Dollar Binge
Scouring the Bay Area music stores' dollar clearance bins for diamonds in the rough
By Keith Bergman

Ah, the dollar bin. It takes many forms, from the vast crapucopia of forgotten and unknown CDs at Amoeba to the wasteland of failed major label tax write-offs available for the plucking on half.com. For the omnivorous music nerd, after a lifetime of blowing scads of money on out-of-print EPs and exorbitant imports, it’s a rare thrill to get a new addition to the collection for the cost of a taco. Well, “rare” might not be the word for it - give me a store with a good dollar bin (or a lazy Sunday browsing online) and I’ll likely end up with a stack as high as your forearm is long. The dollar bin is that one last chance at redemption, sort of an animal shelter for orphaned albums, after rock star dreams (and even the hope of recouping losses) are dashed, and all that remains is a good home - or the landfill. And like the crazy cat lady you see on the news, I can’t bear to see the little suckers neglected. Hundreds of them dwell under my roof now, archived - at least somewhere - for posterity.

In this new, fresh and downright sexy column that will recur on a semi-regular basis (as long as I can still use the company chopper), dollar bin CDs will be reviewed and appraised - with an innovative currency rating system! - for your pleasure.


Sundial - Libertine
Beggars Banquet, 1993

For a label that emits as many cool rays as Beggars Banquet does, I seem to find a lot of their CDs in the dollar bin (next time I’ll hip you to Six By Seven, a thoroughly kickass UK band on the roster). Though Libertine starts off with a slow-building, Pink Floyd-esque opener, it quickly descends into a decent, if rather forgettable Britpop-meets-psychedelia mix. “Going Down” would probably light the bong of stoner types, though those drum loops in the background sound a bit dated now. At their worst (“Watch You Smile”), Sundial sounds like a grungy arena rock Jesus Jones - and no one needs that. A band that probably could've turned into something amazing.
Actual worth: $5.00 tops, and that’s only if your personal Strategic Shoegazer Reserves are dangerously low.


Nada Surf - High/Low
Elektra, 1996

Ignore the fact that “Popular” was the most smarmy, annoying one hit blunder in recent memory. If you can do that (and I don’t blame you if you can't), there’s a lot to like about this Ric Ocasek-“produced” debut. Frantic, urgent rockers like “Deeper Well” sport desperate vocals and loose, off-the-rails playing, making for a compelling post-grunge, quasi-indie album on which “Popular” sits about as comfortably as a fried egg on a hot fudge sundae. The band has since split (messily) with Elektra and is now creating smart, comparatively subdued indie-rock, with a new album out this month.
Actual worth: $7.00 (I might even pay $10 for a copy that didn’t contain “Popular”)


Young Turk - N.E. 2nd Avenue
Virgin, 1992

I don't know who thought this cheeseball album cover was a good idea. Oh, wait, yes I do: It was the last unfired A&R rep of the hair band era, who decided that sticking pouty strippers and fashionable ripped pastels on a record full of catchy, Stonesy rock and roll would make it marketable to the same people who bought Southgang and Noisy Mama records. And it did, so when those 12 people were finished spending their cash, Young Turk nosedived into the delete bin pronto. Not awesome, but by dollar bin standards, quite the rocker, polishing up those old Keef riffs just a little bit (skip atrocious opener “The Saddest Song (La Di Da)” on your first trip through - you’ll thank me later). The kind of CD you buy, forget about, then throw in out of boredom two years later and find a new favorite song on.
Actual worth: $2.75 - a quarter for every year that the ex-members have spent kicking themselves in the ass for getting suckered into that album cover.


World Bang - Pedofiend EP
Critique/BMG, 1995

Not even for a dollar would I buy a CD called “Pedofiend,” had I not seen this band live. Muscle-y hard rock that fondly imagines itself to be “hip” (hokey industrial trappings on “Bizarre,” faux grunge in “Domino”), but ends up actually being kind of endearing and catchy, in a goofy way. One of the many no-hope bands mislabeled as “alternative,” packaged and pushed by the likes of Concrete Marketing (anyone remember those free “Concrete Corner” cassette samplers?), then dropped and consigned to the shitheap of history. “Domino” is a killer tune, though, and worth the buck. Trivia: frontman Ken Kushner was in Anthrax for a second, well before anyone cared.
Actual worth: Shit. I’ve actually seen this marked down in dollar bins - I got it for a dime once, and a quarter another time. I might still have an extra, if you want one.

Babe the Blue Ox - People
RCA, 1996

People is the kind of record that dollar bin divers spend their adult lives searching for; a fragile jewel amidst the rubble. This New York trio played indie rock for people who like pretty music - informed by soul, unafraid to write a heart-wrenchingly tender ballad and put it next to a crunchy stomper called “Fuck This Song,” almost prog in its off-kilter arrangements and change-ups, but as gooey and infectious as chocolate-covered heroin too. Tim Thomas and Rose Thomson sing their asses off, vulnerable, sexy, hilarious and worldly-wise all at once, while Hanna Fox’s bubbling percussion and Thomson’s loopy bass lines give the songs an exceptional energy and life. I hate trying to describe Babe the Blue Ox to people, because they’re just so all over the place, and vibrant, and unlike anyone else, it’s a daunting task. Better to rescue every dollar bin copy I see, handing them out like a Vegas smut street team member to strangers and friends alike, hoping someday that my efforts will bear fruit and the world will appreciate this incredible music.
Actual worth: A kajillion zillion dollars.

Keith Bergman is seriously on the lookout for the second album from a band called Tortoise Corpse.