The record store pilgrimage on a Saturday afternoon was a teenage ritual. It was either me and Frank in Manhattan hitting both villages, West and East, or me and Al D-training it to Flatbush or taking the B-36 bus to the Flatlands in Brooklyn. I can still feel my heart starting to beat a bit faster and my stride suddenly starting to cover twice the ground the closer I got to the shops. It was if I needed to beat my companion by two full lengths to insure finding the one and only copy of whatever.
Years later, I still have a Saturday ritual. I haven't worked your standard 9-5 since my shop closed, and still the weekend feels like a weekend. So, Saturday remains the perfect day for listening, only now the ritual consists of a freshly brewed pot of coffee to go along with a good perusal of the iTunes library. Sipping and scrolling is the city boy's equivalent of coffee and a newspaper in the backyard. This first hour or so of waking up usually concludes with a playlist. That's the morning.
The new Kelly Hogan came next. This record gets better and better. My first attempt had it lumped with a few other new releases, like the incredible snoozer that is Rumer, another British Dusty Springfield "willneverbe," though she does pull off a Todd Rundgren cover on her new, otherwise flat collection of covers. That same day I listened to Father John Misty, a side project from one of the Fleet Foxes. As you may or may not know, I find the Fleet Foxes and that whole genre of 70s vibe-stealing, unoriginal, California fake-folkies with zero material, absolutely soul-crushing. I took on the Misty thanks to another recklessly doled out 4 -star review from Uncut magazine. (Or it might have been Mojo.) I should have known. It's nothing. The musical equivalent of shaved ice. I guess at that point I needed something familiar and satisfying and Kelly Hogan just didn't do it. But now, with a full head and heart, I embraced "I Like To Keep Myself In Pain" and man, it's real. Meat and potatoes. Songs that unfold like films, all with Kelly Hogan's heartbreak voice. This is a beauty.
First part of the day finished with a Neil Young double-header. I had little hope of snapping out of the miserable mood I was in after listening to "Americana," and "Time Fades Away" isn't exactly a party record. But that, along with "On The Beach" at least removed the horrible taste in my mouth, and reminded me why I loved Neil in the first place. I think more people need to listen to "On The Beach." It rarely comes up when talking about great records and it should.
Late Saturday afternoons, I turn to the vinyl and organize. Records I've purchased vs. records I've sold. I sort, listen, alphabetize, pack and post. I find it calming, like needlepoint or an episode of Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood. Plus, I am always amazed when some gem of a rarity like an original mint German copy of the Small Faces "Autumn Stone" can sit for years in inventory at a ridiculously low price, and copies of Pink Floyd's "The Wall" sell consistently for $25 or more. As one friend and fellow fanatic put it, "That's what makes it fun, right?"
I woke up this morning from a restless sleep and a dream about Sheepshead Bay, the old neighborhood. It must have been on my mind, as some friends had gotten together yesterday and walked around, laughing and enjoying each other's company on the old stomping grounds. I thought about Zig Zag records, and Kings Plaza with Sam Goody's and their "all-label" sales. I thought about Titus-Oaks Records on Church & Flatbush right by Erasmus High School. Tried to find a photo and didn't, but did find out Alan "Titus-Oaks" Meltzer passed away last November. The man was a legend.
Saturday then and Saturday now. Of course, then seems so much better. A trip to a real record store with friends trumps a morning on eBay and Amazon. And music still never sounds better than on a Saturday. Doesn't matter what year it is.
12 comments:
oh man, i miss record stores, and the balm of gathering over at turntable.fm is the only comfort i've found, the only small bit restored in the yawning chasm left by the end of a way of life...
my record store life was never as ritualized as yours, but it started when i was little and went with mom to the music stores. she was buying sheet music (she was teaching piano then), but they sold vinyl, too, and i would wander the bins. by the time i was in 7th grade i was spending my allowance and babysitting money at soundtown, experimenting, buying anything that looked intriguing. 3.66/4.66 for new releases and 1.99 in the cutout bins was even affordable for me. then a couple of guys i knew opened a store at a nearby strip mall, and a bunch of us hung out there quite a lot...
anyway, you get the idea. i leraned about so much music in record stores and made so many friends... whenever i was in a new town i staked out the local stores, it was part of mapping the terrain... and now, a whole world lost—or so radically reconfigured i still feel lost.
thanks for the memories, sal...
You just can't beat a good record store. And I'm glad you didn't focus here on the mythical "great interactions" that are supposed to be a part of a great record store experience.
Despite that claim in many fond writings about record stores (about great conversations had at record stores), many times I've encountered the prototypically grumpy employee (your writing earlier this year about Bleeker Bob's captured this), or just a neutral "feel free to browse" experience that doesn't add much.
No, I typically haven't gone to record stores to hob-nob much with the owner or employees. And many, many times I've just gone alone - so it's not always even hob-nobbing with friends. Many times it's just that great, solitary experience of leafing through the racks, pondering what art might be in those grooves ("Is this really one of Milt Jackson's best Impulse albums - or should I wait to get home to read about it in my AllMusic guide before I take a $25 chance?"), and finding some time off the grid of fast-moving life.
A perfect example of this came for me in a recent trip up to Chattanooga. There's a little vinyl store there called Chad's, a hit-or-miss place but I've found lots of fun stuff there.
Anyway, I walked in and Eddie Floyd's "Never Met A Girl Like You" LP was playing on vinyl. That particular song had been my favorite for the last few weeks. And here I was, wandering in and a great 44-year-old song happened to be playing. And they had it blasting out into the street too, via some outdoor speakers.
I didn't even look to see what condition the vinyl was in that they were playing, or what price. I just said "Save that for me please - I'll take it."
That's the type of experience that's hard to get on eBay, mi amigos.
Will be following your Saturday playlist, albeit on Sunday, while I enjoy the French Open. There is something exciting about discovering new music in a record store that iTunes or Amazon can't match. Your blog is, unsurprisingly, a much more similar experience. Thanks. Enjoy your weekend.
That picture at the top of your post nearly killed me. I spent half my youth in record stores. And as you know half my lunch hours in your cd shop. I was hardly ever looking for something specific, but to see what found me. I bought the first Moby Grape there, and it took awhile for it to really sink in. All their albums are worth checking out, even later ones like "Truly Fine Citizen" and "20 Granite Creek".
I logged on to get the exact date of the Bonnie Raitt show and couldn't resist the read. Nicely done, the pic especially is an eye-catcher. Saturday's on Staten Island meant The Record Baron on Forest Avenue. We would pile into my friend Kevin's car: Kevin, Kevin, Jack and me, top up or down, depending. A recap of Friday was usually in order, but, as we drew closer I would mentally calculate how much dinero was . . . expendable for purchases – keeping in mind we still had Saturday night to traverse. A knowledgeable if smart-assily indulgent staff was the kicker (where would I not-so-soon see that again?!?). The Beatles, Doors, Cream -- was Buffalo Springfield a band?!? Thanks for bringing me back around . . .
Loved this (and always loved Moby Grape, glad to hear your reevaluation).
Grew up in East Meadow on LI, not exactly a music mecca. Yeah, Roosevelt Field had Record World or whatever it was called but generally if you wanted a cool record store you had to hop the train into Manhattan. I still remember being blown away the first time I saw Colony Records.
Mostly, it was record sections. This week Eugene Ferkauf died. He was the founder of Korvettes which had a pretty good record section, as did Modell's. The difference for us was we could ride our bikes to Modell's. We only got to go to Korvettes by tagging along with a parent who was doing some shopping there. If you were lucky, the cool, hip young guy who knew music was working that day, but the turnover at those places was pretty rapid. And of course, you never had the chance to listen to something before you bought it. That's one way things are a huge improvement on the old days: it's much easier to avoid buying crap. There's also a lot more good stuff out there now (although the best music then was a lot better than what is considered the best today). Back then, the majors controlled most of it. Indie records were pretty rare if non existent at the department stores.
There was another way music came though: the Columbia record club, the rip off club that with its offer of free records up front always seemed like a great deal until you forgot to send back the order slip (you had to tell them that you didn't want the record of the month as opposed to telling them you wanted it) and you ended up with some crap you had to pay for (and you paid by sending cash through the mail. who does that anymore?)
Which record store is that?
The record store in the pic is Zig Zag, Avenue U and East 23rd, Brooklyn.
nice post. thanks sal.
ps - have just listened to CRB's new one for the 3rd time (this time with my wife...and she likes it too - harsh critic) and it's really growing on me. give it a second chance.
Love your essays. Took me back to all our record store excursions. Keep 'em coming.
Also curious as to your take on Kelly Hogan v Rumer. Granted, I'm just basing it on the iTune samples of Kelly's new album, but I'd still take Rumor over her. What is it about Rumer ? Hype? Just wondering.
Yes, cmealha. That memorable trip to Zig Zag when I said, "You might even find a rare Roy Wood single on the wall." Then, two minutes into the shop you found the "Green Glass Windows" 7".
Kelly Hogan and Rumer are apples and oranges to me, so I won't compare.
Rumer has no bite. I don't think her voice is special. The songs are pleasant enough, but that's all I hear. It's not good or bad. Just flat. Plus I get the feeling the British press is pushing her like a diner would be pushing the tuna casserole. You know, like maybe no one would order it on their own.
On the beach--- still kills me w/revolution blues(u know sal, that was written about the Johnny Holmes)/For the turnstiles/ambulance blues... shoot, the dang thing coupled w/Tonight's the Night is a double espresso of pain fire and emotion..."bruce berry was a friend of mine, he used to drive that econoline van"
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