Dollar Binge 3
The search for Spock.
By Keith Bergman

Much like Meatballs III and Jaws 3-D, the third installment of the “Dollar Binge” column is proof positive that the public’s good taste and hunger for quality cannot be slaked with just two of any kickass franchise. Will this lowly feature achieve the dizzying heights of fame reserved for Lethal Weapon IV, or – dare I utter it – Jason X? It won’t be for lack of washed-up has-beens and never-weres in the clearance rack, that’s for sure – the coral reef that is the music business is stained red and ribboned with the bloody hunks of broken dreams and failed deals, and there’s fresh chum floating in on every tide. So let’s go bottom-feeding!


Nova Mob - Admiral of the Sea
Rough Trade, 1991

When the legendary Husker Du broke up at the height of its popularity and influence, Bob Mould went on to modest success both in the band Sugar and with a solo career. Songwriting foil, singing drummer, and sensitive guy Grant Hart took a side track to nowhere, public-eye-wise, releasing a solo album and then forming the short-lived Nova Mob. This five-song EP contains two versions (nearly identical) of the title track, a fairly inane shanty delivered in Hart’s unmistakable reedy plea; a quickie song called “The Last Days of Pompeii” (cleverly rhymed with “uh huh, ah hah, hey hey” in the chorus), a nice little instrumental called “Getaway In Time,” and a set-padding live cover of “I Just Wanna Make Love To You.” Full-length The Last Days of Pompeii is supposedly more cohesive and flirts with the brilliance Hart struck often in Husker Du – but this toss-off is hardly incentive to go track it down.
Actual worth: It’d be worth $5 to tease Husker Du completists with it, if they hadn’t found their own dollar-bin copy years ago.


I Love You - I Love You
Geffen, 1991

Allegedly part of the SST roster at one point, I Love You plays hippie-dippy hard rock songs, not unlike the first stuff we heard from whacked-out desert crooners Masters of Reality. But where that band dripped organic, retro-fried bliss, I Love You (perhaps thanks to producer Geoff Workman) was polished up to a chrome gleam, jam-rock played through Bang Tango’s gear, with a particularly dreadful drum sound. Like Last Crack (who did this kind of shit much better), I Love You was far too fey and floppy-hat-wearing for the metal crowd, but they had nowhere else to go in 1991’s bin-card-regimented music business. For some reason, this record remains oddly charming, though – opener “Hang Straight Up” is downright infectious, and there are scattered moments of genius amid the precious lyrics and sterile sounds on the rest of the CD. I bet a band member has rough mixes or demos of these songs locked away somewhere that absolutely kill this anemic recording.
Actual worth: Another five-spot, especially if the idea of slightly glammy, slightly earthy feel-good hippie rock appeals to you – paging Mother Love Bone fans!


Lee Harvey Keitel Band - Amerikanski
Ipecac

I don’t think this is the Ipecac Records beloved by my tyrannical editor – and if I didn’t have it in the stereo right now, I’d be hard-pressed to believe this album exists, finding hardly a mention of it on the ‘net or anywhere else. Former members of the equally-obscure Buttsteak create what I think is some kind of demented rock opera, full of two-minute songs with titles like “Howard Hughes Crippled By the Nicholas Ray” and “Divine Aphasia From Waiting For Godot.” The songs certainly sound like musical numbers from some off-Broadway producer’s nightmare – soaring vocal lines delivered with a hand-on-heart earnestness, and odd Fiddler-On-the-Roof-by-way-of-Alternative-Tentacles interludes. Fans of NoMeansNo might know what I’m talking about here – seriously, this is great shit, the kind of ridiculous obscurity that the dollar bin’s all about. For the next week, if I’m seen walking down the street gesturing theatrically and singing “cinema!! Cin-e-MAAAAAA!” blame Lee Harvey Keitel and his Commie cohorts.
Actual worth: Since it apparently doesn’t exist, I’ll say a squillion dollars.


Nokturnel - Nothing But Hatred
JL America, 1993

Not to trot out a cliché, but I think it’s safe to blame any mutant music coming from New Jersey on the chemical Chunky soup passing as their water supply. For some odd reason, a demented strain of thrash and death metal took root here in the early ‘90s, with bands like Revenant, Ripping Corpse, and Human Remains lashing out in clattering, loose-limbed abandon. Parts are tossed into the song and forgotten, like Dave Mustaine’s wildest dreams of “technicality” set to puree, and weird, open-chord skronks lie uneasily on top of busy picking riffs, till all but the most academically-inclined metalhead is afraid to bang head to it. Of course, poor Nokturnel had the misfortune to end up on JL America – this label’s shittiness, right down to their Evel Knievel-inspired logo, is legendary among crusty metal fiends. This means Nokturnel got cement-mixer production (never good when your music is busy and technical) and a hilariously bad album cover that killed any chance of being taken seriously. The band members didn’t even merit a credit (though “the Babes” of each get their own section of the thanks list) so I can’t tell you if any of these coffee achievers, like Human Remains’ crew, went on to gainful employment in the hardcore scene, but given the air of shit luck permeating Nothing But Hatred, I’m guessing not.
Actual worth: The kind of CD you buy thinking “man, some stupid metalhead on eBay is gonna pay $50 for this!” and then you end up getting $3.84 for it.

Doom Society - Doom Society
self-released, 2000

Five songs of big, bad, bloated booger rock mixed with a weird, half-assed ‘90s grunge influence, the sound of a cover band busting out what can loosely be called “its own” songs. These guys look like beer-bellied shitkickers in their forties, which means I probably oughta stay out of biker bars for a while, because for all I know this band’s warmed-over boot metal is as beloved in Coalinga as Dale Earnhardt and Natural Light on draft. But for the rest of us, life will go on fine without.
Actual worth: Not even the bugs in a Harley man’s teeth.

Keith Bergman recently spent an entire day alphabetizing “H” through “R” of his CD collection.