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.