeing album art at all. How are you and Stones Throw Records combating this from a sales perspective?

Combat is not the right word; we don’t do that. No one can stand in front of a tidal wave of change. Quite the opposite — we were one of the first indie labels on iTunes, we’ve had a podcast for five years now. We’ve released albums digitally when the vinyl was just beginning to be pressed. We’re rolling with and adapting every year, using our small size as a label to our advantage. But I know what you mean. It’s not as if we press vinyl to make a point. We’re a business, and we can’t press vinyl unless it’s sustainable. We just try to keep it sustainable by doing records we like, making them interesting for the eyes and ears. I barely play vinyl myself anymore, but I still see some records I have to get my hands on. Those are the kinds I try to make.

I’d like to hear your opinion on Madvillain’s Madvillainy cover. It’s one of my favorite covers of all time, and it baffles me because it’s struck with simplicity (but the album art is one of the main reasons why I listen to it so frequently). You’ve said in another interview, “I thought of it as one of those classic album covers where you just see a person’s face, but in this case, his face just happens to be covered. That in itself tells a story.” Can you discuss what the album means to the music, to MF DOOM, and to yourself, personally?

I’m glad to hear you say that. It’s good to know this image connects with you and other people who know the record, because it’s impossible for me to think of how it will happen this way when the images are being made; it’s just something you try to feel out instinctively. With Madvillain, I felt that desire to have a simple “face” cover, and I don’t think of it meaning anything to the music, so to speak. I think of the music, yes — Madlib’s beats and DOOM’s insane, sometimes hilarious lyrics — but I don’t try to literally represent those things. I wanted a simple, subtle image to mythologize DOOM the way I thought of him.

After doing this for so long, it’s amazing to see you’re still growing and evolving as an artist. How have you maintained inspiration over the years? Which artists do you look up to (or even can look up to, when you’ve created such high quality and a large quantity of work)?

Sometimes I have to get inspiration by keeping a little distance from the music and business side of it; I’ll just search for my own interests. All the people here at Stones Throw started what we do because we have a passion for it; but the truth is when you work in music you’re bound to come across music you don’t care about or artists who are lazy, infantile or act like they’re the new Miles fucking Davis. I’ve done work I’m very pleased with for records and artists I don’t like though.

The artists I look up to come and go, but they’re both people from the distant past and the present. In the specific realm of record design, I’ve been in awe of people like Gee Vaucher whose work for the band/label Crass were partly an anarchist manifesto, and party an experiment in corporate/fascist branding. I could easily spend an afternoon talking about the artists and designers I look up to.

Over here at Proxart, we’re in a never-ending debate whether artists from the suburbs can produce quality work equal to someone from the city; essentially saying that good art can be produced from anywhere and location doesn’t matter. For you, over the years, I presume you’ve met a significant number of people in the creative field. What’s your opinion on this?

How about the country? A lot of great music, writing and painting has been done out in the sticks.

I have lived in the suburbs, and I have lived in the city. I’ve done creative, as well as mind-bogglingly uncreative things in both. I think it has more to do with what you’re mind is open to, what you’re challenged with, and how you react. It’s definitely easier to be docile in the suburbs where those challenges are less likely to take place; so I’ll have to weigh in with the city folks. I’ve never heard of anyone saying they had to get to the suburbs to work.

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For more information on the artist visit stonesthrow.com/jeffjank.

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