Archival Questions for an Archiving Kind of Guy...

The following email interview was conducted with Butch Lazorchak of the Library of Congress preceding our appearance together on a panel this past March at South-by-Southwest. I don't think he ever published it and there's some halfway interesting things I wrote. Enjoy. Or not. 

*Tell us briefly about what Third Man Records does and the philosophy behind it.

Third Man was started initially as an insurance policy to prevent the White Stripes from getting screwed over when they started signing to major labels. It only existed on paper. Come 2009 we started in earnest as an actual label pressing records. While primarily known as a machine that handles all the projects that come out of Jack White's head, we've been branching out more and more into things without his fingerprints on them, whether they be new artists, reissues, or classic Detroit recordings I can possibly sneak past Jack while he's not looking.

*Tell us briefly about your background and how you ended up at Third Man.

It's the family business…Jack is my uncle. I started out carrying amps into bars at the earliest White Stripes gigs. I was 15 years old. Once they had a 7" out I ran the merch table. By the time they'd graduated to an actual website I was in charge of all the information on there and the mailing list. Come their first cross-country tour in the summer of 2000, I'd just graduated from high school and turned 18 so I jumped in the van with Jack and Meg and had the absolute best learning experience I could ever ask for. 

In the record business…I began as an unpaid intern at Italy Records, the super-small but super-important Detroit indie label that released the first two White Stripes singles. Mainly filling mail orders. Occasionally being tasked with calling distributors. This was 1999, I was 17 years old. Italy turned dormant by mid-2002 and come January 2003 I was starting my own label, literally in Italy's image, called Cass Records. I ran it out of my bedroom for five and a half years before Jack called me with the idea of Third Man in Nashville. He said "You've spent the past few years learning the vinyl process and everything involved. You know the White Stripes catalog better than anyone else. I can't do this label without you." Luckily, Detroit in 2009 wasn't offering me any salaried record label positions so the timing was opportune. 

*What does the current workflow look like for how recordings come to Third Man? Are most Third Man masters created using analog recording technologies or digital?

If it's a recording that's generated brand new from Jack's studio or our live room, it's pretty much 100% analog. Sometimes when we go back to release older, archival things they may be on a format that lends itself to digital transfer or clean-up…I've dealt with far more DATs and ADATs than someone my age should reasonably expect. And if we're working with a licensed master, it's very seldom analog. Things like the Public Nuisance LP and "Van Lear Rose" were cut from original analog mixdowns, but those are the exceptions to the rule.

*No matter the recording workflow, you’re still faced with the challenges of  preserving analog and digital materials. It seems that Third Man has been more thoughtful than most independent labels in recognizing the value of long-term preservation. What led you to think more deeply about the long-term stewardship of your own materials?

We've been very luck in that while Jack's lawyer's have always been very shrewd in making sure that RIGHTS to his masters will always revert back to him, Jack has personally made sure that POSSESSION of his masters never gets too far out of his reach. That being said, once you have everything (and we do, pretty much, have everything) the question of what to do with it and how to do it becomes that much more serious. We're lucky in that we own our own building and were able to put in a custom, master tape storage vault. 

*What have been some of the biggest technical challenges you’ve faced in preserving your own audio materials? Briefly describe one of your most interesting preservation challenges.

As of right now, it's space. 2" tape carries a big footprint! We had a machine try and eat an ADAT just last week. Fortunately Nashville is the kind of town with folks who still know how to deal with that shit. Thankfully I don't have to be terribly hands-on in a situation like that. 

*How widespread is an awareness of digital stewardship and preservation issues in the music industry?

With folks I know and deal with, it's non-existent. Folks don't think to back up a hard drive they recorded on or even save the layouts for their artwork. It's hard to think of that stuff as an asset (or even a future asset) when you're struggling just to get it out. The bigger the artist the more likely they are to give a shit…but I've yet to be friends with someone that didn't have to work their way up a ladder to becoming a "big" artist. With that in mind, who's keeping track of all the early stuff?

*Libraries, archives and museums (LAMs) have come to rely on “citizen archivists” like you to take the lead in capturing, preserving and making accessible overlooked corners of our cultural heritage. Do you have any thoughts on what the role of LAMs should be in relation to the work that you do? Should LAMs take a more aggressive role in the early capture and preservation of pop cultural materials or should they continue to rely on collectors and the marketplace for early capture and preservation?

LAMs should be making their holdings available to as wide an audience as possible. The problem is, things are donated to these institutions all the time, but the processing of material is absolutely glacial in its pace. If I were to just GIVE all my pertinent Detroit/Michigan records to the University of Michigan, they will just sit there for A WHILE before they're properly catalogued and/or made accessible to the public. Meanwhile, Henry Kissinger can donate his papers to NYU and give 'em $2 million while he's at it and that assures his work will be dealt with and handled properly and promptly.

In my circle of friends, it's often said "don't give your records to libraries/museums…they will just sit on a shelf." Which sucks to say and even think, but it's pretty true. In my dreams, all these institutions would be able to scan and transfer the entirety of their holdings and make them available on an easily-navigable website. While I enjoy holding actual original copies of things more than anybody, the unwashed masses of "the public" don't need to be manhandling one-of-a-kind records. But if they had easy access to them via the web…I see that as properly serving the populace.

*We were first made aware of the label’s interest in preservation in a New York Times article (http://www.nytimes.com/2012/04/08/magazine/jack-white-is-the-savviest-rock-star-of-our-time.html?pagewanted=all) that described the room in the Third Man offices called “the Vault.” Describe how the idea for the Vault came about and what’s interesting about it technically. How easy would it be for other independent labels to create their own “Vault” and should they?

Master tapes had been sitting in Jack's closet at home for nigh-on ten years by the time the Third Man building was being retrofitted. It just made sense to clean out the closet. Technically it's climate-controlled with a door that is fire proof and door insulation that is smoke-reactive. It has blocked off air-vents so no Tom Cruise, Mission Impossible break-ins. Poured concrete cinderblock walls. Lasers…don't get me started on the lasers. I don't think it would be too easy for other labels to implement a Vault on a similar scale, but not everyone needs what we have. To be honest, a closet works fine for most indie labels.

Overlooked Detroit Records...

(originally written for and published in the Detroit Metro Times in November 2010 for a list highlighting records in the city's history that hadn't received the praise they deserved)

R.U.R. "Go Baby" Nebula Records (1979)

            The inherent flaw in punk rock from Detroit in the late '70s /early '80s is the looming specter of the Stooges. When a band like that exists in your hometown a decade earlier, the shock factor of dog collars, blood and the middle-finger attitude (as employed by the the Germs, Sex Pistols) is already passé. It seems that local punk acts were overly aware of this and while a fair number of the prominent players imploded before committing anything to wax (Ramrods, the Denizens) the best known act from the "scene" will always be the Romantics.

            But R.U.R. and their stinging "Go Baby" are prime examples of what potential things had. Not overtly punk and with more reverence paid towards Townsend-like guitar riff godliness, "Go Baby" crests with accusatory lyrics and understated drumming. You'd be hard-pressed to find a more-memorable rock record from this town at that time and it's proof positive that punk is equal parts execution and attitude.

Paris "Rock Down (Schoolboy Rap) Parts 1 & 2" Blue Rose Records (1981)

            Darryl Nicholson placed an order for 500 copies of this record at Archer Record Pressing on April 2^nd, 1981. That much we know. What we don’t know is why there are so few early rap records from Detroit. For perspective, Sugarhill Gang released "Rapper's Delight" in 1979 and that was a worldwide hit. Until someone provides proof otherwise it took Detroit until 1981 to respond and it did so with this 21-year-old McDonald's employee releasing "Rock Down."

            Behind a truncated bastardization of the “Delight” bassline and an assortment of wheezing keyboard runs, Paris (aka Nicholson) drops verse after verse of formidable rhyme. He shoots dice, gets kicked out of school, is whipped by his parents and engages in general tomfoolery. “Rock Down” is classified as disco rap…devoid of samples, primarily with instruments performed live and just about as old-school as it gets. To find an earlier rap record from Detroit would be difficult…but to find a better one is damn-near impossible.

The Keggs “To Find Out” Orbit Records (1967)

           
              In July of 1967 four young men from Garden City walked in to B.A. Starr studio at 13305 Dexter and recorded the songs “To Find Out” and “Girl.” Yolanda Owens offered up her imprint, Orbit Records, for the release. She told them to come back in two weeks for their records.

            The band returned later only to find rubble…the studio was completely decimated by the ’67 riots. Owens managed to press 100 copies of the single. She gave the band 75 and sent the rest to local DJ’s and star-makers. The record was effectively dead-in-the-water.

Fifteen years later the rascally Tim Warren discovered a copy of said single in Los Angeles. He made his way to Detroit and reportedly camped outside a band member’s house for three days in order to scrounge up more copies. He included both sides on his Back from the Grave series of compilations.

            To date there are approximately 10 copies known in collections. A completely wrecked, cracked copy sold last year for $373. I bought a copy in 2005 for $2561 with no regrets.

            So seldom does a record live up to its initial expectations. As there seemed to have been absolutely NO expectations for the Keggs, it makes their status all the more exciting. The girl-done-me-wrong lyrics of “To Find Out” are coupled with absolute howling all over the place while the inept and outta-tune guitar squeals for its life. “Girl” continues on the theme of love gone bad but in a more somber, ballad-y way…as much as a ballad can exist with guitars intoxicatingly out of tune. The whole thing is utterly captivating.

            Without the Keggs there would be no Gories, no Blues Explosion, no Black Lips. The fact there is no bass on the record (legend has it the bassist traded his ax for a pair of beetle boots the day before the session) also lends particular importance to the likes of the Gories who would make “no bass” their raison d’etre. The Keggs’ legend, output and overall aura has everything one could ever ask for. You need look no further…the Keggs are the quintessential 60’s garage band.

A Number of Names "Sharevari" b/w "Skitso" Quality Records (1982)

           
            We know that "Sharevari" was originally released on Capriccio in '81. But it really needs to be examined in the context of the only other song A Number of Names ever released, "Skitso."

            As the story goes, Electrifyin' Mojo heard an early version of "Sharevari" and invited them on his already-influential radio program. In the process he'd christened the group A Number of Names and when the band tried to sell him on their other track "Skitso" he replied "'Sharevari' is the song I'm going to play"

            Which is understandable as "Sharevari" is undeniable. With a name taken from local party crew Charivari (who'd taken their name from a chain of hip fashion stores in NYC) the lyrics lazily tout the finer things in life in a quasi-braggadocio tone…Porsche 928s, L'uomo Vogue, fine white wine…all married to a future disco heretofore unheard of from Detroiters and heavily indebted to Giorgio Moroder and the Italo disco scene.

            The whole thing germinated from the burgeoning local high school party scene (including the club Gables and DJ crews Direct Drive and Deep Space) and achieved reasonable local success with features on after school dance show "The Scene" (definitely worth checking out on YouTube) and selling a couple thousand copies locally.

            That was enough to draw attention to Quality Records, a Canadian imprint specializing in dancy, electro music. It wouldn't be until 1982 that they released their 12" of "Sharevari" with "Skitso" as the flip side.

            "Skitso" is equally weird and genius, like some sort of amalgam of the B-52's campy new wave with the noir funk of Rockwell's "Somebody's Watching Me" and seemingly about a pet rat in the style of Michael Jackson's "Ben." The song really has no contemporaries and probably suffered for it, although it seems almost too obvious that it could've been MASSIVE if it had the push of Mojo behind it. Either way, A Number of Names released only two songs in their short career and both are insanely breathtaking in their own way.

Cybotron "Alleys of Your Mind" Deep Space Records (1981)

           
            Recent high school grad Juan Atkins and shell-shocked 'nam vet Richard Davis met at Washtenaw Community College and formed Cybotron in 1980. With more than a little inspiration from Ultravox's "Mr. X" (let's face it, they pretty much stole the song) they release "Alleys" on their own Deep Space imprint and the world hasn't been the same since.

            The thick, syncopated synthesizer punch and the bleak, paranoid lyrics set the tone for the rest of Atkins recorded output but seem perpetually overshadowed by his work as Model 500. To start your career with the words "Who'll cry for modern man?" is impressive. To have it be the touchstone for the entire techno genre is epic. It sold 10k copies between here and Chicago and still sounds as fresh today as it must've back then.

            But what's the first Detroit techno record? Based on its QCA mastering number, "Alleys…" was mastered in July of 1981 while "Sharevari" by A Number of Names doesn't turn up in Archer Record Pressing's invoices until early October. Case closed.

My Excerpt From "The Stooges: The Authorized and Illustrated Story"

 When Bob Matheu was putting the above-mentioned book together around four years ago he asked if I would be so kind to contribute a review of the Stooges Fun House to be included. While a record I knew backward and forward I spent even more time with it and truly do feel like I've encapsulated all of my feelings about this record below. Enjoy.

The copious thoughtless platitudes heaped upon Fun House over the past forty years are numbing. That the greatest rock and roll album of all-time has actually been deemed so on more than one occasion seems like some kind of dumb luck. Too often in the circles of rock snobs and tastemakers this amount of praise is reserved for the "forgotten" classic…the unreleased album, the private press LP recorded in a basement…so in that regard, Fun House is almost obvious.

This was an album recorded in a proper studio, by a fine-tuned band, released on a major label and supported with not only actual touring, but also a prime time network television appearance. The fact that it didn't "catch" at the time and is still yet to even be certified as a gold record still makes it refreshing response to the typical Beatles/Stones/Dylan album slobbering.

Fun House really does offer anything the post-modern savant could want in straight-ahead rock and roll and yet the Stooges were a band that was wholly embraced by the ends of society back in 1970. Bikers, ex-cons, dealers…anyone completely removed from "straight" culture/society was sure to "get" the Stooges in a way that didn't seem to cross-over until well-after the band was merely a memory.

If their self-titled debut was quintessential teenaged Midwestern boredom distilled to brainless brawn, Fun House is your early-twenties, manic restlessness manifested into swift, intensive action. The potential for pain is there (like these punks finally got their hands on switchblades) and it hangs in the air along with Ig's overdriven barks and howls, Ron's rapier-to-bazooka guitar range, Zander's irreplaceable bottom and Rock Action's propulsive thud to create an entirely violent miasma.

This is a record done almost entirely live in the studio, surely with amps cranked to ten and all kinds of unholy bleed between the channels on the mixing desk.  Envision Iggy, microphone duct-taped to his hand, terrorizing his "please don't hurt me" bandmates in the studio like an uncaged monkey and it helps complete the overall image of conflict amidst the connection.

"Down on the Street" oozes all kinds of cruising cool and if a riff could better approximate the swagger of a Detroit muscle car, it's yet to have been written. As Scott switches to keep time on the bell of his ride cymbal at the 2:42 mark he's so crisp, so precise, so tight that he makes the song as it rolls out to the end.

"Loose" is double-entendre to the max "I'll stick it deep inside…" is intoned with a borderline fey lilt to its final syllable, knowingly nudging you with exactly what you think Iggy is going to stick deep inside.

"TV Eye" is a song that needs nothing more than Ron's air-raid siren lick coupled with Scott's Black Cat firecracker snare. The bass is superfluous and while the confrontational vocals brim with unparalleled attitude you'd be hard-pressed to find one who doesn't think this is Ron's crowning achievement in a trick bag filled with crowns and achievements.

"Dirt" is the tipping point. No other song in this band's history says or does as much as this throbbing dirge. "Dirt" shifts the band portrait from dumb juvenile delinquents to "wink at you wise" beyond their years.  Ron's sweeping wah-wah washes create miles of atmosphere to lose one's self in. At the 5:03 point Scott flips the pummeling beat around, throws in an un-telegraphed snare accent that almost sounds like a fuck-up. Alexander's virtual bass clinic was tempting him and he bit and it gives the jam all the more personality because of it.  Seeing them at DTE in '03 a buddy of mine bemoaned "Scott's playing a fucking grace note on 'Dirt'!" as if someone had just wiped their ass with the Declaration of Independence. You need no more evidence of fan dedication than virulent dissatisfaction with a song because the drummer is hitting his bass drum ONE EXTRA TIME.

"1970" as the beefed-up older brother to the first album's nigh-Bo Diddley "1969" flips the beat around and ups the intensity a thousandfold. Only the Stooges could drop one of the most blistering screeds of the 20^th century and have it be, basically, about feeling "alright." Listen how loud the bass is in the mix…Dave's tone pure liquid and rubbery, drowning out the guitar and leading the entire mess. After Ron blazes through his wicked solo and the chords transpose it feels as if there's nowhere to go, that the song is already turned around and aurally cannot resolve itself. At that point, three minutes thirty-one seconds in, we're introduced to Steve Mackay, a secret weapon if there ever was one. His participation inspired by the Doors' use of saxophone on "Touch Me" (a song Ig and Ron thought was shit…EXCEPT for the sax) Mackay bleats free jazz blood all over the fresh carcass of the record…a carcass only because he completely kills it. His first four notes brazenly declare "I'm here motherfuckers!" and he doesn't let-up until the end of the album.

I've never, not once, heard the bass line to "Fun House" played with the sheer funk it has on the album. You wanna hear it right then sit with Alexander's dexterity and take some notes. Iggy begging "let me in!" always seemed funny to me. While clearly just employing jazz terminology in regards to the start of his vocals (coupled with his "BLOW  STEVE!" you wonder when Ig's subscription to DownBeat expired), I always envisioned Iggy standing on the front porch, the rest of the band jamming in the basement, just full-on ROARING. He's rapping away on the front door, lost his keys probably, just trying to join in on the fun…"LEMME IN! LEMME IN!" No one wants to be left out of the fun house, least of all the singer.

While the old joke says you know you've bought a bad Stooges bootleg when it contains alternate versions of "LA Blues" to knock the album closer is to completely miss the point. These liberal college-town deviants took to Los Angeles and fucked the city harder than anything they'd ever felt by recording this album there. But all that sunlight will mess with your mind, it'll turn you kinda orange (just check the album art). "LA Blues" (originally titled the equally-as-gnarly "Freak") is an unholy exorcism of all the built-up, pent-up West Coast bullshit and is also the best way to see who your real friends are.

The album art is perfect. The orange glow battling for supremacy against the vibrant, rich reds, each face bathed in creepy light, the whole thing has the look of lava reaching for and conquering everything in its path, much like the music contained within does. The pseudo-collage front cover is spellbinding…the way Ig slides in, the parquet floor beneath him…it truly needs to be turned 360 degrees to fully absorb it all…how Iggy's torso slowly melts into the close-up of his own mug, with Dave's black-eyed noggin stare and you think you've seen a ghost. The gatefold is crucial…the way Iggy curls in his "come hither" pose, his Cuban-heel beetle boots and his ripped jeans. Yes, those torn at the knee Levi's were a gay signifier at the time and Iggy recontextualized the sartorial snag and laid the foundation for the Ramones and all the punks to follow.

I have a friend who got the catalog number of Fun House (EKS-74071) tattooed on his wrist. And that's a perfect example of how this album works…you either think it's the greatest rock and roll record of all time and scar yourself appropriately to show so - or -you just don't get it at all

American Armed Forces Radio pressed an LP that contains all of side two of Fun House intended for overseas military radio play. Imagining our boys over in the shit, worried about Charlie raining fire down on their asses chills me. Realizing that "1970", "Fun House" and "LA Blues" were possibly the soundtrack to this fear is no more comforting…it scares the shit out of me, in fact. But to see a Stooges record with an American flag depicted on the label (as if by appointment of George Washington hisself), is by no means justification for the ills our nation has perpetrated. It's just further evidence that everyone…from the United States military to the unaware who caught the peanut butter-smearing on TV to some brat who picks up this here heap and reads about an unbeatable band who's long-gone…we're all entitled to a little bit of dumb luck when it comes to crashing a party at the fun house.

Dust and Grooves Profile...

Ben Blackwell - Motor City Blues by Dust & Grooves on Mixcloud

Above is my mix based on the wonderful profile Dust and Grooves did on me. You can read that over at...

www.dustandgrooves.com

Enjoy!

I heard a story that Groucho Marx wrote an entire book solely using the morsels of time he had while waiting for his wife to get ready. While I don't think I'll get a book started tonight (White Stripes bio stop haunting me!) I will utilize the time to eke out some thoughts.

While the past year seems to have gone by faster than any other of the previous twenty nine, certain things jump out. First off...finally buying a house. There is now a hovel where I can stash all my crap, tear down a wall if I want to, let raccoons live in the basement, and fret over the length of the grass. It's been a dream for quite some time and after the fourth consecutive day of moving, I must say I had the  most complete, refreshing and immediate sleep in my life.

I think my favorite live show of the year had to have been Quintron and Miss Pussycat live at Third Man. Complete with guest appearances by King Louie AND the Oblivians, the live LP is my absolute favorite thing to hear when I walk in or out of the store at Third Man. And dare I say the quality of the recording and mix is pretty top-notch.

Also...flexi-disc balloon launch? May be my favorite art project ever. The look of joy and excitement on people's faces that day was incalculably rewarding. I can't believe we pulled it off. Where do you go from there? And who knew helium was at an all-time high price?

Having started this year but not really showing itself until 2013, a lot of my work at Third Man has been focused on reissues. The stuff coming up has been rewarding and challenging and fulfilling all at once, spanning just about every genre and era of recorded music. Folks are already awaiting the reissue partnership with Document Records, but that is barely the tip of the iceberg.

Nothing beats:
-a new pair of zipper boots from DSW
-boutique record digging exclusive Detroit/Michigan 45's
-vintage Detroit high school phys-ed t-shirts
-Boardwalk Empire, and moreso, TALKING about Boardwalk Empire
-Saturday morning breakfast at Mas Tacos (cheesy truffle grits? oh.my.gawd)
-friendly neighbors
-Nashville weather in December
-all the quirks of Mold-a-Rama machines
-issue 5 of Bagazine
-spending New Year's Eve with old friends

Looks like she's just about ready to go...my work here is done.

A Tale of Two Music Cities

This was pitched as an op/ed for the New York Times and (apparently) they considered it. So forgive the explanations of things usually assumed understood by long-time readers here.

 (painting by Jen Uman)

Having lived the first twenty-six years of my life in the same house in Detroit, I wasn't too concerned about how I would adjust when I moved to Nashville three-and-a-half years ago. I wasn't pre-occupied with making friends or finding a place to live. I wasn't even really concerned about exploring the town or discovering what particular neighborhoods had to offer.

My main concern was…where would I order my pizza?

You see, Detroit is the sleeper pizza town in America. Sure Chicago and New York get all the praise and the hyphenated "style" after their names, but Detroit, as the hometown to Little Ceasar's, Hungry Howie's, Domino's, Jet's, Buddy's, Cottage Inn and quite a few other established franchises, offers a variety and selection that cannot be contained within the confining context of something as narrow as "Detroit-style."

Without knowing any better, I was stuck for an inordinate amount of time, eating pizza from (yuck) Papa John's.

I moved to Nashville in 2009 for work. I'd been offered a job at Third Man Records to oversee their vinyl record production and distribution. While at that point in my life it felt like my entire reason for being was tied into Detroit and my residency there, it was hardly a difficult decision to leave. Being the height of the economic downturn, jobs were scarce in town. I had a handful of immediate family members who were recently unemployed. NO ONE held it against me that I was leaving…it was as if they knew only good could come from leaving Detroit for employment purposes.

Nashville's allure for decades has been the chance of "making it" in the country music business. Housing offices for all the "Big Four" record labels (Sony, Universal, Warner and EMI) not to mention the three performance rights organizations in the US (BMI, ASCAP and SESAC) and it's no secret why the town is nicknamed Music City. You can't spit in this town without hitting a singer, songwriter, soundman and a publicist…oftentimes all-in-one.

While Detroit may give off a reputation of a more "real" or "organic" music scene, Nashville gives off way more examples of careers in music.

Detroit has just as rich a musical history as Nashville, it just does not have a music industry. There are no major labels, no performance rights organizations, no significant music publishers and subsequently, up-and-coming writers or bands don't dream about moving to Detroit. They dream about moving OUT of Detroit.

Amongst my own personal acquaintances, I know of 4 people who've left southeastern Michigan in the past two years specifically for music business jobs in Nashville.

In July of 1999 a rock band called the Starlite Desperation moved from their hometown of Salinas, California to Detroit. This was, by all accounts, completely unheard of. Bands had made their way to Detroit in the past, but most of the time they were moving from Lansing, or if you want to get really exotic, Toledo.

To quote Dan Kroha (of seminal garage punk band the Gories) on Starlite's move, "I wanted to give them the key to the city."

Unfortunately, Starlite Desperation imploded and just over a year later the principles had moved back to the West Coast, tails between their legs. They'd just missed out on the press boon behind the White Stripes, Electric 6, Detroit Cobras and (my band) the Dirtbombs that would kick up in England and propel many Detroit bands on to unqualified success (the Stripes), fluke-y top ten hits (Electric 6) or sustenance touring/recording (basically everybody else). Even at the height of Detroit's center-of-the-rock-and-roll-world reputation (roughly the summer of 2003), there failed to be any noticeable bands picking up their stakes and setting up camp in town.

There are two things recently drawing folks in to relocate to Detroit. One is best exemplified by a quote from Patti Smith. When asked if it was still possible for young artists to move to NYC and find their way to fame, Smith replied, "New York has closed itself off to the young and struggling. But there are other cities." Her first suggestion? "Detroit."

One of the few (only?) upsides of the absolute hit Detroit took in the economic downturn is the fact that its extremely low cost of living became a selling point. Artists did start to show up, even if only in drips and drabs, to set up studios, reclaim empty buildings, to work on their own terms in a city where space and privacy are plentiful and oversight or bureaucratic interference is rarely a concern.

At the same time, Nashville is experiencing an unprecedented up-tick in young, creative transplants. The city claims among its residents international rock stars like Jack White (my boss/uncle), the Black Keys, Ke$ha, Kid Rock and all the Kings of Leon. For a town famously known for country music, the populace is undeniably diversifying. Hell, neighbors I've had at two different houses I've lived in here include a touring member of the B-52's and the tour manager that famously set Graham Parsons' body on fire at Joshua Tree in 1973.

The main difference I've noticed between Nashville and Detroit is an issue of birthright versus selection. Detroit is, for the most part, a locale that befalls people. Very few of its residents made a conscious effort to relocate there. What this charges the population with is a shared "we're all in this together" attitude.

In Nashville, it seems 1 in 10 people I meet are "from here" (where "here" is considered the metropolitan area) and a scant 1 in 20 are actually from the city. As a magnet, a destination, the folks I meet have all come to this town with an agenda. Whether it's to make it as a country singer, to get the hell out of Alabama, or to attend one of the city's many respectable universities.

While the idea of folks coming from all over to make this city their home is a nice idea, it also has a downside. A lot of people, myself included, don't plan on staying here. It's a stopping off point, a means to an end, a place where few have a solid connection to their neighborhood

I'm surprised when people here tell me to be careful in East Nashville…that it can be dangerous. When I inform them I'm from Detroit, their response is usually along the lines of "Oh, you'll be fine. You might get your lawn mower stolen once in ten years." And while the inherent racism in a city with a statue of Nathan Bedford Forrest and a history of slave trading can seem as mere remnants of history, to have someone use the word "nigger" to me in the middle of a business transaction was absolutely dumbfounding.

To hear the phrase "I'm not racist…" immediately followed by "I love Charley Pride" is all one needs to know that things in this town can be uncomfortably white.

I've been told that at one point, in the 1990's, EVERY house in East Nashville was selling crack. To now, where it seems like every house actively donates to the local NPR station, that's a pretty impressive turnaround.

When I drive around East Nashville now, from its organic butcher, record store located inside a house, mixologist bars and plethora of food trucks, I can't help but think this is what Williamsburg in Brooklyn looked like in 2001…like a hipster bomb ready to explode at any moment. Far too many neighborhoods in Detroit look like actual bombs have exploded there and the majority of entrepreneurship I encounter there is usually limited to folks silk-screening t-shirts (almost always incorporating the idea of and/or word "Detroit") or setting up Kickstarter campaigns.

These observations of change in East Nashville stirred up thoughts of Detroit and my false sense of propriety.  "Who do these people think they are? White-washing the neighborhood, gentrifying it block-by-block. I hope they rot."

But then I realize, wait, I'm not from here. I'M the one who moved in here. I'M the one who people who were born and raised here should be pissed about. In the meantime, I welcome these new businesses and residents with open arms.

More than anything, I'm happy to have found two wonderfully warm establishments. The first, Italia, is a classic, old-style pizzeria has been around for awhile and is on a nice, sleepy stretch of Woodland Street. While the pizza is greasy and definitely unhealthy, I prefer it. Italia feels familiar and inviting. It feels like home.

Five Points Pizza is brand new and on the same street a few blocks down in the happening Five Points district, surrounded by bars, artisan eateries and other indicators of hipness. The thin crust, New York-style of Five Points is deceptively tasty, the fresh sliced (not shredded) mozzarella and basil on their Old World pie is an unexpectedly delightful treat. Five Points is an establishment that I should, by all means, abhor, but once I managed to put my preconceptions out of the way and just give the place a chance, it was clear how much I enjoyed it.

A Sprawling Trawl Through Oddities of Detroit Vinyl...

I like the weird records in Detroit history. They are by no means the greatest…but we all know that Motown and techno and the MC5 and Stooges have all been chronicled to the absolute bottom of the barrel and it overshadows a lot of the one-off, unique and downright odd records produced by this fair city.

Records like "P.A.L. Bump" by Les Cochons Bleus. While they were later known as the Blue Pigs, this group of five active-duty Detroit Police officers were a band that would play schools, recreation centers, civic events and other various gatherings where passable live music was desired.  This record was released by the Police Athletic League (PAL) where in 1993 I was the only white kid on an all-black baseball team. (team photo available) The song itself motors on in a vaguely funky way until an otherworldly synthesizer solo blows the whole thing up into oblivion.  

My dad told me he was friends with one of the original members, one who eventually got kicked off the force for doing off-duty security at an after-hours bar. This may or may not be discerned with the two different picture sleeves this record was issued with, depicting different guitar players on the cover. (side note: the Blue Pigs played at my grade school at least twice while I was a student. I remember two cover songs they did: "I Wanna Be Rich" by Calloway and "The Best for Last" by Vanessa Williams. Also, the drummer used a tiny electronic drum pad for all his parts…not a cymbal or drum in his arsenal at all. Such was the early Nineties.)

(a more-desperate need for an upgraded picture sleeve I cannot think of...hook a honkey up if you're holding)

(notice how the mullet-ish qualities of the guitarist in the upper left-hand corner have been edited)

(both of these sleeves open on the BOTTOM. fucking dumb)

Or "Rock 'n' Roll Screamer" by Adrenaline. These guys were East Side and went to Catholic grade school...two things that could also be said of myself, and thus I feel an affinity for them. In a later incarnation they were better known as DC Drive, but this first single by Adrenaline is unlike anything else they'd ever put to tape. "Screamer" smokes in a weird way that only a non-punk rock record from 1977 can. All chugga-chugga motoring riffs with powerful vocals that border on melodic, this is a rare breed of 70's-80's Detroit rock that is almost completely overlooked outside of a handful of hardcore, borderline psychotic collectors. The original pressing seems to have been self-released on the Green Grass label, but existence of that has yet to have been proven...at least to me. It was definitely released by Fiddlers, a label headquartered out of a music instrument store that was half-a-mile from the house I grew up in and where I bought my first ever drumsticks, kick pedal and guitar. Fiddlers also and put out ignored records by the likes of Holy Smoke, Jett Black, the Happy Dragon Band and others.

"Methane Sea" was self-released by Richard Davis in 1978. Davis would later gain renown as the other half of Juan Atkins Cybotron outfit, under the moniker 3070. As the self-released showcase for a 'nam vet electronics enthusiast, this single packs loads of programmed electronics and vast swaths of synthesizer wash coupled with Davis' spacey vocals. The tracks are "Prelude" and "Aftermath" and they are genuinely bizarre. All the lit on techno history makes mention of Davis and this single, but damned if you can find it or even clips of it anywhere. I immediately jumped on the only copy I've ever seen and it was the most confusing/satisfying $300 I've spent on a record.

nothing to see/hear

A recent perplexing find has been a self-released LP by Richard Ristagno. While I'd originally become aware of the guy based on a single he did under the name Canada (which I'll talk about some other time), his LP from 1980 is unwaveringly odd. He pressed 200 copies, never made any cover art and his backing band was a group called Soular. Ristagno hired Soular, a band usually at home doing covers of the Marvelettes or Temptations, out of the classified ads. What results is a pre-new wave, low-fi, fuzz guitar therapy session where the loner gets the cheese. With lyrics like "Give it to me front-door style" you know you can't go wrong. A buddy and I managed to scrounge up some copies from Ristagno himself and before that, there was absolutely NO evidence anywhere of this record ever existing. A reissue by respectable independent label is currently in the works.

(special bonus...getting an original Archer Records emblazoned cardboard box out of the deal)

Of particular interest is the LP of Tape Fed Into Garbage Disposal by Spaceman and Jake by Sweet Kelly. First off, that may be the best album title of all-time. Released in 1997 on the Zedikiah label (run by the quasi-legendary biker-folk madman Nicodemus) it remains unclear how a trio of suburban youth crossed paths with a motorcycle gang leader with a face tattoo. The record was "re-discovered" a couple of years back by Aaron Dilloway (formerly of Wolf Eyes) who went as far as buying up the remaining stock Nicodemus had of the LP and began hawking 'em at the WE merch table while on tour. While looking for a copy I managed to snag one sold by Steve Turner (of Mudhoney/Super-Electro Records) that had a complete press kit included. According to the band, their influences are Pink Floyd, Black Sabbath and Monster Magnet. The list of clubs they'd played is also fairly impressive…solid East Side haunts like Java House, I-Rock, and the Palladium, not to mention a surprising appearance at the Gold Dollar.

(quite possibly the first time a picture of the band has ever shown up online. does anyone care?)

The record itself is reckless teenaged confusion that sounds like it was mastered directly from a fried cassette. I'm still fairly confident I don't "get" where this record is coming from or what it's trying to accomplish (Floyd, Sabbath and Magnet all feel like red herrings). But the manner in which it stands alone, seemingly devoid of context, contemporaries or discernible influence, is what keeps me coming back. I would not be surprised if I was told "Tape Fed…" was actually recorded ten or twenty years earlier. Interpret that as you may, but it's truly a more difficult feat than it seems.

"Love Eyes (Cast Your Spell on Me)" by Lenny Drake is wonderfully out of place. Drake had success (I guess) with his group Lenny and the Thundertones performing instrumental surf tunes. Yet in 1970 on what seems to be his own "Rated X (for Excellence)" record label, Drake unleashed a searing guitar workout that seems out of place in just about any era…especially when the home organ-esque drum machine rat-a-tats without variation as the only rhythm throughout the entire song. With Drake's slaughtering guitar work, it's safe to say that any more accompaniment would only detract from the rest of the brilliance.