For some artists, the stereotypes and prejudices that inevitably accompany certain visual images can be a godsend. Hey, I'm not saying it's a good thing — in fact, I happen to think it's kneecapping original music in a big way — but it's a fact. A lot of new-school punk fans that see a picture of a young act in Dickies and tattoo sleeves are going to spend money on that group with no further frame of reference. Plenty of metalheads need only see some dreads, piercings and pointy facial hair to become intrigued. There are roots-music fans who will buy anything, anything, that has a rendering of a violin or mandolin anywhere on it. Countless musicians both superlative and shitty have moved units just by looking a certain way, and allowing consumers to indulge their assumptions.The flip side of this, naturally, is that some folks won't buy a record or see an act based on its visual representation, either because they associate it with a genre they don't like or, more to the point, they can't make an easy association at all. A guy with an acoustic guitar could be a country musician. He could be a folkie. He could be a blues player (though the hat and shades are usually a giveaway here). He could be, ugh, John Mayer.
But whatever he is, he's probably not all that rocking, right?
"That's my nemesis," says Ed Hamell, whom you may or may not know under the guise of Hamell on Trial, on the subject of presumption.
Hamell's milieu encompasses everything that the genres of folk and singer/songwriter are, along with most of what they are not. He blends their traditional elements and archetypal subject matter with an inimitably personal perspective, insanely eclectic influences, politics, comedy and a visceral energy borne of a love for early punk rock. The result is a bit like a stripped-down take on the primal chordage and semi-spoken confessional narrative of writer Jim Carroll's eponymous early '80s band — had Carroll balanced his battered cool with a lighter side that wasn't afraid to indulge in a little goofiness.
Also like Carroll, Hamell on Trial exists largely as a critically raved cult phenomenon in the States, though his last HoT studio release, Choochtown, became an underground hit in Europe. The poorly promoted disc ("they might have spend 500 bucks on promotion," says Hamell, "and if they spent that, I'd barely believe it") sold over 30,000 copies overseas, largely on the strength of print-review raves.
"In Europe, I can draw a thousand people at a gig. In America, there are a few places I do pretty well, major urban areas. But there are places I draw a hundred people, and I'm completely unknown in the South," Hamell says. "So I'm hoping with this new record, that'll change. It's my first time on a label that will actually promote me, so that'll be new."
His forthcoming record, Tough Love, will be released by Ani DiFranco's Righteous Babe Records, home to such similarly category-obliterating songwriters as Bitch & Animal, Arto Lindsay and DiFranco herself. Having put out one record on now-defunct Austin indie Doolittle Records, two on megalith Mercury and two basically on his own — none of which benefited from a serious push — Hamell is understandably enthusiastic about working with people who understand what he is and isn't about. The Righteous Babe crew is certainly familiar with his recorded and live personas, as he's supported DiFranco on several tours, including a just-finished jaunt.
"We've been doing it by car. We could've done it on the bus, but the bus is crowded, and my worst fear is making those guys sick of me," he jokes.
Opening for likeminded performers with a high profile is perhaps the best way for an act that doesn't market easily to potential new fans. Opening for a crowd favorite, much less one with a notably loyal fanbase, isn't always the easiest gig, but most diehard DiFranco fans know that the songwriter handpicks her support acts, giving them a bit of an edge with crowds hungry for the headliner.
"When I go to shows, especially if it's someone I really want to see, sometimes an opening act is a big pain in my ass," says Hamell with a laugh. "And now I'm in that position, and I say so onstage, and it usually gets a laugh. With a lot of people you're opening for, you're starting at negative five, and you've got to get back to zero. But [with DiFranco], you're at least starting from zero."
Music's current spot on the trend cycle may work to Tough Luck's advantage, as well. There's certainly no shortage of postured or formulaic acts in the public eye right now, but at the same time, there seems to be a swing back to the raw and the at least semi-real. When the idea that this is a reaction to the fabricated consumables of a fading teen-pop era is posited, Hamell counters with a theory of his own, one that reaches back even further into pop culture's collective memory.
"I just think people got scared, gravitated more toward stuff like Britney Spears because the image of the last guy who was really confessional and brilliant and inspirational was a guy who put a shotgun in his mouth and splattered his brains all over the attic," he reasons. "And when he blew his head off, there was a certain national unconscious reaction to get as far away from that as we could. But little by little, the image of that has dissipated, and they're ready to get a little closer."
"Closer" is an apt description of Hamell's methodology, one that unflinchingly shares opinion, emotion, sweat and hilarious loser-culture vignettes in an effort to open a dialogue with his audience on the subject of life. Maybe a larger audience is ready for it, or maybe not, but Hamell believes there are always people in the crowd with whom it will resonate.
"If you give a monkey a typewriter, they're gonna come up with a word," he says. "If I keep going out there, I'm going to turn up some new fans. If I can get 'em in the door and have 'em see the show, I can keep 'em."
Scott Harrell can be reached at 813-248-8888, ext. 109, or by e-mail at scott.harrell@weeklyplanet.com.
This article appears in Apr 2-8, 2003.