LOST CLASSICS

They’re nobody’s buzz bands anymore. But since 1993, MAGNET has discovered and documented more great music than memory will allow. The groups may have broken up or the albums may be out of print, but this time, history is written by the losers. Here are some of the finest albums that time forgot but we remembered in issue #75, plus all-new additions to our list of Lost Classics.

:: THE DEAD C
The Operation Of The Sonne // Siltbreeze, 1994
Pity the music fans who discovered noise rock this millennium via Wolf Eyes or a Spin magazine article, as they missed the era when the genre had heart. New Zealand’s Dead C matched ultra-sloppy, Velvet Underground-influenced pop with mournful, buzzing drone rock. The remarkable thing about The Operation Of The Sonne was that it had no dynamic restrictions—until Robbie Yeats’ minimal, marching-band drums kicked in at various points on each of the album’s three tracks. When Operation came out, a joyful-yet-confused “huh?” spread across the indie-rock world. Nothing out there was this disorienting and organically pleasurable at the same time.

Catching Up: Singer/guitarist Michael Morley teaches at an art college in Dunedin, while guitarist Bruce Russell ran the Xpressway and Corpus Hermeticum labels. The latest Dead C album, Secret Earth, came out last year.

“Mordant Heaven”:

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They’re nobody’s buzz bands anymore. But since 1993, MAGNET has discovered and documented more great music than memory will allow. The groups may have broken up or the albums may be out of print, but this time, history is written by the losers. Here are some of the finest albums that time forgot but we remembered in issue #75, plus all-new additions to our list of Lost Classics.

Like restaurants and dot-coms, record labels fail at an alarming rate. So it isn’t exactly newsworthy that Bobsled Records lasted only five years. What’s notable is that the Aurora, Ill., indie burned so brightly and left a vapor trail of mini-myths. At the center of it all was Bob Salerno, a former tennis pro. One of the great characters in the indie-label world, the mutton-chopped, Motown-loving Salerno founded Bobsled with friend and financial backer Jeff Slay (the label name is a play on “Bob” and “Slay/Sleigh”).

Initially operating from his basement, Salerno attracted bands by releasing music on 180-gram, colored vinyl. Scottish outfit Adventures In Stereo (featuring Primal Scream’s Jim Beattie) was the label’s inaugural signing in 1997, notably followed by Chicago’s orchestral-pop Chamber Strings, French/German disco-punk duo Stereo Total and power-pop vets Velvet Crush. A true believer in his roster’s hit-making potential, Salerno poured money into radio promotion, retail campaigns and label-sponsored tours.

“There didn’t seem to be any middle ground with Bob,” says one former associate who wishes to remain anonymous. “He was shooting straight for the top. He always talked about the possibility of his releases going platinum. Not even gold.”

By 2002, however, Salerno’s zealous drive became a fatal flaw: Following a show by flagship Bobsled band the Waxwings (pictured), he penned a scathing letter to the Detroit retro-rockers that was later posted on the Internet. Salerno criticized the group’s lack of preparation and singer/guitarist Dean Fertita’s failure to exude a rock-star persona: “Mick Jagger wouldn’t be hangin’ out in the club before HIS RECORD RELEASE show!” he wrote. “Bush leagues!!! Dean, you’re just fuckin’ hangin’ out by the fuckin’ entrance before the show, AND SOMETIMES ALONE! PATHETIC!!! A REAL rock ‘n’ roll band would have been backstage getting psyched up for the greatest show of their entire lives!!!”

“The band stopped trying,” says Salerno, who changed his name to Björn Forsell and ran the Giant Pecker label. “[Bobsled’s] philosophy was equal effort—which they gave on their first record, but then they lost perspective on the second. We guaranteed them—and all our artists—around $10,000 to $12,000 per record, and we ended up spending roughly $200,000 on each at the end. So when they stopped trying and copped the attitude that it was all owed to them, I got pissed. And rightfully so, I still believe.”

Bobsled never produced a hit album, and the label folded after the release of the Waxwings’ second album, 2002’s Shadows Of The Waxwings.

:: THE WAXWINGS
Low To The Ground // Bobsled, 2000
The Waxwings apparently didn’t get the central-casting memo that required all Detroit bands to be immersed in the garage legacy of the Stooges and the MC5. The Byrds-via-R.E.M. jangle of the Waxwings’ debut was a refreshing change of pace from the carbon-monoxide-marinated angst of their Motor City peers.

“Keeping The Sparks”:

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They’re nobody’s buzz bands anymore. But since 1993, MAGNET has discovered and documented more great music than memory will allow. The groups may have broken up or the albums may be out of print, but this time, history is written by the losers. Here are some of the finest albums that time forgot but we remembered in issue #75, plus all-new additions to our list of Lost Classics.

:: ARCWELDER
Pull // Touch And Go, 1993
“Sing a little pop song/Then everybody loves you,” sang Arcwelder on “Remember To Forget,” one of the many instant classics on Pull. If only it were that easy. Coming out of Minneapolis’ fertile ’80s scene, Arcwelder seemed like the logical successor to hometown heroes Hüsker Dü. Like the Hüskers, Arcwelder was a punk-leaning, pop-loving power trio whose vocal duties were shared by its guitarist and drummer and whose bassist had a moustache. But Arcwelder never really rose above cult status despite releasing six albums of catchy, noisy rock ’n’ roll. Pull, the band’s third LP and Touch And Go debut, was the best of the bunch, a 45-minute masterpiece that still holds its own against almost anything from indie rock’s glory years. So what if Arcwelder never achieved commercial success? Like the band sang at the beginning of Pull, “When it’s all done/This is just a song.”

Catching Up: Though the trio rarely plays live and has no plans for another proper record (an Internet-only release has been discussed), Arcwelder still practices once a week.

“Remember To Forget”:

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They’re nobody’s buzz bands anymore. But since 1993, MAGNET has discovered and documented more great music than memory will allow. The groups may have broken up or the albums may be out of print, but this time, history is written by the losers. Here are some of the finest albums that time forgot but we remembered in issue #75, plus all-new additions to our list of Lost Classics.

Like surf music, garage rock and Dixieland jazz before it, the jangly, folk/punk clatter of kiwi rock, which first appeared at the dawn of the ’80s on Flying Nun Records, seems to be a musical genre that refuses to lie down and push up the daisies. Case in point: Chris Knox and Alec Bathgate have threatened to keep making Tall Dwarfs discs ’til death do they part. While some of the founding fathers of the New Zealand sound such as the Chills may have mothballed their guitars and opened hair-dressing salons or dog-walking services back in the ’90s, the three members of the Clean—brothers David and Hamish Kilgour and Robert Scott—still play together after more than 25 years and have also created an impressive résumé of side projects. Over the past decade and a half, David Kilgour has issued a series of multi-hued solo albums, including 2004’s reflective, stripped-down Frozen Orange. Hamish Kilgour played with former Go-Betweens bassist Robert Vickers in the indie-pop Mad Scene. Scott, the sparkling decoder ring hidden in the bottom of this cereal box, soldiers on with the thoroughly earnest, always lovable, folk/rock Bats. But it will always be the mythic strains of the Clean that people want to hear most. It’s difficult to pin down exactly why. Maybe, like the Wilsons of Los Angeles, it’s a family thing. “Sure, Hamish and I fought a lot as kids,” David told MAGNET two years ago. “That’s what brothers do. But it never came to onstage punch-ups like Ray and Dave Davies. If we’d hated each other that much, we wouldn’t have been able to make all this music together.” A master plan to keep the Clean a working organism via now-and-then recording sessions and occasional tours, however, doesn’t exist. “We never have any plans,” said David. “That’s why it’s worked for us.”

:: BAILTER SPACE
Wammo // Matador, 1995
The Clean and Tall Dwarfs may have dominated the pop side of the New Zealand scene, but the small country was also home to a renegade population of artists more interested in avant noise, such as the Dead C and Flies Inside The Sun. Christchurch fuzz-rockers Bailter Space (pictured) indulged both stylistic impulses. By the time of fifth album Wammo, the trio had stockpiled an arsenal of sonic tricks: capturing early-Verve melodic shoegaze on “Splat” and channeling Unwound-style guitar jamming on “Voltage.” Though odd men out in the NZ playing field (Bailter Space moved to New York in ’92), the group did its home team proud.

“Retro”:

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They’re nobody’s buzz bands anymore. But since 1993, MAGNET has discovered and documented more great music than memory will allow. The groups may have broken up or the albums may be out of print, but this time, history is written by the losers. Here are some of the finest albums that time forgot but we remembered in issue #75, plus all-new additions to our list of Lost Classics.

:: SMALL FACTORY
For If You Cannot Fly // Vernon Yard, 1994
Non-power trio Small Factory—bassist Alex Kemp, guitarist Dave Auchenbach and adorably named drummer Phoebe Summersquash (they all sang)—played prototypical indie rock that was usually catchier, and almost always more precious, than that of its contemporaries. This second LP featured a slightly tougher, occasionally abrasive sound but was ultimately more consistent than 1993’s I Do Not Love You. Given the Providence, R.I., band’s fondness for nakedly confessional lyrics, it wouldn’t be surprising if any number of emo outfits professed a devotion to this honest, compelling record.

Catching Up: 1996 singles/rarities collection The Industrial Evolution shut down Small Factory with an appropriate whimper. Kemp and Summersquash’s Godrays sounded almost exactly like Small Factory with less inspiration. Kemp currently plays in Assassins, while Summersquash appeared as a drummer in Sarah Silverman’s Jesus Is Magic and is the subject of a song by Philly band Scary Monster. Auchenbach has produced bands such as Wheat and Lightning Bolt.

“The Bright Side”:

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They’re nobody’s buzz bands anymore. But since 1993, MAGNET has discovered and documented more great music than memory will allow. The groups may have broken up or the albums may be out of print, but this time, history is written by the losers. Here are some of the finest albums that time forgot but we remembered in issue #75, plus all-new additions to our list of Lost Classics.

While Belle And Sebastian’s success may have popularized some of twee pop’s signature clichés—jangling guitars, gentle vocals and an affectation of childlike naiveté—it was subsurface groups such as the Lucksmiths (pictured), Tullycraft and Trembling Blue Stars that, along with flag-flying labels Matinée, Magic Marker and even Sub Pop, helped to expand the genre’s stereotypical barrettes-and-kittens borders. Like attention-starved sibling emo, twee has become increasingly maligned by its makers.

“I always see the term as derogatory and a fairly lazy way to characterize indie pop for those who aren’t very familiar with it,” says Jimmy Tassos, owner of the Santa Barbara, Calif.-based Matinée.

“(Trembling Blue Stars singer/guitarist) Robert (Wratten) would be appalled to be described as twee,” says Matt Haynes, co-founder of the U.K.’s Sarah Records. “He wrote the songs he wanted to write, and his influences were more Factory Records than C86.”

Listening to TBS’s third album, 2000’s Broken By Whispers, it’s difficult to deny Wratten’s twee-pop roots. Bassist Michael Hiscock and keyboardist Annemari Davies lent “Ripples” and “To Leave It Now” their fleshed-out, flashback feel. It was Wratten’s beautifully drowsy voice, however, that ultimately turned Whispers’ intimate lyrics into an 11-shade spectrum of gray.

Decidedly extroverted, Seattle’s Tullycraft took a punk approach to its indie-pop aesthetic. The chorus of 2002’s “Fuck me, I’m twee!” was the refrain that launched a thousand T-shirts, and 2000 anthem “Pop Songs Your New Boyfriend Is Too Stupid To Know About” encapsulated an entire music scene in a single song. On 2005’s Disenchanted Hearts Unite, Tullycraft dropped the absurdity, and its appeal went into overdrive. Singing “We’re the best band you never heard!” as if there was never any doubt, Sean Tollefson’s nasal vocals were at once brash and bratty; Jenny Mears’ pointed “ah-ah”s and “la-la”s softened things ever so slightly; and together they made “Rumble With The Gang Debs” sound like a group of kids covering the Violent Femmes.

“People fight this term to the bitter end, claiming over and over that they aren’t twee,” says Curt Kentner, owner of Portland, Ore.’s Magic Marker Records. “What looks better: complaining that you aren’t twee or championing it like Tullycraft?”

:: THE LUCKSMITHS
The Green Bicycle Case // Candle, 1995
While most twee bands embodied overcast English winters, the eternally sunny Lucksmiths were a cloudless Australian afternoon. The effervescent Melbourne trio introduced its bubbling rhythms and witty wordplay on early lo-fi records but refined its approach on The Green Bicycle Case. An endearing mix of danceable pop songs and down-tempo ballads, the album abdicated twee’s security blanket without abandoning its wide-eyed wonder. Name-checking Rita Hayworth while slyly nudging Sgt. Pepper on “Only Angels Have Wings,” frontman Tali White’s conversational tenor resembled a more tuneful, Victorian-tongued John Darnielle.

“The Tichborne Claimant”:

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They’re nobody’s buzz bands anymore. But since 1993, MAGNET has discovered and documented more great music than memory will allow. The groups may have broken up or the albums may be out of print, but this time, history is written by the losers. Here are some of the finest albums that time forgot but we remembered in issue #75, plus all-new additions to our list of Lost Classics.

Sleater-Kinney and riot grrrls brought Olympia, Wash., national attention, but the city’s music scene was thriving long before that, thanks in part to Calvin Johnson and K Records. Johnson co-founded K in 1982, intent on issuing cassettes from Olympia bands, including his own trio. Beat Happening defined the early K ethos: Bury talent beneath miles of DIY ethic and gleefully sound as if you could barely hold it together. K’s International Pop Underground seven-inch series and week-long 1991 festival showcased bands such as Bratmobile, Bikini Kill and Heavenly. Johnson opened Dub Narcotic Studio in 1993; subsequently, many K releases began to lose their ramshackle quality, though not their trademark brevity. Roster acts such as Modest Mouse and Mirah also shifted the label away from being solely a clearinghouse for lo-fi DIY pop.

Catching Up: K continues to release records and serve as a music distributor. Johnson has released three solo records, the latest of which, 2007′s Calvin Johnson & The Sons Of Soil, reprises material from his various combos over the years. He’s currently touring as the frontman of a new band called the Hive Dwellers.

:: THE HALO BENDERS
The Rebels Not In // K, 1998
This collaboration between Johnson and Built To Spill’s Doug Martsch merged the playful spirit of early K with higher-end production. With the Halo Benders, Johnson and Martsch also moved further from their respective comfort zones and settled on a jubilant middle ground. In Martsch, Johnson finally found a foil for his comically low and wobbly baritone. On album opener “Virginia Reel Around The Fountain,” they sing in opposing rhythms and cadences yet still manage to arrive at the song’s conclusion in unison and with obvious delight.

“Virginia Reel Around The Fountain”:

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They’re nobody’s buzz bands anymore. But since 1993, MAGNET has discovered and documented more great music than memory will allow. The groups may have broken up or the albums may be out of print, but this time, history is written by the losers. Here are some of the finest albums that time forgot but we remembered in issue #75, plus all-new additions to our list of Lost Classics.

:: TRASH CAN SINATRAS
A Happy Pocket // Go! Discs, 1996
Tracking down the third album from these Scottish popsters was a difficult quest. Released only in the U.K., A Happy Pocket recalled the days when literate, proudly geeky pop bands such as the Smiths and fellow Scots Aztec Camera appeared on the British charts. Vocalist Francis Reader and guitarist John Douglas offered wry observations on life and love in a charming brogue, while the group maintained a lush, swooning guitar interplay. Belle And Sebastian would soon wave their fey wrists, but Trash Can Sinatras helped keep Scottish pop moving forward in the dry years, however gently.

Catching Up: In the late ‘90s, the band faced bankruptcy and lost its Shabby Road studio. A 1999 single, “Snow,” showed signs of life, but it would be five more years before the group released Pocket follow-up Weightlifting. A new album, In The Music, will be out sometime this year, and reissues of Trash Can Sinatras’ previous LPs are in the works.

“Twisted And Bent”:

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They’re nobody’s buzz bands anymore. But since 1993, MAGNET has discovered and documented more great music than memory will allow. The groups may have broken up or the albums may be out of print, but this time, history is written by the losers. Here are some of the finest albums that time forgot but we remembered in issue #75, plus all-new additions to our list of Lost Classics.

:: COME
Near Life Experience // Matador, 1996
The needles, the damage done and the subsequent cycles of kicking junk, sweating recidivism, then relapsing; toxic, destructive codependencies; the epic, bluesy intertwine of Thalia Zedek’s vocals and Chris Brokaw’s glassine guitar lines. Such was the stock-in-trade of Boston’s Come in the ‘90s. The band was made up of refugees from Live Skull and Codeine, and its austere, bleak rock was propelled by the weather-worn croak of Zedek, a recovering heroin addict. By Near Life Experience, the group’s longtime rhythm section had bolted; Zedek and Brokaw compensated by recruiting members of Tortoise and Rodan to help record Come’s most cinematic, diverse and accessible album.

Catching Up: After 1998’s underwhelming Gently Down The Stream, Come’s principals splintered into solo-album and guest-spot obscurity without officially breaking up. Zedek struck out on her lonesome; the Thalia Zedek Band issued Liars And Prayers last year. Meanwhile, Brokaw has performed and recorded with the likes of Thurston Moore, Evan Dando and Steve Wynn, scored films and issued a handful of overlooked solo records.

“Hurricane”:

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They’re nobody’s buzz bands anymore. But since 1993, MAGNET has discovered and documented more great music than memory will allow. The groups may have broken up or the albums may be out of print, but this time, history is written by the losers. Here are some of the finest albums that time forgot but we remembered in issue #75, plus all-new additions to our list of Lost Classics.

:: HOME
13: Netherregions // Jetset, 1997
Using a primitive version of ProTools—OK, a four-track and some Radio Shack cassettes—the members of Home spent the first half of the ’90s in Tampa, Fla., issuing volumes I through IX of their lunatic stoner folk. By the time of opus number 13, Home had relocated to New York and become darlings of the (mostly media-constructed) lo-fi bedroom-recording movement. Home’s bedroom, apparently, didn’t have walls: Netherregions embraces everything from disembodied boombox jams to sprawling piano nocturnes to acoustic hippie warblings from singer/keyboardist Eric Morrison.

Catching Up: Founding drummer Sean Martin rejoined the fold for 2006’s Sexteen, issued on Oneida’s Brah label. Morrison operates a studio and oversees Screw Music Forever, a label and recording collective.

“Our Blue Navy”:

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They’re nobody’s buzz bands anymore. But since 1993, MAGNET has discovered and documented more great music than memory will allow. The groups may have broken up or the albums may be out of print, but this time, history is written by the losers. Here are some of the finest albums that time forgot but we remembered in issue #75, plus all-new additions to our list of Lost Classics.

:: GANGER
Hammock Style // Merge, 1998
Instrumental rock fiends who thought Tortoise’s patented double-bass thump was played out by the late ‘90s found salvation in Glasgow quartet Ganger. Hammock Style turbocharged the increasingly imitated Chicago sound with expansive, major-key melodies and stream-of-consciousness narratives from bassist Natasha Noramly. “I feel lost in a city of sound,” she whispered on “Capo (South Of Caspian),” a nine-minute tour de force that subtly tweaked a simple riff made from mandolin and Sonic Youth-style electric-guitar eruptions until it tumbled toward a blissful climax. This style of music has aged poorly (where art thou, Paul Newman, Pele and Billie Mahonie?), but the jams on Hammock Style still have the power to mesmerize.

Catching Up: Ganger split following 1999’s Canopy EP. Guitarist Craig B played in Aereogramme, while Noramly formed Fuck-Off Machete.

“Cats Dogs And Babies Jaws”:

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They’re nobody’s buzz bands anymore. But since 1993, MAGNET has discovered and documented more great music than memory will allow. The groups may have broken up or the albums may be out of print, but this time, history is written by the losers. Here are some of the finest albums that time forgot but we remembered in issue #75, plus all-new additions to our list of Lost Classics.

:: CORNELIUS
Fantasma // Matador, 1998
Running ecstatic laps around Beck’s timid electronic samples and polite Tropicalia, the music created by Keigo Oyamada (the Tokyo trendsetter known as Cornelius) scrambled any brain cells caught between its stereo speakers. Fantasma sounded like Pet Sounds made anime, an album so hyperactive that it was difficult to keep up. By the time you realized Oyamada was playing Beethoven at 120 bpm, he was already splicing Raymond Scott cartoon music into a looped soundbite of monkey screeches. The representative artifact of Tokyo’s ultra-hip Shibuya district, Fantasma didn’t get lost in translation (a track such as “Star Fruits Surf Rider” spelled exuberant pop joy in any language) so much as it left all contemporaries in a cloud of crate-digging dust.

Catching Up: Oyamada issued the more organic, understated Point in 2002 and the sedate, sound-sculpted Sensuous in 2007.

“Star Fruits Surf Rider”:

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They’re nobody’s buzz bands anymore. But since 1993, MAGNET has discovered and documented more great music than memory will allow. The groups may have broken up or the albums may be out of print, but this time, history is written by the losers. Here are some of the finest albums that time forgot but we remembered in issue #75, plus all-new additions to our list of Lost Classics.

:: DRIVE LIKE JEHU
Yank Crime // Interscope, 1994
In 1991, the self-titled debut from Drive Like Jehu was passed around the alt-rock cognoscenti like a talisman. The band’s principals—Rick Froberg and John Reis—hailed from San Diego semi-legends Pitchfork, and Jehu updated that band’s driving, post-Fugazi sound with a more complex approach. Drive Like Jehu struck a nerve and, for a minute or two at least, seemed like the most important band around. Until, of course, Reis’ other band (Rocket From The Crypt) erupted and prompted Interscope Records to offer ridiculous amounts of money to RFTC and Jehu for signing on the dotted line. Yank Crime was the band’s sophomore effort, major-label debut and swan song, an explosive tangle of careening tempo changes, hoarse-throat vocals, barely contained guitar histrionics and mindful aggression. Its appearance on a major label’s roster was as mind-boggling then as it is nostalgically naive now. Of course, Yank Crime, along with RFTC’s three major-label outings, proved to be money pits for Interscope.

Catching Up: Undeterred by label indifference and the demise of Jehu, Reis persevered with Rocket From The Crypt and, in 1999, re-teamed with Froberg in Hot Snakes (a.k.a. The Best Side Project Ever). Froberg moved to New York to work in visual arts; he’s now in Obits, which just released their debut on Sub Pop. Drummer Mark Trombino produces and engineers bands. Bassist Mike Kennedy played in Corrugated. In 2005, Reis disbanded RFTC in order to focus on his record label, Swami; he briefly fronted Sultans and now leads the Night Marchers.

“Luau”:

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They’re nobody’s buzz bands anymore. But since 1993, MAGNET has discovered and documented more great music than memory will allow. The groups may have broken up or the albums may be out of print, but this time, history is written by the losers. Here are some of the finest albums that time forgot but we remembered in issue #75, plus all-new additions to our list of Lost Classics.

:: ROYAL CITY
Alone At The Microphone // Three Gut, 2001
Crawling through shit and mud to be with your beloved and your banjo never sounded lovelier. Like any classic album, Alone At The Microphone existed in its own imaginary world, both lyrically and sonically. Royal City emerged from its basement with dog-eared copies of the Bible and Milton to detail the depths of the spiritually downtrodden; in doing so, the Guelph, Ontario, band set itself apart from its more polite peers, predating freak folk and terrifying the alt-country set. Royal City’s journey through the profane included glimpses of the sacred, a realization achieved with beautiful starlit arrangements that dazzle to this day.

Catching Up: Royal City went on permanent hiatus in 2004 shortly after the release of follow-up Little Heart’s Ease. Singer/songwriter Aaron Riches is a theology student in Nottingham, England; guitarist Jim Guthrie continues to release solo albums and was a touring guitarist in Islands; bassist Simon Osbourne backs up drummer Nathan Lawr’s solo singer/songwriter project. A retrospective of unreleased Royal City songs (titled Royal City) is due on Asthmatic Kitty June 23.

“My Brother Is The Meatman”

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They’re nobody’s buzz bands anymore. But since 1993, MAGNET has discovered and documented more great music than memory will allow. The groups may have broken up or the albums may be out of print, but this time, history is written by the losers. Here are some of the finest albums that time forgot but we remembered in issue #75, plus all-new additions to our list of Lost Classics.

:: THE NOTWIST
Neon Golden // Domino, 2003
The members of the Notwist evolved from dismal beginnings as metal-besotted teen punks to the fun sophistication of the aptly named Neon Golden. The album achieved a genuine integration of previously opposing elements, as the German group blended crunchy, skittery beats inspired by several generations of European techno with dubby textures, decorative string flourishes, smooth woodwind textures and insanely catchy pop melodies. On Neon Golden, the boy never seemed to get the girl, but the rest of us were happy to bob our heads while he hung his.

Catching Up: The Notwist released follow-up The Devil, You + Me last year. In 2005, the band joined up with nerd-rappers Themselves and made an album as 13 & God. Members of the Notwist also play in Console, Lali Puna, Ms. John Soda and Schweisser.

“Pick Up The Phone”:

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They’re nobody’s buzz bands anymore. But since 1993, MAGNET has discovered and documented more great music than memory will allow. The groups may have broken up or the albums may be out of print, but this time, history is written by the losers. Here are some of the finest albums that time forgot but we remembered in issue #75, plus all-new additions to our list of Lost Classics.

Like so many indie labels in the ’80s and ’90s, Minneapolis-based Amphetamine Reptile was started by a guy for the sole purpose of putting out his own band’s records. In this case, the guy was a Marine named Tom Hazelmyer, and the band was Halo Of Flies, an angry, in-your-face punk trio with a large chip on its shoulder. After three Halo singles (released in 1986 and 1987), Hazelmyer started issuing seven-inches—and, eventually, full-lengths—by similar-minded outfits such as the Thrown Ups, the God Bullies and the U-Men. By the early ’90s, AmRep was the premier label for all things aggressive, with a roster including hard-rocking stalwarts Helmet, Tar, Surgery, Boss Hog and Helios Creed. What Sub Pop had become for grunge, AmRep was for noise. (The word was even incorporated into the label’s logo.)

Like Sub Pop, AmRep excelled at generating as much—if not more—interest in the label itself as it did in the bands signed to it. There was the popular Dope-Guns-N-Fucking In The Streets seven-inch series, which featured new songs from AmRep groups alongside exclusive tracks from the likes of Mudhoney, Superchunk, the Jesus Lizard, Jawbox and the Boredoms. There were AmRep package tours (given names such as Ugly American Overkill and Clusterfuck), in which the label sent up to five of its bands out together, always with plenty of tour-only merchandise to sell. AmRep even had its own recording studio, manned by in-house engineer (and Halo Of Flies bassist) Tim “Mac” McLaughlin, where bands could record inexpensively.

The group that most personified Amphetamine Reptile was the Cows, a Minneapolis quartet that could make you laugh, cry, puke and crap your pants—all during one of its gloriously bizarre sets. (Suffice it to say, if you didn’t enjoy being kicked or having food—or worse—thrown at you by the band, you didn’t want to be in the front row at a Cows gig.) Led by Shannon Selberg—who, when not shrieking like a mental patient, added bugle and trombone to his group’s manic mix—the Cows released all but the first of their nine albums on AmRep. 1992’s Cunning Stunts was the band’s best LP, as it added some much-needed structure to the Cows’ unrelenting anti-pop noise.

AmRep eventually began releasing records by groups that didn’t fit into the noise genre, including Chokebore, Gaunt and Nashville Pussy. During each month in 1996, the label issued a new single by the Melvins (who had released the deliberately obtuse Prick on AmRep in 1994 under the moniker Snivlem) in editions of 800, then compiled all 12 on CD the next year. In 1999, AmRep put out its last record while functioning as a working label: a single by the Heroine Sheiks, Selberg’s post-Cows band. Since, Hazelmyer has done a handful of limited-edition seven-inches by Billy Childish, pre-Hold Steady outfit Lifter Puller and others. The most notable of them is a one-sided single of the Melvins covering Halo Of Flies’ “Spit It Out.” What makes it notable? The fact that the Melvins don’t actually appear on it; it’s simply Halo Of Flies playing one of its original songs. Which goes back to the reason why Hazelmyer started AmRep in the first place: to put out his own band’s records.

:: CHOKEBORE
Anything Near Waterz // Amphetamine Reptile, 1995
Chokebore (pictured) was the first AmRep band to sound absolutely nothing like an AmRep band, but nonetheless, this Los Angeles-via-Honolulu quartet was one of the label’s best. (After hearing Chokebore’s 1993 Motionless debut, Kurt Cobain asked the band to open for Nirvana on the In Utero tour.) Led by Troy Miller—whose melodic warble was equal parts yodel and yelp—Chokebore was far more minimalist than its labelmates, specializing in an exhilarating brand of post-punk. Sophomore effort Anything Near Water remains the band’s high point, a 15-track journey through a sexually charged bizarro world populated by dying birds, bleeding camels and scared little mice.

“Lemonade”:

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