With iconic garage-punk trio the Oblivians, with the Parting Gifts (his collaboration with the Ettes’ Coco Hames and Jem Cohen), with a legion of other one-offs and defunct projects, and, for the past 13 years with driving rock ‘n’ soul revue the Reigning Sound, Greg Cartwright has chased various traces of American rock and pop to arrive at something singularly his. Still, with his legacy perfectly well cemented among garage-rock aficionados and discerning vinyl-heads, Cartwright is still chasing the unexpected. The Reigning Sound’s latest album, Shattered, is the band’s sixth proper full-length, a follow-up to 2009’s Love And Curses, and its debut for Merge. Cartwright will be guest editing magnetmagazine.com all week. Read our brand new feature on him.
Cartwright: You know how there’s nothing good left at the thrift stores, right? I mean, every possible niche of collecting has its foragers and experts, and they all manage to get to the thrift store a mere 10 minutes before you. All of them walking out as you’re walking in, with their armloads of records and vintage clothes. Damn them to hell! Well, let me compose myself … after all, if I’d found it first, it would’ve been me with the spoils. Sadly, all too often it’s not. Over the years it’s forced me to look for things others didn’t want. To become a connoisseur of the most undesirable of debris. Knowing that with each new avenue, the clock is ticking and that it is only a matter of time before competition arrives. For instance, I use to be the only guy willing to dig through piles of sunglasses and reading glasses to pull out the nice frames. Not anymore. Right around the time others start looking, the people who work the register start to notice, too. That’s when they mysteriously evaporate. C’est la vie. On to the next mini obsession. Amateur paintings, oddly themed ashtrays and so on. One of the greatest friends and mentors of my life was James (Jim) Shaw, who lived in Detroit and passed away two years ago. We shared a love of the hunt. Not just for the objects, but for the mysterious stories they all seemed to contain and hint at but withhold. Things that had a connection to our hometowns or a memorable moment in our own personal histories. This kind of hunting widens the lens of what might appeal to you when you’re sifting, as opposed to looking for things of beauty or obvious value. Anyway, I don’t really know if Jim was ever a Boy Scout, but I was. While staying at his house in Hamtramck, I always admired his collection of Boy Scout mugs. Each mug displaying the logo of various camp grounds and Area Councils such as the Chickasaw Council or the Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico. I started looking for them myself and quickly noticed that they weren’t easy to find but that there also wasn’t any competition. No one wanted them. Friends and family began to notice my growing collection and offered to pick them up when they saw them. Even my kids. Maybe when you read this it will spur your interest. Maybe you were a Boy Scout and just maybe … they’ll all dry up … and I’ll be on to the next thing nobody else wants.
