FULLERTON, Calif. - Eleven a.m. on a Tuesday: time for business to begin at Burger Records, if it ever really ends. The nerve center of fourth-wave garage rock - a record label and a store - is in a small, square space, slotted along with a vaping emporium and a tattoo parlor in a strip mall along a four-lane artery, near industrial parks, a food-service-equipment manufacturing plant and the Anaheim town line. It's Orange County industrial suburbia, where most of what is visible - parking lots, buildings, grass allotments, signage, Dumpsters - has been city-planned into rectangles.
Inside is much more rolling and random, a place where someone might have had fun last night, and the night before: mint-green walls, gig fliers, records everywhere, toys and stuffed animals, a few turntables and a cat and a battered couch. There's a shy employee by the cash register who calls herself Burger Patty. The tattoos on her fingers spell out Memories, four letters on each hand. (It's the name of a Burger band, originally from Portland, now based in Los Angeles.)
The proprietors, Lee Rickard, 30, and Sean Bohrman, 32, are starting their day behind a door in the back, in a warren of VHS tapes and cassettes. Mr. Rickard is tall, thin and manic, an energy source and idea man, with Peter Frampton hair. Mr. Bohrman is smaller and softer and steadier, a meticulous bookkeeper. Mr. Rickard just arose from the couch. It's his bed. The shower, sort of, is an industrial spigot in the back alley. They both live here.