The Discount Bin

Within every independent record shop is a dark corner, bottom shelf or basket by the door filled with records so abysmal, so repugnant that they have been quarantined from the rest of the inventory. Perhaps as a prelude to my interest in outsider music, I have always been drawn to the discount bins. The discs are unorganized, chaotic, and the packaging seldom indicative of any genre; you really never knew what your fifty cents will buy you.

My modus operandi with the discount bins is to try to look for something that doesn't seem too terribly interested in coalescing with the mainstream. Anything that at all says 'boy band,' 'bar band' or 'diva' ought to be treated like small pox; if you think Celine Dion is bad, imagine her local-label derivative. If you're persistent in your hunt, though, you might find a true diamond in the rough - or at least rhinestone in the anthrax.

In 1995, Mercury Records placed a bet on Wammo, a beat-poet/alternative musician out of Austin, Texas. Well, Mercury lost that bet. Around 1999 I was scoping the discount bins of Second Hand Tunes in Oak Park, Illinois, and a promo of Wammo's debut release, Fat-Headed Stranger, caught my eye. It might have been the acoustic guitar on the back cover, or, it could have the ominously titled final track, "Charles Bukowski is Dead," clocking in at 0:09. Regardless, at least I could be sure it wasn't techno.

And techno it wasn't. The album is equal parts alternative-country and spoken word, and no doubt contributed to my current taste for each. "Batman" and "There is Too Much Light in This Bar" blend furious guitars with urgent spoken word, delivering the sort of coming of age poems I imagine one writes as a struggling poet in Austin. Excellent narratives that always end where they start, but take you the scenic route back through 7th grade.

One of the standout tracks, "Children of the Corn Nuts" mourns the death of grunge and the birth of the "alternative to alternative" with the refrain, "I was flannel when flannel wasn't cool." Speaking as an awkward child of the '90s, I could most definitely relate. For purely nostalgic purposes, this easy-on-the-ears country lament is definitely my second-favorite track on the album.

Wammo's standout track for me is "Salty," the gift that keeps on giving. While I was first attracted to it simply for its catchy tune and funny chorus, my introduction to the Pixies later that year leads me to believe that this song is nothing short of an epic tribute to Kim Deal - and who isn't more deserving of an epic tribute? From the wordplay to the background vocals lifted straight from "Here Comes Your Man," this song is how a tribute should be done.

An excerpt:

Kim, what's the deal?
I jumped into the mosh pit so that I could get a
closer look at you
So appealing,
With your flannel shirt-tail hanging down so long
(so long, so long)
So Kim, what's the deal?

Kim, what's the deal?
My mind floats like a pixie on the window silling
When I hear you sing
So appealing,
How did you get so high and get so low?
(so low, so low)
So Kim, what's the deal?

I'm glad you're a breeder, 'cause I'm a breeder too
But we don't have to breed, let's just have a drink
or twenty-two
It's so salty Kimmy

[enter brilliant interlude re: SXSW, perhaps?]

So while some of my discount bin purchases have made their way to the garbage and others sit unloved (and near intolerable) on my CD racks at home, Wammo is god's promise to me that not all who wander are lost.

Oh, and the final track?

"Charles Bukowski is dead. Finally, there is enough beer for the rest of us."

*****

* Chantel Kreviazuk anyone? Didn't think so.

Outsourcing

Tonight I provide my few and friendly readers with a link to a colleague's blog. Chris Pommier - poet, writer, thinker extraordinaire - has invited me to write for his blog whenever I damned well feel like it. Since I would like to keep this blog related to obsessions and fanaticism, I have decided to use his blog as my 'off topic' venue.

My debut post will appear here just as soon as he approves it, but I think you should head over there now to read up a bit first. To see what I think about Abbie Hoffman, the Boy Scouts and contemporary inactivism, get your link on!

More to come soon here at The Electric End.

What's So Fine About Art?

Welcome to Valentine's Day, the holiday on which restaurants are terribly crowded, and Ben & Jerry's, Haagen Daaz, and other pint-o-serving ice cream dealers make a killing.

But I'm not here to write about romanticism or loneliness, because I really have no use for either at present. Instead, I present to you a Clever Song - because I'm always in the market for clever.

The Old 97's were the first - and not last - group whose music I was introduced to based solely on a review. Rolling Stone's 2001 review of the group's fifth album, Satellite Rides, used the words "cowpunk," "bar band," and "insatiable melody," all qualities I was looking for in an obsession at the time. Add to that a suitable example of Rhett Miller's "deft way with one-liners" - "Do you wanna meet up at the Picwood Bowl?/ we could knock nine down and leave one in the hole" - and you had yourself a clever band.

When I went to purchase the album, I was delighted to find a bonus EP as well. In addition to the requisite b-side, there was a radio broadcast including songs from prior releases. * The band kicked off the set with "Barrier Reef," which to this day remains one of my favorite Clever Songs. I don't even know where to start - drunk, sloppy, and so damned true. I've included the lyrics below for your enjoyment, and wish you a better evening than Rhett's outing to the Empty Bottle. **

Barrier Reef - Too Far to Care (1997, Elektra)

The Empty Bottle was half empty, tide was low, and I was thirsty.
Saw her sitting at the bar, you know how some girls are,
Always making eyes, well she wasn't making eyes.

So I sidled up beside her, settled down and shouted, "Hi there."
"My name's Stewart Ransom Miller, I'm a serial lady-killer."
She said, "I'm already dead," that's exactly what she said.

So we tripped the lights fantastic, we was both made of elastic.
Midnight came and midnight went, and I though I was the President.
She said, "Do you have a car," and I said, "Do I have a car?"

What's so great about the Barrier Reef?
What's so fine about art?
What's so good about a Good Times Van,
When you're working on a broken,
Working on a broken,
Working on a broken man?

My heart wasn't in it, not for one single minute.
I went through the motions with her. Her on top, and me on liquor.
Didn't do no good, well I didn't think it would.

What's so great about the Barrier Reef?
What's so fine about art?
What's so good about a Good Times Van,
When you're working on a broken,
Working on a broken,
Working on a broken man?

When you're working on a broken,
Working on a broken,
Working on a broken man.

When you're working on a broken,
Working on a broken,
Working on a broken man.

* Yes, I am aware that I recently lambasted the Needlessly Included Live Track, but I grant the Old 97's an exemption for including a whole broadcast, featuring songs from prior releases. That, and they're pretty damned good live.

** Known also the venue in Chicago where I saw my first Jandek concert.

Jandek Hits Jackpot

According to Pitchfork, Jackpot Records is gearing up for a series of reissues, among them Jandek's debut LP, Ready for the House.

In contrast with their compact-disc cousins - expanded, polished and remastered in such a way as to make every album seem like the defining moment of an artist's career - vinyl reissues are simply a repressing of a record that has gone out of print. All that really changes with the vinyl reissue is the label - but isn't that everything? Reissues (not to be confused with repressings, another run on the same label), then, are nothing more than a reproduction of an original work.

The CD reissue, so long it bears the steroidal infusion of bonus materials, is an entirely separate product from the original. You can have both - heck, you can even have the album on vinyl - and possess distinctly separate products. Likewise, a vinyl reissue of a vinyl record is a distinctly separate product from the original pressing.

I'd like to think I'm not a Jandek elitist - for starters, I don't even know how I would define being a Jandek elitist. Nonetheless, there is definitely an aire of inauthenticity about Corwood reissued via Jackpot Records. Undoubtedly, one of the most definitive characterists of Jandek is the idea that Jandek is tied to Corwood, and Corwood to Jandek.

A reissue of a record this rare (often going for more than $300 on eBay, if you're lucky to find one), is like a poster of a painting. Pardon my hyperbole, but though it will look the same and sound the same, it still won't be the 'real' thing.

That being said, Corwood has made it very clear over the years that nothing happens without their stamp of approval, and I don't doubt any deviation from this policy for Corwood reissues via Jackpot. Part of me wants to think that the Corwood approval makes the reissue authentic, but the fact that it wouldn't be distributed via Corwood (purely speculation here, but probably accurate) just doesn't seem right to me.

Will I buy it? You bet. I'm eager to see whether it will contain the original recording from the LP or one of the 'remastered' versions Corwood has crafted over the years.

Will I still try for an original on eBay? You bet. And maybe I am a Jandek elitist after all.

Also, The Myth of The Blue Icicles was 'released' this Saturday. Check it out!

Let's Turn the Record Over

B-sides and bonus tracks allow artists the opportunity to showcase covers and toss-offs they would otherwise save for the occasional encore, as well as precious gems that didn’t end up meshing with the rest of the album. And, of course, absolute crap, stray live tracks, and pointless remixes. Yet even the most banal of bonus tracks becomes an absolute necessity to the obsessed fan.

The first b-side I encountered was a bonus track on the Japanese version of Fastball's 1998 release, All the Pain Money Can Buy. "Freeloader Freddy" seemed like the perfect name for the perfect, laid-back power pop song. Unwilling to dish out $30 for the imported release, I simply “visited” the album every now and again at the now-defunct CDNOW.com. The more artists I became enthralled with, the more forbidden tracks I had to pine for. Why, why did all the bonus tracks have to go to Japan?

When Napster burst on the scene in 1999, I suddenly had hundreds of these b-sides and bonus tracks at my fingertips. * I finally heard the opening riff of "Freeloader Freddy" after more than a year of waiting, and I was not disappointed. It's still one of my favorite pop songs today. I have roughly three discs of Everclear b-sides, non-album tracks and tracks from members’ preceding groups, and songs like “Gay Bar Song” and “The Swing” were a huge part of my high school experience.

I was born into an area when the b-side was transitioning out of the collective conscious of the record industry. What used to be a way to promote 45 rpm singles became bonus tracks on cassette and compact disc singles in the 1980’s and 1990’s, always accompanied by a completely worthless remix of the song (in case you didn’t want to hear the repeat of the chorus after the second verse; see Aerosmith’s Livin’ on the Edge radio promo for an example). Nowadays, finding a hard copy of a mainstream single outside of the checkout line at Walgreen’s is a feat, though various indie and hipster groups still release 45s and CD singles like it’s 1983.

What used to be a reward for buying a single track has now become an expectation with the purchase of every album. Most often, independent record labels reward listeners for pre-ordering albums by throwing in a 45 or several free downloads. Independent record stores will sometimes have a limited quantity of bonus discs, buttons and stickers to hand out on release days. DVDs of performances, too, have become quite popular. Since 2002’s Yankee Hotel Foxtrot, Wilco has made a habit of releasing non-album tracks within about six months of an album’s release.

And it is in examining Wilco’s various bonus offerings that we encounter the bastard child of the Unnecessary Remix, the Needlessly Included Live Track. Whereas the bonus EP More Like the Moon, released in conjunction with the Australian edition of Yankee Hotel Foxtrot contains six studio tracks, the AGIB and SBS EPs include (what I find to be) rather bland live interpretations of several of the album tracks. Perhaps I’m just a completist, but I can’t see the interest in hearing one song from a single concert (see my upcoming post on live bootlegs).

The digital era does not itself lead to more songs per album (though arguably the prevalence of digital studios and recording technologies can decrease producing costs, increasing the amount of studio time artists are able to use), but it does definitely decrease the cost of making extra tracks publicly available. Therefore, the artist is able to pass on to the customer even the most banal studio riff raff (see Ryan Adams) free of charge.

And so I suppose you and I are both wondering what the moral of this story about b-sides is? Like the studio instantiations mentioned in my previous post, these extra tracks become evidence of the time that exists outside of the 42 minutes on any given album. While some of the songs seem like toss-offs – bridges to better songs and 2:30 of life lost – others are honestly compelling music that wouldn’t have fit on the album for which they were recorded.

My two favorite examples are Wilco’s excellent “The Thanks I Get,” left off of 2007’s Sky Blue Sky, and Sleater-Kinney’s powerhouse track “Everything,” left off The Woods. (Seriously, listen to how Janet alternates between the snare riff and the hi-hat riff depending on whether Carrie or Corin is singing.) Both of these tracks are fair assessments of where the respective bands were creatively during these times, but neither of them are particularly suitable for the albums. See also, “Kicking Television,” the Wilco track that is shit-kicking live, but fell incredibly short in the studio.

While the b-sides of the past were hard to track down because so few surfaced, and then nearly disappeard altogether as 45s went out of style, the bonus tracks of the present are more elusive simply because those that aren’t official leak in the strangest of places. Nevertheless, they have always had the elusive appeal of a forbidden fruit. Even when the song is crap, the hunt often renders them all worthwhile.

Well, except for this.

[*] Well, not my fingertips - too chicken to 'break the rules' as it were, I had my dear friend Alyssa download and burn at least 100 bonus tracks for me during high school. Bless you, Alyssa!

We're Burning Up Tape, Godammit!

I have a dim recollection of a family trip to Michigan, listening to Sheryl Crow’s “Hard to Make a Stand” on the Aiwa Walkman my aunt bought me for Christmas that year. As the song segued into the outro, I heard a voice! A voice where there shouldn’t be a voice! I rewound the tape 5 or 6 times, turning up the volume to try to make out the words. Finally, there it was: a faint, “c’mon boys.” After discovering it, I probably listened to it another six or seven times so I could actually hear Sheryl enjoying herself in the studio. In a word, I was shocked at how ‘real’ that toss off was.

Whether intentional or unintentional, stray studio blemishes wind their way onto the master tapes of our favorite and unfavorite recordings. Rarely reproduced live (and almost always viewed as inauthentic if they are), these studio quirks serve as a matter of proof that musicians are not robots – they actually record these songs! None of these are a necessary part of the bare song structure, but become instantiations (to borrow again from Gracyk) of the recording process.

Perhaps the most prevalent “studio authentication” present on recordings is the ‘count off,’ before starting a song. Wilco’s “It’s Just That Simple,” “When the Roses Bloom Again,” and “The Thanks I Get” all employ the count off, as do, well, other artists I’m sure. Billy Joel cuts the crap and incorporates the count off right into “Matter of Trust.”

Another common authentication is the pre-song chatter, between the artists, engineers or producers. Ani Difranco and the Old 97’s start “Imperfectly” and “Victoria,” respectively, with the query, “ya rollin’”? Fastball and Everclear include the ejaculations “We’re burning up tape, godammit!” and “Play the fucking song!” on “Freeloader Freddy” and “Bad Connection.” Elliott Smith’s “In the Lost and Found,” contains nearly a minute of studio clutter before the piano starts. The only studio chatter I think is really worth a damn is the first track on Ryan Adam’s breakthrough, Heartbreaker, “Argument With David Rawlings,” which segues into the ‘real’ opening track “To Be Young (Is To Be Sad, Is To Be High).”

Scroll through your own music libraries to find numerous coughs, hacks, ‘c’mons’ and other sundry instantiations. Arguably, Jandek’s entire catalog pre-1994 is one giant studio blunder, and it is telling that his CD reissues painstakingly remove all microphone bumps, coughs, and motorcycle drive-bys.

Each of these studio moments caught on tape could have easily been edited out on the masters. The inclusion of banter, count offs, and other studio occurrences lend each of the songs a “genuine” quality that seem to say this really happened. The aesthetic quality they lend to the final product is a sense of immediacy, if not intimacy. Interesting, because there really is no other way for the song to be recorded than for at least one musician and one piece of equipment; the tracks thus occasionally urge the listener (or at least this one) to respond, I know this really happened, assholes.

Two of the Wilco songs mentioned, as well as the Everclear and Fastball tracks, are b-sides – a term that is becoming obsolete in favor of ‘bonus track.’ In any event, the banter and count offs also seem to signify a certain ‘unfinished’ quality. Arguably, the effort of preserving these instantiations was probably no more than removing them to appropriately ‘finalize’ the product.

Do these instantiations then further bolster the authenticity of a recording? Would removing them be more of an embellishment of reality than leaving them in when they could have been removed? Will Lassie save Timmy from the well? Tune into tomorrow’s episode, when we explore the authenticity and contemporary purpose of another gem, the b-side.