It has been suggested by certain anthropologists that you can often learn more about a culture by looking at what its people throw away rather than what they choose to keep. By sifting through the garbage of any particular society, you can make important observations about its tastes and values through a type of negative inference. The fancy academic name for this concept -- which is nothing more than an elitist sanction for snooping into other people's trash -- is garbology.

The aim of Reject Roundup is to investigate the rapidly-shifting tide of trends and tastes in contemporary music by focusing on the lucrative re-sale market in used compact discs, providing an unbiased inquiry into the archeology of rejection -- a garbology of music. This is no small task. The post-Nirvana music biz, in its mad idiot scramble to reclaim the alterna-glory of the early '90s, has glutted the market with a deluge of radio-friendly, unit-shifting new releases. It's impossible to stroll through a record store these days without experiencing either panic or depression (or both) at the overwhelming excess of product and underwhelming devaluation in standards, which engenders an all-encompassing confusion in beleaguered consumers. What to buy?

In part, it is this very confusion which fuels the market in used CDs. With such an overload of product, buying CDs is an extremely difficult, expensive endeavor, and final decisions are tough to make. Most people -- too busy or fatigued or just plain dumb to be conscientious new-music consumers -- passively allow that decision to be made for them: by mnemonic-recombinant hit singles in heavy rotation on commercial radio (rarely, if ever, representative of the album as a whole), by soundtrack tie-ins with blockbuster movies, or by omnipresent and mind-numbing media hype. Guess what? A catchy single does not a decent album make. And so back to the bin goes that shitty CD with that one song you guess you sorta liked.

The ironic adjunct to this phenomenon is that good, even great bands can suffer from their own mainstream success. But perhaps the term suffer is misplaced. Case in point: Nirvana's In Utero, which overflows from used CD bins. Imagine the look on the face of some poor, "All Apologies"-loving sap by the time he gets to the second track on In Utero, the screechy "Scentless Apprentice." His face pinches in disgust and horror (and Cobain's mission of alienation is accomplished). So frat boy takes it back and gets four bucks toward the new Lenny Kravitz album. You can lead a horse's ass to water, but....

And this rule applies not only to (supposedly) misleading hit singles which inspire blind, rampant CD purchasing -- it holds true for entire albums as well. It's almost always the case that a band's follow-up effort to their breakthrough album will create a veritable orphanage for itself in the used CD bins. This is a version of the sophomore slump, brought about by insipid, conservative expectations of sameness. Hence, the continuous surplus of used copies of Soul Asylum's Let Your Dim Light Shine, R.E.M.'s Monster and Automatic for the People, and, once again, In Utero.

The above examples and comments are intended to give you a broad idea of the aims and guiding principles of Reject Roundup; they propose just a few of the many ways to consider the factors leading to ultimate rejection. There are, of course, myriad reasons people sell back their CDs, some having nothing to do with artistic value or personal taste or lack thereof. Sometimes folks just need the money (to pay for drugs or rent or food, for example). In future Roundups, the scope of inquiry will expand to include the diverse psychological, economic, and sociological phenomena fueling the used CD market.

As with all garbological studies, the use of specific examples and anecdotes from the wasteland of rejected music, coupled with a little far-flung, open-ended theorizing about human nature and the quality of modern art, should lead to some interesting, perhaps even revelatory discoveries about the workings of the music industry and its effects on American culture. And if Reject Roundup falls wretchedly short of these lofty goals, we can at least content ourselves by making endless fun of Jewel and Alice in Chains.

(Thanks to Sean from Orpheum and Jen from Cellophane Square on Broadway for their invaluable assistance.)

Orpheum's Top Ten Rejects

1. Alice In Chains (any title)

2. Nirvana (any title)

3. Hole (any title)

4. Oasis (any title)

5. Portishead (any title)

6. Sublime (the new one)

7. Sarah McLachlan (Surfacing)

8. Madonna (Immaculate Collection)

9. Jewel (Pieces of You)

10. Tool (Undertow)