It's a horrible old bumper sticker cliche but it's very true: I brake for thrift stores. Some of them are great, some are horrible, but at their best they can truly surprise. Searching for records in thrift shops not only saves me tons of cash but is my way of bringing vinyl shopping back to its purest, pre-trendy essence. And I have found some quite amazing vintage vinyl there in recent days, all for almost zero money. Things like a trio of 1960s Vietnamese pop 45s (with colored wax AND picture sleeves!), a white label promo copy of Scott Walker's "Scott 3," "Kinks-Size" in mono (albeit somewhat scratchy), a double-LP retrospective of the eccentric French rock legend Michel Polnareff, and the only album the Shocking Blue of "Venus" fame ever released in America (which is actually an unsung psych classic that's more scarce than you think). Since tapping into the current tape culture comeback and assessing the current tape climate, however, I've found myself bypassing the vinyl time and time again in favor of those cassette sections I'd foolishly ignored for too long before my partner-in-crime Josh Rogers got me started on the whole tape kick again. And it's made for a whole new and refreshing thrifting experience indeed.
Where us tapeheads are concerned, there are three basic types of thrift stores: first, there are those which have no tapes at all, either because they've received no tape donations, or because they're so ignorant of the current state of cassette culture that they think no one even bothers with them anymore (perhaps ironically, many of these same stores have shit-tons of Mitch Miller albums and ratty old VHS tapes -- go fucking figure). Secondly, there are thrift stores that do have tapes, but unfortunately they've gone through 'em beforehand and weeded out all the TDKs, Maxells, and anything old and ratty-looking (which, as any tapehead knows, is where you find all the weird stuff!), leaving a flimsy selection of big-label crap that's generic and dull.
And THEN there is that sacred third type of thrift store, the kind that just takes whatever tapes they've received, throws 'em up on the shelves without even bothering to look at 'em, and leaves it to the customers to sort out the mess for themselves. These are the very thrift stores that are a tape cratedigger's heaven. They enter that random shop they've just pulled over at and see those big boxes of unsorted tapes, and immediately start to perspire. There are stores of this type where I've spent enough time in the tape section to arouse curiosity from other thrift-shoppers, and they always ask the exact same question -- "You still PLAY those things?" I usually just as simply reply, "Why, yes!" and go right back to digging through them.
Now, given the fact that the TDKs, Maxells etc. have NOT been tossed out of these particular bins, well... that's where the fun really starts. For many of these tapes have, indeed, been used, as in recorded on, and while most of them are given over to tape transfers of old vinyl and CDs, some of them contain pure, unadulterated, uncensored "found sounds" of every stripe, as in private and often very personal home recordings which were obviously never intended to be heard by the public at large. In all cases it's quite obvious whoever donated them had no clue what they were getting rid of. And already I'm starting to amass a collection of them.
My very first acquisition in this realm, a British-imported EMI tape labeled "Top of the Pops, 22 Jun '78," did indeed contain tape-to-tv-speaker audio of an episode of the legendary British pop show -- with ongoing commentary throughout from two obviously very drunk viewers -- one British, one American -- that was quite vulgar to say the least. Another tape I found, simply dated 11/12/77, was a pure fly-on-the-wall recording of a similarly booze-fueled (though less vulgar) farewell party for some young couple relocating from Detroit to Chicago. Yet another tape had a recording of some couple's wedding. I could instantly picture the potential horror: "Honey, where's that box of tapes that was in the attic? I can't find them." "Oh, those ratty ol' things? I donated 'em to the thrift shop." "NOOOOO!!! OUR WEDDING TAPE WAS IN THAT BOX!!!" Then the poor couple scrambling back to the shop to retrieve it, only to arrive ten minutes after I left... you get the picture, I'm sure. Seriously, all these private recordings should totally not be for sale to the general public, yet I've no doubt there's tons more tapes like these just waiting to be snatched up by unsuspecting hands at thrift stores worldwide.
But of course, as a music lover, and one who loves finding and listening to the most obscure shit possible, the one thing I'm on the lookout for more than anything else in those piles of tapes is home-recorded music. And yes, I am happy to report, vintage lo-fi music is indeed making its way into thrift stores near you, slowly but surely. Now, of course there ain't no way on heaven, hell or earth that anything from Bill Berger's truly monumental tape collection is gonna wind up in any of them, but his, after all, was just one of millions, and as we've already seen here, the tape archives of many others are definitely NOT willed to responsible and knowledgeable inheritors, as his (thankfully) were.
Which is exactly how The Mystery Artist came my way.
Just a few weeks ago, I bought another box of strange looking tapes from a thrift store in Eustis, Florida. The most mysterious of them all was a clear-shell tape in a box with no j-card and a plastic label on which were printed seven song titles. This tracklist was the only information provided and had interesting sounding titles like "Fatal Wire Nail," "Pox," and "Spider Ankle." I put it in my tape deck and hit the play button, thinking this could be, at the very least, someone's home demo. I wasn't surprised when it turned out to be just that. I was, however, very, very surprised at the fact that it was... a good home demo. A pretty fucking great one, actually.
Now, I'm no expert on sound technology and really can't tell an mp3 apart from a flac file. But I could tell immediately that this thing was totally recorded and mixed in someone's flat on a Tascam (or Fostex or similar) 4-track cassette recorder. It's very likely that The Mystery Artist -- whom I shall henceforth refer to as "TMA" -- is playing everything by himself too, alternating between guitar and keyboards and filling things out with the obligatory drum machine. TMA's music is an impressively diverse range of sounds with no two songs in the same groove, and the influences appear to be garage and psych and other lo-fi musics with a dash of '90s alternative rock thrown in for good measure (but not at all in a bad way). At times TMA sounds a bit like Ween with a little less helium, at other moments it sounds like he's aiming for a lo-fi grunge-rock effect.
Whatever direction any song goes in, however, the seven songs (and additional, uncredited electronic interlude between the first and second numbers) which make up TMA's demo share one common trait: they're all quite strange. The music and arrangements are quirky and the lyrics are mysterious and darkly humorous. It is a true-blue eccentric lo-fi home demo in the classic sense of the word, in every respect. And I found it in a thrift store in central Florida with no info other than the song titles. Which, mind you, is definitely NOT how I usually acquire demos of this sort. I can't help but feel these seven songs were made just for me, and were predestined by fate to ultimately reach me, in the most unusual of circumstances. My own special private album to have and to hold. With each listen I hear some new detail, and arrive at some new speculation, and become a little more obsessed.
The first song, "Fatal Wire Nail," starts off with a nice little guitar-and-bass vamp over which our gruff-voiced hero, sounding a bit like he's just rolled out of bed, voices twisted sentiments that only inspire further head-scratching: "When you came, music had minor chords. But when you left, the orchestra was floored!" From there it builds in intensity to the chorus, which with its E-F progression and TMA growliing "Fatal wire naaaaaaiiiiiillllllll! Twist it in my heaaaaarrrrrrrrrt!" could almost fit into a Metallica song. But the whole thing's better than any Metallica tune I can name, and it hooks me on this tape right from the start.
Craving more, I wait for the second number, when suddenly a disembodied keyboard interlude of sorts fades in, playing a swirling, haunting pattern of minor chords in a most interesting rhythm indeed. Excited, I thought it was the intro to the next song, but no, it turned out to be an uncredited interlude, or maybe it was intended as the ending of the first number? We may never find out, but it's one of my favorite moments on TMA's tape. Eventually, after too short a stay, it gives way to "Weak Heart," a slower, minor-chorded crawl with some cool keyboard work and equally cool backing harmonies. "Pox" is another highlight, TMA's punk rock song for sure, a jumpy number with sinister power chord structures and manic, shouted vocals demanding "Give me a cigarette, I gotta get a smoke! Gotta get away, while there's still hope!"
"Spider Ankle" comes on like a low-budget film noir soundtrack with a funky keyboard bass line and spooky guitar fills, not to mention its dark and mysterious lyrics, which seem to get more unusual and mysterious with each song, to the point where one starts to deeply ponder what could possibly have inspired them. The sleepy deep-sea waltz of "Dormans Sea" is stranger still, and admittedly the somewhat shoddy mix of this demo makes some of its lyrics hard to decipher, a problem worst felt on this track. Furthermore, it should be noted that according to Google, there's no such body of water as Dormans Sea, further shrouding its lyrical meaning. Hmmmm. "The Party's Over" is admittedly the most potentially commercial sounding song on The Mystery Demo, coming on like some sort of '90s alternative number, but even this one has some slightly Velvets-y guitar on the intro and a metallic ending that'll have you singing along accordingly: "If you hate life, whatcha livin' for? If you love life, whatcha dyin' for?"
As wild and strange and wonderful as these six songs and one interlude are, however, all of them combined could not possibly adequately prepare one for the seventh and final song on The Mystery Demo, "It's True." Holy shit. This song is The Mystery Artist's absolute crown jewel, the absolute most bizarre and amazing song on the entire tape. In fact, if Dean and Gene Ween were to hear it, they would shit themselves wishing they'd written it -- it's very Ween-like right down to the vocals. All that's missing is the helium. (I like to think TMA at least remembered the Scotchguard.)
"It's True" begins with no music at all, just TMA frantically pleading with an imaginary second party: "You're thinking of what? Billy, WHAT? Oh my GOD! NO! Put the gun DOWN! Wha-, I-I don't believe... Aunt Mabel won't understa-... PUT THE GUN DOWN! NO! NO! NOOOOOOOO!" After an awkward, keyboard-triggered gunshot sound effect, TMA finally launches into a rollicking music-hall ditty which begins with the following absolutely insane first verse: "Billy thought it wasn't loaded, and his little head exploded, and the maggots smiled and praised the light. Then his little dog Willie hopped on the stove, made the chili spiced with bits of Billy's brains." Before you can recover from that gory, gruesome vision, though, he's waxing philosophical about the whole mess: "And if you're leaning towards the thought that life has no meaning, it's probably because it's true, it's true, it's true, it's true-ooh!" This swirling, infectious earworm of a chorus is punctuated by a round of backing voices mocking the lead vocal and saying various phrases rhyming with "it's true," the most prominent of which sounds to me like he's saying (don't get mad, folks, you'd likely hear it that way too) "I'm a Jew!" It all finally collapses in a heap, as the drum machine (which with its slightly ragged beat sounds like it was played manually) falls down a flight of stairs and one last spoken voice signs off on the whole affair with "You messed me up!" Consider me messed up too. And wishing this tape wasn't over so damn soon.
So now I'm climbing the walls wishing I could find out where the hell the TMA tape came from, and how the fuck it came my way. I definitely feel this tape was meant to fall into the hands of an old lo-fi veteran like me, and the fine gentleman who made it should be thankful his lovely little mini-album wound up in the hands of someone who both appreciates the music and understands its aesthetic, if indeed he even knows it was donated to a thrift shop. But how did this end up with all these other completely unrelated cassettes in that thrift store in central Florida? I could speculate that it originated locally, but bear in mind that the same box of tapes I found it in also contained found sound from Michigan, so this demo could perhaps have come from anywhere at all. Thinking I may have accidentally left its corresponding j-card behind somehow, I returned to the store that sold me TMA's tape to rummage through their whole tape stock again, but found no missing j-card and no other further clues either.
So all I have is seven songs and seven titles and nothing else to go on but some brilliant and very charming original lo-fi music that, for all we know, may have never even been heard by anyone besides the man who wrote and recorded it and maybe a few select pals of his until now. And writing about and posting this incredible artifact on this here blog is the only option I have for hopefully tracking down the party (or parties) responsible for making it. And if it seems like a longshot, just remember that 20 years ago I successfully employed similar methods to track down a Mexican rock band called Los Dug Dugs after happening across their records in Mexico, and look where they are now. So you know this man believes anything can happen!
All I can hope for is this: that if either The Mystery Artist who made the tape described above, or any friend, relative, acquaintance, co-worker, teacher, babysitter, convenience store clerk etc. who knows the identity of The Mystery Artist, happens to have discovered this blog, and is reading this article, that he or they will come forward and get in touch with me. Any clues, leads, pictures, more recordings (I can only hope), any information at all is and would be greatly appreciated. And to the Mystery Artist himself, well, thanks for making such unique music, and I hope you don't mind my sharing it with the world, for I think it deserves to be heard. Who knows, it might catch on.
And as for you, dear Brazenblog readers, this is your lucky day too. For here is The Mystery Demo found in that central Florida thrift store in its glorious, streamable entirety, so you can hear everything I just described for yourself. I claim no responsibility for anyone who may become as obsessed with it as I am after hearing it.
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