The Bag Messenger BlogBag Design and Urban Living

Here is an interview for earlier in the year that many of you missed. 

-THE BAG MESSENGER

Will Van Zandt is a man full of stories. Son of famous folk singer Towens Van Zandt, who is as legendary for his wild antics as his song writing; Will is a bit of a legend  himself. He was once run over by a tractor trailer on the interstate in Nashville, passed up by the responding ambulance, and lived to tell about it. He is about as genuine a person as anyone could hope to meet. I have had the pleasure of knowing him for some time, and share a few crazy stories with the man myself.  This interview won't be covering any of his wild past, or give you specific insight into his fathers song writing process (sorry Townes fans). Instead we will cover WVZ's obsessive passion for crusty old spray paint cans. Perhaps this will give you more insight into his father than a world full of unreleased demo tapes. Perhaps you will learn about the hunt for Jungle Green. Either way, while "there are two kinds of music. (The Blues, and Zippity-Do-Da"- TVZ), there are many can's of spray paint yet to be unearthed.

- Case Bloom

THE BAG MESSENGER: How did you first get into collecting cans?    

Will Van Zandt:  I got into it through graffiti. Back before all the specialty paint brands were around, you were very limited as far as colors and shades. In the mid nineties krylon had discontinued a lot of their more vibrant colors. My guy Verse, who basically schooled me as far as graffiti is concerned knew about some local mom and pop hardware stores who still had a good stock of discontinued colors, so we started cleaning those out, just getting paint to use. Every now and then I would find cans that were real old, they wouldn't even spray, little off brands I had never heard of, some with crazy graphics. I would stick those on a shelve to display. Over time it was less about finding paint to use, and more about the older cans themselves.

THE BAG MESSENGER: How long have you been doing it?    

Will Van Zandt: It started in 98' so around twelve years. I slowed down for a while until I realized people were paying good money online for some of these cans. I defiantly got a second wind after that. 

THE BAG MESSENGER: How much are some of these worth?   

Will Van Zandt: In this economy no one is safe... Stuff isn't going for what it was say, five years ago. At one point it was nothing to get on ebay and see cans going for a couple hundred dollars. I've seen single cans go for close to eight hundred dollars, that's unheard of right now. Most stuff isn't even selling. Right now it's more about trades with other collectors.  

THE BAG MESSENGER: What brands are you into? What types of cans are you looking for? How many cans deep are you?  

Will Van Zandt: Probably my favorite right now are what are called picture cans. They were made by a few different brands, and basically every color has a different illustration that describes it. Also I'm into Rustoleum  stuff 1965 or older. They sent out a lot of cool advertising stuff back in the day. Giant display cans, transistor radios that look like cans, I have a gold money clip, and a company softball team jersey from the early seventies. I'm looking for 1950's "grenade and soup cans", called this because of their shape. I don't think most people would even recognize the "soup cans" as spray paint. I'm into greens, avocados, limes, and aquas. I would say i have around a thousand cans that are worth mentioning, but I'm defiantly trying to downsize. It's gotten a bit insane, so a lot of stuff is boxed up these days.  

THE BAG MESSENGER: What is the furthest you have gone on a trip digging?   

Will Van Zandt: With Verse I've been down into Mississippi, on all back roads. We made it to Vicksburg Miss before we ran out of room in the truck and had to turn around. Same deal in Georgia, South Carolina, Kentucky. Those are forsure some of the best come ups.  There is not really anybody else in the South doing this. It isn't like in the North East where you have a lot of guys going to the same spots competing. It was all untouched old family owned hardware stores. You know, "Grandpa opened up after the war, then my dad took over, now it's mine."  These guys don't recycle, and they don't throw stuff away. Prime digging.

THE BAG MESSENGER: Can you describe what a digging  mission might look like? How do people react when you tell them you want to dig up their old paint cans?   

Will Van Zandt:  We leave at three or four in the morning, and by the time we get to the next state the stores are starting to open up. We map it out, then hit every little town. When they start to close we get a cheap ass hotel room, and figure out where to go the next day. Most of the time you just get looked at like a psychopath, " Your looking for what!?"  I've been called a "long haired paint huffing drug addict" and told to get out of people's stores. Sometimes you come across an old man who's happy to have somebody who's actually interested in his business, and wants to show you everything upstairs, in the basement, and tell stories about the "good ole' days".  You can spend full days in a place like that. I've been in basements where cans were literally stuck up in the spaces under the floorboards.  Then his buddy over in whateverville has a store so he calls him up and sends you over. These places are far and few between now, if they even still exist. 

THE BAG MESSENGER: What other kinds of stuff do like to collect?    

Will Van Zandt: I've collected everything at some point. Stamps, coins, comics, baseball cards. If I see a shiny rock I want that shit, but there's a fine line between a collector and a hoarder, and I'm trying to cut back. I don't want to end up on A&E! 

Get the simple messenger bag here , perfect for the daily grind, and stylish enough that you can avoid looking like a "long haired paint huffing drug addict".
 

Happy Monday folks. Here is a gem of a mix to get you through the week. Done in 2001 by DJ Spinna "Strange Games and Things" runs the gamet of soul. Sample source jazz, slick funk, and spacey disco. Perfect for a walk on a nice hot day, or an evenings drive about. Enjoy! 

-THE BAG MESSENGER

Get the mix Here 

The release is three disks. The first two are a compilation of the tracks used on the mix, and the third disk is the mix itself. If you like the mix, buy the cd buy clicking on any of the artists names in the track list. 

TRACKLIST

This past weekend my friend Nick and I made the trip from Nashville to Memphis to eat BBQ and dig for records. If you have never been to Memphis, or some how overlooked these activities on your trips to the city, its hard to quantify exactly how much you have been missing. Perhaps this story will help.

The drive from Nashville was around three hours and a lush green blur. We arrived in Memphis after two o’clock, and headed straight for Gus’s World Famous Fried Chicken.

Gus’s has some serious fried chicken. Nick and I were joined by a friends Brandon, and Casey. We polished off plates of fried chicken and began to plot our stops at record shops. Brandon has been telling me about this little hole in the wall shop he found in Mississippi for a few years, and it was high on the priority list for the afternoon. The description of the place was almost as intriguing as the potential record finds it might hold. Here is how it was first described to me.

There is a record store Mississippi about an hour outside of Memphis in a small poor town. It was the black record store during segregation and they mostly have soul music. It is  run by an old man named Mr. Johnson (the names have been changed to protect the innocent) who ether sells drugs or runs numbers out of an apartment next door. The store is filled with stuff, with only a narrow path carved through. There are tons of records inside, but getting in is a bit of a challenge as there are no set hours, and the door inside is usually blocked by boxes. On previous trips Brandon and Casey have wandered around the town looking for Mr. Johnson to open up so they could shop. On multiple occasions after locating him they were told that they couldn’t he couldn’t open for one reason or another, and sent home empty handed.

There really wasn’t much of a choice anymore. We piled into the car and headed to Mississippi to roll the dice.  

After pulling off the interstate and driving around the center of town looking for the store, we finally found it tucked next to a seedy looking yellow motel. We pulled up to park in front of the store and saw a shady exchange take place that ended with a man leaving with a paper slip and Mr. Johnson in front of the store next to a pile of rusting bikes. Brandon, who knew him went over to say high, and ask if we could shop for records. After a warm, “I don’t see why not” and some introductions, we were set to go.

The actual getting into the store took about 45 minuets, as Mr. Johnson had to remove some crates from the entrance and things in Mississippi just take a while.  While he worked we talked about the blues, the changes in Memphis, Juke Joints and Soul music. You don’t live to your 80’s without learning a thing or two and Mr. Johnson is still razor sharp.

When the path was cleared we wriggled our way into the store single file. True to Brandon’s description it was packed with stuff. Forty Five’s lined the wall with a three foot path cutting close. Shelves lined the other side stacked with random boxes and knick-knacks. Old posters hung from the rafters, and there was an entire section of the store cut off by precariously stacked shelving. The path was so narrow that navigating, passing, and leaving the store we’re almost impossible. Once you we’re in, you we’re in for the dig. The inside was sweltering, and there was a layer of fine dust all over everything. Clip lights illuminated sections of the wall, and baked the shelves. This could be heaven in Mississippi. We each began to sift through sections of the wall, pulling records, and sharing finds. Leon Fulsome, James Brown, Slave, and Jimmy Castor. The records we’re surprisingly well organized, and interjected with bits of Mr. Johnson’s mail from throughout the years.

Casey found a hand gun wrapped in a plastic shopping bag, and taped with duct tape, Nick found a box of old condoms and open packs of cigarettes. Someone could be heard outside asking if Mr. Johnson had any car radios for sale, or asking what we were doing in there. Mr. Johnson was playing the blues and gospel on a radio out front and would pop in from time to time to make comments about the artists and records we we’re stacking. At some point it sounded like there was a block party going on out front.

By the time we made our final selections and stepped into the fresh air, there was a small crowd of folks outside.  People we’re lounging on cars, hanging in the street, and playing checkers in front of the store. We must have looked crazy coming out of this store holding stacks of records, drenched in sweat, and covered in dust. The sweet breeze of an impending rain storm hung in the air. We stood around for a bit paying for our records and talking. “I know what yall are lookin for” a woman by the apartment door said to Nick. “Yall are lookin for them blues”. “Yeah we like the blues”. After we realized she wasn’t talking about records, and we witnessed what could have been a scene from the Wire, we headed for the car, and hit the long road to Memphis, sharing our finds, and thinking of slow smoked ribs. 

Chung King is a legendary recording studio in NYC.
In the 1980s they recorded a lot of DEF JAM stuff, and made a name for themselves as a "Hip Hop" recording studio.
Since then what was once "Chung King's House Of Metal", a small studio above a Chinese restaraunt, has built a reputation for churning out hits, and become a staple for recording artists of all genres.
A few weeks ago, a friend who works there and I were talking about the massive amount of classics recorded there, and we thought it would be cool to do a mix series highlighting their legacy. Where to begin? The Eighties.

The looped records, 808, and heavy bass on these records are closer to punk rock than any hip hop recorded these days. Turn it up loud and you can almost smell the egg fu young. This one is 80's cassette tape grimey.

-Case

Get it here or here