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.
Showing posts with label outsider music. Show all posts
Showing posts with label outsider music. Show all posts
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Saturday, January 5, 2008
Interstellar Discussion, Part Three
Show Me the Way, O Lord (Part 2 of 2)
Fluency with the work of an artist is the result of collection of and immersion in the artist’s body of work. Because popular music is almost entirely commodified, the acquisition of the artist’s work takes place largely in the economic sector. Fans differ greatly on what they consider to be the ‘complete’ collection of saleable items for any given artist, but items for purchase will include albums, singles, import releases, different formats of releases (7”, 12”, tape), t-shirts, posters, tickets and stickers, and even magazine and newspaper clippings.
In addition to commodified items there exist a range of non-commodified items, some of them ‘artifacts,’ which are distributed among fan communities. The most frequent non-commodified item of music communities is the bootleg: an audio or video recording of concerts, or an audio recording of unreleased demos or studio tracks. As technology advances, the distribution of bootlegs through file-type protocol servers and Bit Torrent sites renders most of these bootlegs as simply ‘non-commodities’ – items that people share instead of purchase. The artifact, then, is the item that has not been disseminated in the wider community. Obtaining an artifact is thus often an extensive and emotional process. An autograph acquired in person becomes an artifact; if this autograph is put up for sale on eBay it becomes a commodity. The non-commodity is a work distributed by and for the community; an artifact becomes a personal relic of fandom.
Identifying with an artist becomes the ultimate defining process for fans. While many listeners identify with artists without becoming fans, the particular dialect of identity that fans engage in with the objects of their devotion is pivotal to their experience as fans. Cavicchi relies heavily on the identity theory of William James, who proposes that identity is constructed through a ‘process of self-continuity’ in which the self always recognizes the same ‘me,’ despite changes in behavior and norms (Cavicchi 1998:136). Therefore, if a fan identifies not only with the music of a particular artist but also the artist himself, the fan becomes dependent on the identity of the artist as a means of reinforcing his own identity.
By using the artist to reinforce his or her own identity, the listener first engages in the ‘endlessly deferred narrative’ of fan cultures. Matt Hills describes this phenomenon as a discourse perpetuated by the creator of the text that ‘remains focused on particular themes and issues of (character) identity’ (2001:134). Hills discusses these narratives within the context of science fiction television shows: Doctor Who? The truth is out where? And what is the truth? With popular musicians, however, fans are dealing with the tumultuous narratives of actual, unpredictable people. Because fan identity is reliant on artist identity, then a discussion about Ani Difranco’s sexuality or Bruce Springsteen’s Hollywood marriage becomes legitimate discourse in the fan community.
They Told Me About You
The two most basic differences between popular and outsider music fans are exposure and access to music. Outsider musicians literally exist outside the discourse of popular press; lack of exposure coincides with (but is not necessarily a direct result of) difficulty in acquiring the music. The work of many outsider musicians is out of print; some of them do not even release records on record labels, but simply distribute home-recordings. Others exist on labels that may have no method or mechanism for distribution, and rely largely on word of mouth for record sales. While websites like Forced Exposure seek to introduce the world to outsider music, they remain fixed in the discourse of the outsider community – people that are not inspired to find this music will not.
In addition to the physical inaccessibility of their music, outsider music fans take pride in the perceived un-listenability of their music. The regression of listening, according to Adorno, is ‘the arrogantly ignorant rejection of everything unfamiliar’ (2002:51). Whether one is enjoying the vocal stylings of Kathy McGinty, the static ambiance of The Conet Project, Jandek’s ‘deliberate’ tunings or Daniel Johnston’s heartfelt chord organ, outsider music – novelty or serious – is not for the regressive listener. In ‘getting’ the message of such inaccessible music, outsider music fans identify themselves superior to those who listen to mainstream music. Maintaining distance from the tasteless masses then becomes a crucial to outsider listeners in the same way distance is important for indie rock listeners: if the tasteless masses whom they have distinguished themselves from begin liking the outsider music they listen to, then this means either outsider listeners have no taste, or their music is not superior (Hibbett 2005:70).
The most significant differentiating feature of the outsider fan is that curiosity, not conversion, is often the primary introduction to the music. Popular musicians are just that – they receive publicity and are easy to come by in the press. Even ‘indie’ rock is rarely difficult to find anymore, as it has grown in popularity and receives increased public exposure through blogs and indie music review sites such as Pitchfork Media, Glorious Noise, and Tiny Mix Tapes. Thus, fans are frequently introduced to an artist long before they become a fan; the point at which they transition from listener to fan becomes their conversion.
Fluency with the work of an artist is the result of collection of and immersion in the artist’s body of work. Because popular music is almost entirely commodified, the acquisition of the artist’s work takes place largely in the economic sector. Fans differ greatly on what they consider to be the ‘complete’ collection of saleable items for any given artist, but items for purchase will include albums, singles, import releases, different formats of releases (7”, 12”, tape), t-shirts, posters, tickets and stickers, and even magazine and newspaper clippings.
In addition to commodified items there exist a range of non-commodified items, some of them ‘artifacts,’ which are distributed among fan communities. The most frequent non-commodified item of music communities is the bootleg: an audio or video recording of concerts, or an audio recording of unreleased demos or studio tracks. As technology advances, the distribution of bootlegs through file-type protocol servers and Bit Torrent sites renders most of these bootlegs as simply ‘non-commodities’ – items that people share instead of purchase. The artifact, then, is the item that has not been disseminated in the wider community. Obtaining an artifact is thus often an extensive and emotional process. An autograph acquired in person becomes an artifact; if this autograph is put up for sale on eBay it becomes a commodity. The non-commodity is a work distributed by and for the community; an artifact becomes a personal relic of fandom.
Identifying with an artist becomes the ultimate defining process for fans. While many listeners identify with artists without becoming fans, the particular dialect of identity that fans engage in with the objects of their devotion is pivotal to their experience as fans. Cavicchi relies heavily on the identity theory of William James, who proposes that identity is constructed through a ‘process of self-continuity’ in which the self always recognizes the same ‘me,’ despite changes in behavior and norms (Cavicchi 1998:136). Therefore, if a fan identifies not only with the music of a particular artist but also the artist himself, the fan becomes dependent on the identity of the artist as a means of reinforcing his own identity.
By using the artist to reinforce his or her own identity, the listener first engages in the ‘endlessly deferred narrative’ of fan cultures. Matt Hills describes this phenomenon as a discourse perpetuated by the creator of the text that ‘remains focused on particular themes and issues of (character) identity’ (2001:134). Hills discusses these narratives within the context of science fiction television shows: Doctor Who? The truth is out where? And what is the truth? With popular musicians, however, fans are dealing with the tumultuous narratives of actual, unpredictable people. Because fan identity is reliant on artist identity, then a discussion about Ani Difranco’s sexuality or Bruce Springsteen’s Hollywood marriage becomes legitimate discourse in the fan community.
They Told Me About You
The two most basic differences between popular and outsider music fans are exposure and access to music. Outsider musicians literally exist outside the discourse of popular press; lack of exposure coincides with (but is not necessarily a direct result of) difficulty in acquiring the music. The work of many outsider musicians is out of print; some of them do not even release records on record labels, but simply distribute home-recordings. Others exist on labels that may have no method or mechanism for distribution, and rely largely on word of mouth for record sales. While websites like Forced Exposure seek to introduce the world to outsider music, they remain fixed in the discourse of the outsider community – people that are not inspired to find this music will not.
In addition to the physical inaccessibility of their music, outsider music fans take pride in the perceived un-listenability of their music. The regression of listening, according to Adorno, is ‘the arrogantly ignorant rejection of everything unfamiliar’ (2002:51). Whether one is enjoying the vocal stylings of Kathy McGinty, the static ambiance of The Conet Project, Jandek’s ‘deliberate’ tunings or Daniel Johnston’s heartfelt chord organ, outsider music – novelty or serious – is not for the regressive listener. In ‘getting’ the message of such inaccessible music, outsider music fans identify themselves superior to those who listen to mainstream music. Maintaining distance from the tasteless masses then becomes a crucial to outsider listeners in the same way distance is important for indie rock listeners: if the tasteless masses whom they have distinguished themselves from begin liking the outsider music they listen to, then this means either outsider listeners have no taste, or their music is not superior (Hibbett 2005:70).
The most significant differentiating feature of the outsider fan is that curiosity, not conversion, is often the primary introduction to the music. Popular musicians are just that – they receive publicity and are easy to come by in the press. Even ‘indie’ rock is rarely difficult to find anymore, as it has grown in popularity and receives increased public exposure through blogs and indie music review sites such as Pitchfork Media, Glorious Noise, and Tiny Mix Tapes. Thus, fans are frequently introduced to an artist long before they become a fan; the point at which they transition from listener to fan becomes their conversion.
Thursday, January 3, 2008
Interstellar Discussion, Part One
I Went Outside
The subject of fan communities has, to date, been largely ignored in the social sciences. While scholars in recent decades have closely examined the relationship between the audience and the media (Kellner 1995; De Zengotita 2002; Postman 1981), fans have often been described as deviant, obsessive, and in some cases psychotic. Two recent works by Daniel Cavicchi and Matt Hills (Tramps Like Us, 1998; Fan Cultures, 2001), however, have argued that fans are often very rational and articulate people who happen to have an intense investment in a particular aspect of popular culture. With now legions of websites, message boards, mailing lists, blogs and file-sharing sites dedicated to musicians, television shows and celebrity, fans have more opportunities than ever before to share with each other and present themselves to the world as articulate, reasonable people who happen to be fanatics.
Though anthropologists are starting to examine the communities that have been formed by popular music fans, the world of outsider music* still remains unstudied in academia. Outsider music, sometimes considered more novelty than art, is generally defined as ‘weird,’ for lack of a better word. The artists who fall into this genre tend to be rather prolific, enigmatic and, not least of all, eccentric. Quite literally, outsider music is separated from the production paradigm of popular music; outsider music is usually produced through small-scale home recording, and is almost never issued through a distributor. If popular music fans spend hours waiting in line for concert tickets, pouring over magazine articles and music videos, own band t-shirts, and try to get their autographs after the show, what can we make of the fans of an artist who plays no concerts, has no t-shirts, and grants no interviews?
In late 2005 I was first exposed to the music of a reclusive Texas musician known as Jandek. Though he has now released over 50 albums and DVDs since 1978, he did not first appear in public until 2004. However, when I came across a website and mailing list devoted to his work, I was not surprised to find an active discourse about the man and his motivations. His low public profile, large body of albums, and several cryptic interactions with the media have led the story of Jandek to grow into a myth that fans endlessly sustain, debate, and investigate. As I learned more about Jandek and his fans, I began to wonder how fans of outsider musicians might differ from fans of popular music.
* for those of you new to the genre, please visit Aquarius Records or Forced Exposure for catalogs and soundclips. Seriously, it's a trip.
The subject of fan communities has, to date, been largely ignored in the social sciences. While scholars in recent decades have closely examined the relationship between the audience and the media (Kellner 1995; De Zengotita 2002; Postman 1981), fans have often been described as deviant, obsessive, and in some cases psychotic. Two recent works by Daniel Cavicchi and Matt Hills (Tramps Like Us, 1998; Fan Cultures, 2001), however, have argued that fans are often very rational and articulate people who happen to have an intense investment in a particular aspect of popular culture. With now legions of websites, message boards, mailing lists, blogs and file-sharing sites dedicated to musicians, television shows and celebrity, fans have more opportunities than ever before to share with each other and present themselves to the world as articulate, reasonable people who happen to be fanatics.
Though anthropologists are starting to examine the communities that have been formed by popular music fans, the world of outsider music* still remains unstudied in academia. Outsider music, sometimes considered more novelty than art, is generally defined as ‘weird,’ for lack of a better word. The artists who fall into this genre tend to be rather prolific, enigmatic and, not least of all, eccentric. Quite literally, outsider music is separated from the production paradigm of popular music; outsider music is usually produced through small-scale home recording, and is almost never issued through a distributor. If popular music fans spend hours waiting in line for concert tickets, pouring over magazine articles and music videos, own band t-shirts, and try to get their autographs after the show, what can we make of the fans of an artist who plays no concerts, has no t-shirts, and grants no interviews?
In late 2005 I was first exposed to the music of a reclusive Texas musician known as Jandek. Though he has now released over 50 albums and DVDs since 1978, he did not first appear in public until 2004. However, when I came across a website and mailing list devoted to his work, I was not surprised to find an active discourse about the man and his motivations. His low public profile, large body of albums, and several cryptic interactions with the media have led the story of Jandek to grow into a myth that fans endlessly sustain, debate, and investigate. As I learned more about Jandek and his fans, I began to wonder how fans of outsider musicians might differ from fans of popular music.
* for those of you new to the genre, please visit Aquarius Records or Forced Exposure for catalogs and soundclips. Seriously, it's a trip.
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