Record Store Tales

Part 24: Musical Embarrassment

Some record store peolple had shady musical pasts.  In the effort to appear cool, they would conceal any musical sins of the past.

Now, my musical sins are well on record.  Thanks to my sister, who emailed Craig Fee at 107.5 Dave FM on the Friday of LeBrain week, the entire region knows my musical sins.  But I don’t embarass easily.  She thought I’d be embarassed by:

  • Melanie C – I don’t own it anymore.  It was her “rock” album produced with Rick Rubin.
  • Hilary Duff – I liked one song called “The Getaway” that happened to work really well on a CD I made (cross-faded into “Somebody’s Out There” by Triumph).
  • Avril Lavigne – I still stand by her second album, which is really guitar heavy.  If it had solos and nobody knew who she was, it would have been considered metal.

Craig ended up spinning some New Kids clips in her honour.   She was a lot more embarassed than I was.  I wish I’d told Craig she also liked Rick Astley.  (hint)

Anyways, I don’t embarass musically.  I did have a misguided period in the 90’s when it was hard to find good new rock music, where I’d listen to anything.  I’ve since realized that there was a difference between albums you’d listen to at work, and albums you’d listen to at home.  Not necessarily the same thing.  I got rid of everything that I never listened to at home.

Some people at our store were not quite like me.  There was one guy who was a massive Barenaked Ladies fan back in grade school, but never admitted it.  My sister went to school with him and distinctly remembers that BNL was his favourite band one year.  Now that he’d moved on to the Grateful Dead, he didn’t want anyone to know his dirty secret. 

This is me in grade 9, baby.

Another had a massive crush on W. Axl Rose, and used to love Guns N’ Roses — she shall remain anonymous, since she doesn’t like people knowing this.   I don’t know how she fell out of love with Axl, but I do know that she hates stuff like GN’R now, both lyrically and musically.  I have a hard time understanding how you can swing from one side of the spectrum to the other like that!

And there was another who thought that Limp Bizkit was “#1”!  The following year, she was over Durst and onto the next one.  I can remember pictures of Durst being taped up everywhere from the counter to the bathroom.  Our store was a Shrine to Durst.  I also remember one guy stroked out his name on one of the posters…

Fred Durst Worst!

Meanwhile, I thought it would be more scenic to put up a giant poster of Kittie in the office.  I think I was right. 

I got made fun of pretty hard during my entire tenure for the music I liked.  The same guy who used to like BNL used to call me Cheese Metal Mike.  Cheeser, for short.  Well, at least I still listen to Iron Maiden.  Another made fun of me for buying Tesla.  The last album I got from Tesla was their recent covers set, Real to Reel, which I consider easily in my top five cover albums of all time.  Still love the band.  They kick a fuck of a lot more ass than, say, Mnmnmickelback….

There’s not much that embarasses me, certainly not music.  Girls I used to have crushes on, yeah.  Absolutely.  We won’t go there.  I already mentioned Sporty Spice and that’s enough from me.  If my sister had emailed Craig and had him broadcast the names of all my old celeb crushes, she could have really embarassed me.  Don’t get any ideas, Kathryn.

(OK one more.  I really liked Elizabeth Hurley at the time of Austin Powers.  Something about that accent.  (I ended up marrying a Brit, a girl of Sunderland heritage.)  A year later it was Kate Winslet, and a couple years after that, it was the lead singer of Scratching Post, whatever her name was…Scratching Post had one good song.  I wish I could remember the name of it.  I saw them live a couple times and they were really good live.  Shame their albums sucked so bad. )

To me, the most embarassing thing has to be coming in and selling every CD by a band.  If you have every CD, it means you really liked them.  I’ll never forget the guy with the Motley Crue tattoo who sold every Motley Crue CD when Vince was out of the band.  You’d also see the odd guy here or there who found God and unload a massive amount of music that they find distasteful.  I got a lot of my metal collection that way. 

I’m cool with anybody who finds God, no problem there.  But don’t tell me I’m going to h-e-double-hockeysticks for listening to Ozzy Osbourne.  That happened, in the store.  This one guy told me that Ozzy was the pathway to hell. 

I responded, “Have you heard his song called ‘Killer of Giants’?”

“No, I won’t listen to him at all,” said the guy.

“Well, ‘Killer of Giants’ is an anti-nuclear war song.  All of his old Black Sabbath lyrics are also anti-war or anti-nukes.  I would say that Ozzy and God have a common agenda when it comes to peace among mankind.”

He had no answer for that one.

In short, I’ve never been embarassed about anything I’ve listened to, be it the worst Mike Patton album I’ve ever heard (Adult Themes for Voice) or be it Puff Daddy’s remake of “Kashmir” with Jimmy Page and Tom Morello.  I don’t give a crap.  People have been making fun of my listening to tastes since grade 7, ever since I found Kiss.   (see Part 3: My First Kiss)

I got called out in grade 8 for wearing a Judas Priest shirt to school, in front of everyone.  It was a Catholic school.  How the hell was I to know that “Judas priest!” was a swear word back in the 1950’s or something!  I was embarassed for the moment, but my love for the Priest has only solidified over the years.  Through the departure of Halford to the Ripper years to the glorious comeback, it’s all been good with me.  (I’ll talk more about how heavy metal and Catholic schools didn’t mix back in 1985 in the future.)

Don’t let anybody tell you what music is good and what music is crap.  Including me!  If you like something because your friends like it, that’s not sincere.  If you honestly sincerely like something because it’s resonating with some part of you, then it’s true and good!

Part 23: Klassic Kwotes IV!

OK folks, step right up for Klassic Kwotes IV.  As usual, all tales are true.  Only the names have been changed to protect the guilty.  As for me, I’m just your storyteller…if I didn’t tell these stories they would have been lost to the winds of history….

Whew.  OK, read on, then.

 

1. Way, way back prior to the turn of the century, Garth Brooks attempted to adopt an alter-ego named Chris Gaines, in order to get into the rock and pop market. 

The concept was ludicrous.  Inside the CD case were photos of Garth, dressed as “Gaines”, in a black goth wig, soul patch…and black & white leotards.  Black and white leotards.  Yes, I did say that. There was an extensive bio, a “Greatest Hits” album, and even a documentary with contemporary pop stars praising Chris Gaines as an influence.  The public was utterly confused.

So, for a good six months following that, one of the dumbest things I heard said was, “That Chris Gaines guy is real.  I know because I saw it on TV.”

 

2. We had a waiting list for various popular titles.  One of the most surprising answers to the question, “Could I get your phone number please?” was “I don’t know my phone number.”  OK, sure.  How do you want us to let you know it’s in?  “I’ll come in every day until it does.”  And then you’d never see them again.  This is more than one person ,by the way! 

3. “Pink Floyd.  Where do you keep him?“

 

4. “Do you have a band called Who?  Not THE Who, not THE GUESS Who, just called Who.”  No, nobody has that CD, because it doesn’t exist, because there’s no such band!

5. I have heard numerous “miracle cures” for scratched, dirty and skipping discs.  DO NOT ATTEMPT ANY OF THESE AT HOME!  These “cures” included cleaning your CDs with:

  • toothpaste
  • peanut butter (??)
  • your dishwasher
  • vaseline
  • handsoap
  • shampoo

Incidentally, if you don’t feel comfortably cleaning your glasses with something, it’s best not to try it on a CD.

6. “Scott Stapp isn’t ripping off Eddie Vedder’s style of singing.  Scott Stapp is singing that style correctly.  Vedder is trying to be more like Stapp!”  Actually said by someone.

 

7. “Do you have  Monster Balls?” I wasonce asked.  Luckily, I knew that the man was looking for the Halle Berry movier, Monster’s Ball!  (Answer I wish I had given:  “Why, yes I do.  Thanks for noticing.”)

8. “Can you watch my kid for about 10 minutes while I go to Canadian Tire?”  Again — actually said by someone! 

 

9.  A man once came in looking for Backstreet Boys, or something similar, for his kids.  We were sold out of Backstreet Boys, so I helpfully suggested New Kids On The Block?  His answer?  “No, we don’t like thats shit.  They suck.”  …and Backstreet Boys don’t?

10. “Do you have that new album by Tommy Lee Jones?”  He meant Tommy Lee.

Bonus 11.   Damn, I wish I was this person!   “Do you have any Rush?  Geddy Lee just moved in next door to us, and we’d like to know what his music is like.”  Damn!  Will you adopt me?  Geddy fucking Lee!  (And yes, I’m pretty sure his middle name is not actually “fucking”.)

Part 22: The Regulars 1.0

Have you worked retail, or anything like that?  Did you ever have regulars?  People you’d see on a regular basis that you either loved or loathed.

Example:  One I liked was this guy named Aaron.  I’m still in touch with him today.   He was a good guy.  One time he went down to the ‘States, picked up the US exclusive Sho ‘Nuff box set by the Black Crowes for me, and delivered it.  Awesome dude.  Another time he bought me (as in gifted) the first single for the new Crowes album By Your Side.  Later on, he burned me a CD of all their B-sides that he had.  A disc I still own by the way.

Aaron was a regular that I loved.   In the bro’ sense.

Then we have the ones I loathed.  There was this one guy who obviously played guitar because he was a total guitar snob.  He always wore black fingerless gloves too, that is one detail I’ll never forget.  He was an older guy, probably approaching 50, but a total guitar snob.

Whatever I was playing in store, he picked it apart.  The first time I ever encountered him, I was playing the new Deep Purple record, the excellent Purpendicular.

The guy snorts at me from the other side of the room.  “These guys are nothing without Blackmore.  Nothing.  Biggest mistake they ever made was getting Steve Morse.”

“Really?” I said.  “I like this album.”

“You really like this crap?” he said.   “What do you like about it?”

Now remember way back in chapter something-something, my boss taught me that valuable lesson about not getting into conversations with customers?  Well, that went out the window this time.  I mean, I’m passionate about music.  I just am.  It’s in my DNA.  (That’s actually a fact.  My sister and I have traced our lineage to many musicians.)

“I think it’s a strong album,” I began, “better than Battle Rages On which I thought had too much filler.  I like this one because it’s a little more dark, it’s progressive…”

“Progressive?!?  You call this progressive?  All it does is repeat!”

He was referring to the central guitar part in a song called “Sometimes I Feel Like Screaming”.  He’s right — the guitar part does repeat through the song.  It is also a classic song that is still in Deep Purple’s set today.

Anyway I let it go, but he kept going.

“Blackmore’s a superior guitar player to Morse.  Have you heard the new Rainbow?  Incredible album.  Incredible guitar playing on that one.  That’s real guitar playing, not this…”

Anyway, I’d see this guy periodically.  We called him Guitar Snob Man, or later on Pompous Ass.  Sometimes one person has a nickname for a regular that they made up on their own.  Meanwhile, another person has encountered the same regular, and has their own name they use.  Later on, when you’re working together, you realize you’ve been talking about the same guy all along, just you had different names for him.

I’d see Guitar Snob Man several times that year, and he almost never had anything good to say about the music in store.  Except this one time.

I was playing Yngwie J. Malmsteen.  (Pretty much also not allowed for store play either.)  Guitar Snob Man turns around to me, points to the CD case with his black-gloved hand and says, “Did you pick this?”

“Yup, that’s me.” I said.

“Good pick.  Great guitar player.  Absolutely amazing what this guy does.  Good choice.”

And I don’t even like Yngwie that much.  Too much Yngwie is like razor blades coming at your ears after a while.

But anyways, I shut up.  I said nothing.

Another regular was this guy named Shane.  Shane is a great guy, great guitar player, great singer too.  I met Shane during my first year as manager of my own store.  He was one of my first customers.  He immediately liked the store, because the guy behind the counter was playing rock music, and know what he was talking about.  In fact that first year I sold him Purpendicular by Deep Purple.

Shane came in for a whole year, trusting my musical taste.  I hadn’t led him astray once.  He liked good guitar players.  I sold him Maiden, Purple, Satriani, anything that just smoked.  He trusted me implicitly.  Until 1997.

In 1997 I sold him an album called Schitzophonic, by Nuno Bettencourt.  Shane did not like Schitzophonic.

The funny this is, even though I solidly praised the album to him then, I probably haven’t listened to it in 10 years myself.  In 1997 there wasn’t much to choose from in terms of new rock albums.  Bruce Dickinson made one of the few worthwhile albums that year.  Everybody else, from Jon Bon Jovi to Metallica, where making rock albums infused with alternative influences.  As a result a lot of those albums don’t sound that great today.  Nuno’s album was melodic and simplistic and fit in with what was going on in 1997.  That’s my excuse.

Shane came in, and just said, “Mike, I’m a little disappointed in you.”

To this day, Shane will remind me that I sold him the worst album he ever bought, Schitzophonic.  To this day, I hang my head in shame.  I’m sorry, Shane.

I let him exchange the CD which was even against company policy at the time.  I mean, fuck!  It was my fault, he could have saved his $12 if I’d used my bloody head.  Shane didn’t care that Nuno was in Extreme, one of the most guitar shredding bands of all time.  He wouldn’t want it based on that alone.  The album itself had to shred.  Duh.  I should have got that.

Years later, Shane and I recontacted each other via Brent Doerner from Helix.  Shane was playing in Brent’s band My Wicked Twin.  That’s Shane singing lead on “Never Turn Your Back” from the first album, Decibel.  Brent only plays with other guys who can play well, so that should tell you something about Shane’s capablity.

Great guy.  Glad to have met him.  All because of the record store.

SHANE

Part 21: “The Book” / REVIEW: Martin Popoff – Riff Kills Man!
I keep my copy in my desk

I keep my copy in my desk

 

RECORD STORE TALES Part 21:  The Book

Way back in the day, Tom had this book; a book of reviews of metal albums.  I don’t know where he got it.  He had recently acquired it and was perusing album reviews daily.  Hanging out one evening, he said to me, “Have you ever heard Gillan?”

I said, “Gillan, as in Ian Gillan’s band?”

“Yeah,” responded Tom.

“No,”  I said.

“You’re going to have to find some.  This book gives him consistent 10 star ratings.  There are some pretty cool song titles man, like ‘I’ll Rip Your Spine Out’.”

Cool!  So “The Book“ (as it came to be known) made the rounds.  T-Rev borrowed it for a couple weeks and explored the Max Webster and Kim Mitchell ratings.  Trevor enjoy the reviews of the writer, one Martin Popoff.  He commented to me, “This guy is pretty bang-on for most of them, but you have to read the Def Leppard and Rik Emmett reviews…hilarious, man.”

Trevor was right!  Ipso Facto by Rik Emmett was rated a 0/10, with a single sentence review:  “Man, don’t get me started.”  The book was hilarious and informative at the same time.  We all found it entertaining as well as useful.

When the book came around to me, I was really curious about this band called Budgie.  New fave band!  Eventually, I returned the book to Tom who passed it on to someone else, probably Uncle Meat.   Certain things always stuck in my head.  According to Popoff, I clearly needed more Thin Lizzy, so I began rectifying that with a box set.  He didn’t think much of Kiss, but I could understand this given his criteria, even if I disagreed.

I wished I owned a copy, and a year later I found one downtown at Encore Records, second hand.  Then a weird coincidence happened.  Just as I was craving another read, and was preparing to go downtown and buy a copy of Riff Kills Man, a regular customer of mine gave me his copy.  I don’t remember too much about this guy, except that he sold more than he bought.  He sold a lot of hard-to-find goth and punk stuff, and he always wore a jean jacket, and he strangely always smelled like fried eggs.  Since I can’t remember his name, I’ll call him Fried Eggs Man.

So Fried Eggs Man had been talking to me about the book, and passed it onto me free of charge.  I thought that was really cool of him.  The book too smells of fried eggs, and was coming apart.  I used Bounce dryer sheets to help out with the smell, and I painstakingly glued the pages back in with Elmer’s white glue.  I had to do some cover repair work as well, but the book is solid as a rock and has served me well for probably a decade and a half by now.

MARTIN POPOFF – Riff Kills Man! (1993 Power Chord Press, Toronto Ontario)

Martin Popoff, a writer for BW&BK magazine, is simply one of the  most knowledgeable metal fans out there. His record collection sounds like it’s to die for.  Riff Kills Man! is his first book, but today, he has an extensive bibliography of books that I consider among the best sources of rock information out there.  In fact, LeBrain himself relies heavily on Popoff’s teachings, and I will admit to consciously emulating him in my earlier reviews.

Riff Kills Man!, later supplanted by his more up to date and complete Collector’s Guides, is an album-by-album review of virtually every major metal record from its inception to 1992, all stuff which belonged to Popoff’s personal collection. He covers subgenres such as punk metal and grunge, and bands so obscure that you may never be able to find their albums. Rated from 1 to 10, with strict rules for rating, Riff Kills Man! gives you a great place to start when looking for something “new” to listen to. If it wasn’t for all the 9 and 10 star reviews in this book, I may never have started listening to Budgie, or Thin Lizzy, or Diamond Head.

His rating system is fairly complex, but for the most part, as objective as possible.  I don’t necessarily agree with all of the author’s opinions. For example, Popoff really dislikes a lot of pop rock and gives both Adrenalize and Hysteria by Def Leppard a big fat 0.  “An offensive kick in the head from the rock n’ roll bored room,” writes Popoff.   You may agree, but for me Hysteria is a classic record.  Regardless, he makes valid points that even the most staunch fan such as myself have to grudgingly agree with.

Popoff also tends to dislike live albums with meandering jams like many old Deep Purple recordings. He generally focuses on studio albums, avoiding most EPs and complitions.  So if you’re looking for complete reviews of, say, the numerous Thin Lizzy EPs, live releases and compilations, look elsewhere.

Martin ends the book with several lists and indexes:  Top desert island albums, top guitar players, vocalists, producers, you name it.  He also has a lot of unique categories all his own, such as best showman, best comeback, most consistent band, etc.  AC/DC are ranked as his #1 band in the category of worst album covers!

That aside, Riff Kills Man! was, for me, an essential and often hilarious piece of reading. Pick it up, and then move forward for some of Popoff’s more complete and more specialized books.  I keep mine in my desk at work at all times!

DISCLAIMER – Although it can be found used, this book is out of print.  I spoke to Martin Popoff once about this book, and he told me he finds it a bit embarrassing today.  I still think it’s awesome.

5/5 stars

Also recommended by Popoff:  His books on Sabbath, Rush, Rainbow, and Priest are definitive.  The best books on the market for those bands.

Part 20: I Believe In A Thing Called Love

I’m going to jump ahead.  My wife does not feature into the story until very close to the end, although she is a critical component to it.  I think it’s only fair that I introduce her early.   Jen has, shall we say…good but “flawed” taste in both music, and hockey teams.  (Take a guess which one.) 

RECORD STORE TALES PART 20:  I Believe In A Thing Called Love

When I met Jen in 2005, I knew I had met someone special.  I knew this was something I didn’t want to screw up.   I didn’t know one day we’d be married, but we might never have met if not for music.

It started with Stompin’ Tom.  I think I had told her that I had a stack of new movies, a huge bag of chips & a case of Red Bull, and was ready for the weekend or something.  She responded, “Sounds like you’re ready for a Sudbury Saturday Night.”  So right then and there, boom!  She was speaking my language.

Yes, Jen loves Stompin’ Tom.  I said she had flawed taste in music?  She still thinks Kurt Cobain is the greatest songwriter since John and Paul.  See what I mean?   Her favourite radio station is the grunge one on satellite radio.  I can only take so much grunge in my daily diet.

We bonded over a mutual love of the Beatles, Foo Fighters, Johnny Cash and the old school of country.  She was brought up on a steady diet of Beach Boys and oldies, where I had heard a lot of movie soundtracks and country music growing up.

There are some things I’ll never turn Jen onto.  I know that Kiss and Rush are a completely lost cause with her.  However, lemme tell you a lil’ secret that Jen doesn’t want people to know about.

One night we were coming home from a party at Lara’s house.  I was driving, and Jen had a couple drinks.  (She used to drink wine back then.)  We were coming back to my place after midnight on the 401.  I had Iron Maiden’s latest, A Matter of Life and Death, on the car stereo.  Jen was leaning back enjoying the drive, and then she sat up.

“Who are these guys?” she asked.

“This is Iron Maiden,” I responded.  The song playing was “For The Greater Good of God”, one of their more epic pieces.

I could tell she was really getting into it.  I kept glancing over at her.

“These guys…are…amazing!” she blurted out.  “This music is…wow!”

She claims to this day it was just the booze, but every once in a while, I play that song, and I catch her singing along.

Our wedding was pretty amazing.  For the ceremony itself, we had a Beatles theme.  The girls came in to an acoustic version of “Something” by George, solo.  We signed the register to “In My Life” by Johnny Cash.  We exited to “Here Comes the Sun”.  It was gorgeous outside.

My sister Kathryn played the cocktail hour at the reception with a jazz trio.  Her set ended with their rendition of John Williams’ “Cantina Band” from the first Star Wars!  Bass clarinet as the lead instrument, with guitar and drums backing…it was the perfect wedding version.

Into the dinner, I snuck in some Zappa (“Peaches En Regelia”) and some Kiss (“And Then She Kissed Me”)  We danced to more Beatles, tons of AC/DC, The Darkness, GN’R, and other good stuff.  I had the best music of any wedding I’ve ever been to.

And all because I have the best wife!

Part 19: The Rules (IRON MAIDEN – The First Ten Years box set gallery!)

RECORD STORE TALES Part 19:  The Rules

After a few years had gone by, there were too many damn rules to follow.  There were so many, we literally had books full of them, with new rules being added regularly.  It was pure insanity, because you had to remember some rule that was made (for example) 26 months ago.  Not to mention if you dug far enough back, you could find rules that contradicted each other.  It was like telling a dog to sit and come at the same time, you can’t do it.

One rule that stood firm was:  “Thou Shalt Not Buy Product From a Sister Store“.

We had a complex structure of locations, but under no circumstances could a staff member buy product from a store that had a different owner.  Their product was for their customers and not for us to pillage.  But, when one of those owners who was a friend, sees the Iron Maiden First Ten Years box set come in, they call you to tell you.  The rules meant nothing at that point.  There were greater goals at hand.

This ultra-rare box was issued in 1990, as 10 discs, all sold separately.  You could also get them on vinyl.  I recall seeing a few of them, on 12″ vinyl, at my local Sam The Record Man (run by the near-legendary Al King) during one of my many teenage record store excursions.

IMG_20140427_101356CDs are my preferred format today.  Collect all ten of the Maiden singles, and you could send away for the box that contains them.  Obviously, a complete set is a rare find.  This set came in complete, as is.  I still have the receipt.  I paid $135.99 on Oct 7, 2003.  (With taxes, $156.39.)

It was worth every penny, but it was also worth the shit I caught for buying it from another owner.  And did I get in shit for it!

At best, I was bending the rules.  At best!  I paid full price (no discount!), the owner himself rang it in, and he was happily on board with making a quick buck.  He even personally delivered it to Kitchener.  He could have simply said, “No”.  He didn’t.  Now, I take responsibility for my actions, but an owner has a lot more say in things than I do.  I didn’t deserve what happened next.

A higher-up stormed into my store, pulled me into the office, slammed the door, and yelled.   And yelled.  And pointed a lot, and yelled some more.

It was a weird feeling.  Here I was getting screamed at so much that the dogs could hear it 4 miles away, but also elated about my Iron Maiden find at the exact same time.  It was like I didn’t know if I should be happy or pissed off!  It’s like any time you see someone trying so hard not to smile.

I pulled it off.  I also owned the fucking Iron Maiden First Ten Years box set!

Their big argument was “It’s a bad example to the employees”.  But really, that wasn’t an issue.  No employees knew about it — not one! — until they made a big show of it by yelling at me in store!   The one that said I was a bad example, was the one who let the cat out of the bag.

I walked out of the office, head hanging, but then when out of sight, grinning ear to ear.  Of course the two people who overheard the whole thing asked about it afterwards.  Dandy Douche asked, “Do you think it was worth it?  Would you do it again?”  I said, “Absolutely.  But next time I’m wearing a beard and a moustache, the whole disguise, and buying it in person!”

Unfortunately I never had the chance to do that.  The Iron Maiden box set was one of the last big big items from my “holy grail list.” that came in.

Each disc contains two singles, plus an unreleased 10 minute interview with Nicko.  One on every disc.  They are called “Listen With Nicko!” parts I through X.  Well worth the money, Nicko is friggin’ hilarious.

FIRST TEN_0002All singles included are complete (except Maiden Japan), plus a “Listen With Nicko!” bonus track.  And again, you had to buy these all separately!   On import!  And according to the terms on the mail-in card, only UK residents could order the boxes to house the discs.  Another thing I found interesting was that you had to mail in all ten slips in order to get the box.  Whoever owned my box previously still has nine of his ten slips!  (I am missing #9, “Can I Play With Madness” / “The Evil That Men Do”.)  This can only make my box set rarer and more desirable to collectors.

DISC 1 – Running Free / Sanctuary

DISC 2 – Women In Uniform / Twilight Zone

DISC 3 – Purgatory / Maiden Japan

DISC 4 – Run to the Hills / The Number of the Beast

DISC 5 – Flight Of Icarus / The Trooper

DISC 6 – 2 Minutes to Midnight / Aces High

DISC 7 – Running Free (Live) / Run to the Hills (Live)

DISC 8 – Wasted Years / Stranger in a Strange Land

DISC 9 – Can I Play With Madness / The Evil That Men Do

DISC 10 – The Clairvoyant (Live) / Infinite Dreams (Live)

Click below to embiggen the brand new photo gallery!

 

And the old Nokia pics below:

Part 18: Klassic Kwotes III

Without further adieu.

1. This one is painful.  We had a wreath on our store door, with the lights and all that.  There was a note taped to the door next to the wreath.  It was instructions for us.  It said:  “Please unplug the reith every night!”  R-E-I-T-H.

2. “Because I’m the Tattoo Man!  I get a discount at Sears, you know.”  Said to us by Snake the Tattoo Man, on why he deserved a discount.

3. “Kurt!  Stop that!”  Yelled by a young mother at her misbehaving son, while selling her ENTIRE Nirvana collection.

4. Q: “What happens when you put a CD in the microwave?”  A: You buy a new microwave.

5. “I was just trying to see how fast I could run…with a shovel…”  Said to me by a kid who walked in the store, stole our snow shovel, and walked out again.  (I got in shit, by the way, for chasing him down and getting the shovel back.)

6. “What you’re hearing right now is a roll.  You’ve heard of rock, right?  You’ve heard of rock and roll, right?  Well, this song is roll.  Can you hear it?  Can you hear that?  This is roll.  Not rock, and not rock and roll.  This is the first roll performed since 1966.”  Said to us by some dude while we were playing the current album by The Verve, Urban Hymns.  I still have no fucking idea what he was on about.  (If you know, please, comment below.)

7. “Do you have ze Queens?”  Said to me by a guy with a thick German accent, asking for Queen.

8. This one’s not a quote, per-se.  But this guy came in once wearing a T-shirt that said, “Does this cock in my mouth make me look gay?”  He was in the store with his mother!

9. “Can I work here for like, four hours, and you just pay me cash when I’m done?”  Said to me by a really really scary looking weirdo dude type guy.

10. “Can you please do me a favour.  I’d like you to call or write to Sony, and let them know that this DVD is not recorded in DTS.  It says it is on the box, but when I put it in the player, the DTS light doesn’t come on.  Can you please inform Sony about this?”  Sure.  Want me to pick up your laundry too?

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Part 17: New Music

1993. Fuck yeah.

RECORD STORE TALES Part 17:  New Music

I had always tried to stay ahead of the curve, musically.  Not so much anymore, but back then?  Definitely.  When I was a younger, more handsome fellow (see above, next to Jean-Luc Picard), I used to buy every magazine that was on the shelf, all the time.  I knew every band coming out,  before they came out.  The record store was an extension of this, bands were coming in all the time that you’d try out.  Big Wreck for example.  I had heard the buzz building about this band for months and then when I saw a CD come in, I tried it and liked it.

Sometimes a CD would just look interesting.   If an album cover struck you, you’d play it on your shift.  If it sucked, you’d take it off.  If you liked it, score!  New fave band.

There was this pseudo “super group” called Neurotic Outsiders in 1996.  T-Rev raved about their debut album, Neurotic Outsiders, so I snagged it.  They consisted of Matt Sorum and Duff McKagan (Guns N’ Roses), Steve Jones (Sex Pistols), and John Taylor (Duran Duran).  It was decidedly punk rock, which was fine by me, and I was finding myself really getting into punk at the time. It was great!  Made my top 10 that year.

Another one was the Sultans of Ping F.C.  That’s a mouthful.  (F.C. was for Football Club).  Their album, Casual Sex in the Cineplex, was discovered by Trevor and quickly spread among us like fungus. It was Irish punk rock with hilarious lyrics!

My brother knows Karl Marx
He met him eating mushrooms in the public park
He said What do you think of my manifesto?
I like your manifesto, put it to the testo   – (“Where’s Me Jumper?”)

That album spread like fungus among us.  One problem:  there was just one copy in the entire chain of stores.  And all of us wanted it.  So, the CD went on hold into a “store play” pile.  Anybody could listen to it on their shift, but it stayed in the store.  That arrangement lasted about a year.

The boss wouldn’t let us just “keep it on hold” for ourselves and not buy it, rightfully so.  It was a product.  Trev put it on the shelves.  He was quite confident that nobody would ever buy it.   We could listen to it in store to our heart’s desires, and it was still “for sale”.

I think that may have been the status quo for like another year, maybe two.  Then they hired this new guy Matty G.  Matty G was not aware of the “nobody may buy the Sultans of Ping” rule.   Matty G bought the Sultans of Ping on his first shift, after hearing Trev playing it in store.

Matt was kind enough to tape it for me, and later on a guy in England burned me a copy.  Yet,   that was to this day the only copy I have ever seen.  If anybody reading this owns a copy:  Name your price.

Part 16: Travelling Man

For the record, I’m not much the traveller.  If I were any shorter and hairier, I’d be a hobbit.  Happy kicking my feet up, at home.

So when I got the phone call one Thursday afternoon that I was needed in Oakville later that same afternoon, my heart just sank.  I’d already pulled shifts at numerous stores.  Because I was the most experienced person in the whole organization, I was the trainer.  I also covered asses when people didn’t show up and got sick.  I’d worked in at least 11 different stores by the end of it all.  But this Oakville stint was different, in that in was both sudden and indefinite.

There was some sort of staffing issue where they lost the main guy and needed someone in right away.  I didn’t want to do it and said so, but I did it anyway.   Thus began what was easily the worst month or two of my entire life.

Commuting on highway 8 to the 401.  401 to the 6 South.  6 South to the 403.  403 to the QE.  Do it twice a day nearly every day, many of those days being a full 12 hours long.  Leave for work at 8 am to get through the traffic, which was always uncertain.  Traffic jams were the only guaranteed thing, and a daily occurance on the 403 on QEW.  Close up shop at 9:30 usually, do the drive home, usually around 10:30 if there’s no traffic on the way back.  Your social life is on hold, your leisure time nearly nonexistent.  My boss noticed I was miserable and took me aside.

He said he noticed I hadn’t “been doing well with the whole Oakville thing.”  Now, the whole time I was responsible for Oakville, I was also responsible for my home store.  This meant keeping the books for both, doing inventory at both (a year-end inventory for both!), and doing the monthly sales books too.  Considering I was literally going insane, I was pissed off that he actually said anything to me about it.

“No, you’re right,” I answered.  “I hate doing that drive every day.  You know I hate driving, everybody knows I hate driving.  I’m not seeing my family, I don’t have time to do anything, all my time is plugged into the store.  And on top of that I still have the other store.  And you’ve got me working full days with no relief on some of these days.”

He pondered that a moment, and then asked, “Does your car have a tape deck?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He then retorted, “Why don’t you bring some of your old tapes with you, and listen to music in the car.  That’ll be a lot of fun for you.”

I’d been doing this and in fact doing it with a theme.  I’d been playing my oldest, most seldom played cassettes from back in the 80’s.  Stuff I hadn’t heard in years, like Winger.  One thing I learned from this commute is; when you’re stuck in traffic on the 403, in a torrential downpour, listening to Winger, it still sucks pretty much as bad as it would if you weren’t listening to Winger.

He didn’t get that, so he reminded me of all that nice mileage money I was making.  I hadn’t been paid any of it yet, but I was looking forward to one day maybe being lucky enough to have a cheque show up.  I was gassing up every day on my Visa card and I didn’t have enough money to cover it.

So off I went to Oakville again, listening to Helix this time, because Helix reminded me of Kitchener.  The next day it was something else, and the next day something else, but the days just blurred together.  Did I mention I was working weekends?

By the time December hit I was running on energy drinks and pepperoni for a diet.  By first snow, my dad was starting to get worried.  He knew my car (a 1998 Dodge Neon) had a history of malfunctions and the tires were getting old.  But there was no time to have a service done, since I was always on the road.

There were still other aggravating factors.  The stay in Oakville was indefinite.  Nobody had any idea when their continued staffing issues would end. I didn’t even know if I’d be working there on Christmas Eve, doing the commute home.  Everything was up in the air so in a sense there really was no light at the end of the tunnel.

The very worst thing about Oakville was this one small minority of customers that had a habit of ruining your day.  Sme of them seemed quite well off.  They drove fancy SUV’s and Hummers, and parked them in the fire lane, too.

Many SUV curb parkers were really nice, chatty, funny.  Others were indifferent.  Another kind completely was the Busy, Very Important Business Man.   Their shoes were very shiny.  Their coats looked expensive and warm.  Their gloves looked like they were made of soft leather.  They were on their lunch.

Now, I need to back up a moment here so you understand the scenario about to unfold.  In Ontario, a used CD store operates like a pawn shop.  There are procedures and laws to be followed.  Anyone selling used goods must be 18 years old or older.  They must present, and I must record, the proper identification.  There were several items on the “good ID” list and many more on the “bad”.

Good

  1. Driver’s license.
  2. BYID (identification to buy liquor)
  3. Up to date passport, as in, you’re not 5 in the picture.

Bad

  1. Health card.  Yeah I know the government puts it out, laws are laws and we were told by the cops, don’t take these.
  2. Library card.  I know that seems obvious.
  3. School ID cards.
  4. Business cards.
  5. A note from your mom.  I didn’t make that one up, some kid tried that and the stupid person working that night actually took it as ID.

When a rich Oakvillian came into the store with a box of CDs to sell, it was always the worst day of the week.  Sometimes I’d bring a sandwich instead of pepperoni, and they’d always come in while I was eating.  Guaranteed.

This one guy, on this one particular day, was ornery.  I mean he was just not having a good day and you could tell.  He was still on his cell when he walked in.  He comes up to the counter, ear still to phone.  He drops the box on the counter.  He’s not even making eye contact with me.  He’s nodding his head and talking.  I stand there looking at him.  He hasn’t even made eye contact with me let alone speak to me.

Finally, the guy motioned to me to start looking through his CDs.  This was not a good start because I wasn’t able to briefly explain our buying policy with him, e.g. what to expect.  I had no idea what his assumptions were, but by experience I concluded he’d think his discs were worth a lot more than I was going to be able to give him.  They were good, classical, jazz and blues.  This stuff sold well in Oakville, and over the internet, but just because it’s jazz and classical doesn’t make it expensive.  A lot of factors played in.  Record labels, remastered, non remastered, retail price, supply and demand.  This guy, you’d think, would understand these business principles.  Turns out he didn’t understand this.  It also turns out he doesn’t like to bargain with the serving class.  Nor does he like to be asked for ID by the serving class, but more on that later.

One drawback to classical and jazz was that they were sometimes more complicated to look up and price.  I mean, Rachmaninov is a lot to type in on the best of days, let along ones where you feel asleep and caffeine buzzed all at once.  I had to take my time.  I wasn’t doing it on purpose.  I had to get it right, so I could say to him confidently that I was doing the very best I could for him.  If he wanted to bargain up ten or twenty bucks, for this many discs, I could have done that, I was able to value the discs higher if I needed to.

He didn’t like the way I priced his discs, and he really didn’t like it when I told him that some, a small number, were scratched.  He got visibly upset about the ones that were scratched a bit too badly for me to take.

“These play fine.  Try them.”

I explained, “There’s more to it than that.  We have extremely high standards to the visual look of a disc.  We have several locations and I have to remain consistent with our other stores, which all are held to a very high standard.  I’m sure the disc plays fine, I really don’t doubt it.  I’ll just never get this disc to look completely new, and that’s what we’re trying to go for.  I’m sorry about that but I really can’t buy that disc.”

“You don’t play a CD by looking at it, do you?  It plays fine, this is absolutely ridiculous.”

He was really pissed off now.

I went through the values I was offering for the discs.  Knowing this was not going to go well, I started with the high ones and worked down to the lower valued ones.  He wasn’t happy right from the start.  Things that I was offering $6 for, which was high, he wanted $10.  I couldn’t do it.  Multiplied across so many discs, I couldn’t bury the cost elsewhere.

I played my $10 bargaining chip and upped my offer.  It just seemed to make him more angry.  I went up $15.  $20.  I started to wonder if his skin would turn green.  I saw it unfold in my head.  It starts at the eyes, they glow green, then his skin, then the muscles burst through the shirt.

“Who do you think you are?” he asked me incredulously.

Who do I think I am?  Who the fuck do you think you are?

“I’m sorry sir, but this truly is the best I can do.”

“This is highway fucking robbery.  I’ll take the money,” said the man in the expensive jacket.

Steeling myself against the barrage I expected, I dropped one final bomb.

“I’ll just need to get some government issued ID from you.”

A pause.  “Who the fuck do you think you are?  I am not giving you my ID.  You legally can’t even ask me for my ID.”

Again, consistency.  If I let this slide and he comes again when someone else is working, they’d get the inevitable “Well, the other guy said I didn’t need ID!”

“I actually have to sir, that’s actually the law.  In Ontario, that’s the law.  The police do come in here to collect our books regularly.”  Which was true.  And I’ve been yelled at and threatened by cops for not following procedure.  It’s less fun than being yelled at by rich guys, truthfully.

He reached into his wallet.  “That’s bullshit.  I’m a lawyer.  I’m not showing you my ID.”  He pulled out a business card.  He was indeed a lawyer.

“Sir, I can’t use this.  I need government issued photo ID, like a driver’s license.  This all goes into my computer, I can’t do the transaction without the proper ID.  If I used that, I couldn’t even complete the screen to do the transaction.  None of the information I need is on here.”

He looked even more exasperated.  He’s not the only customer in the store.  Some glance over, some studiously avoid glancing over.  One’s just completely disinterested.

“What information do you need?!” he bellowed.

Inhaling deep, I answered.  “I can’t do this without your date of birth and address, bare minimum.  I’m sorry sir.  That’s all I can do for you.”

He started stuffing the CDs back into the box.  He stormed to the door.  He turned.

“You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

And that was the last thing he said to me.  I never saw him again.

Part 15: Dating a Radio Station Girl

RECORD STORE TALES Part 15:  Dating a Radio Station Girl

You would think a Record Store Dude and a Radio Station Girl would make beautiful music together.  (Sorry I couldn’t resist saying that…I promise I’ll never do it again.)

When I first starting dating Radio Station Girl in 2003, I was really excited.  She seemed pretty cool and she worked at a radio station, so how awesome was that?  We had the music career thing happening.

Disappointingly, she turned out to be so un-musical, it was crushing.  She worked at 1240 CJCS in Stratford Ontario.  They were in what she called the “oldies” format.  She also enjoyed cheesy stuff like Barenaked Ladies.

Our first date was the Kelsey’s on the main street of Stratford.  She was moonlighting at Blockbuster video, so I picked her up there and we went to Kelsey’s.  It was February and it was snowing but we were having a great time talking about our respective careers, food, and movies.

Then the Beatles came on.  I can’t remember which song.  Either way it seemed like a good topic of conversation.  George Harrison’s death was still fresh in my memory, as he was my favourite one.

“Elli, who’s your favourite Beatle?” I queried.

“I don’t know.  I can’t name any of them.”

Say what?  Whathefuck??

She worked at a radio station, and couldn’t name a Beatle?

John Lennon maybe?  Ring any bells?

I really should have known.  Honest.  But is bad musical taste enough to not date someone?  If it is, it’s a crime I’ve commited on numerous occassions.  I dated girls who listened to crap dance music, and no fewer than three who have seen New Kids on the Block live.  That I know of.  That is, there were three who admit it. 

I married one of them, but let’s not get into that now!  I love my wife dearly, in spite of and sometimes because of her flaws.

Anyway, the musical sins continued.  She made me download a whole bunch of crappy songs and burn them for her, because in Stratford in 2003, all they had was dial-up.  It was truly awful, like not even kidding awful.

We broke up three times total.  That is, she dumped me three times.

The first time we got back together, she emailed me saying she just finished eating a tub of Hagan Daas.  This guy I worked with says, “That means she wants you back, dude.”  She did, and we got back together.  I made her a mix CD with “Disturbing the Priest” by Black Sabbath on there.  Just a little surprise, you know?  Like a middle finger for dumping me in the first place and then eating a tub of ice cream and changing her mind.

The second time we broke up, I think she probably just got back together with me so she had a date to this one CJCS radio station charity event appearance.   That was actually cool, I got to throw a pie at her face.  Afterwards, I forced her to listen to Thick as a Brick in the car as sort of a retribution.  She had never heard Jethro Tull before in her life.  She didn’t get it.

There would be no third reconciliation.  She made up a bullshit story about moving to Vancouver, and I never saw her again.  The nice thing about that is that I’d never have to hear Moxy Fruvous, Puddle of Mudd, or fucking Gilbert O’Sullivan ever again.

Coda:

What followed this was actually one of the top five worst weeks of my life.  I was house and dog sitting for my parents, when I suddenly got a throat infection.  So I got dumped by this girl, I can’t swallow anymore, I’m taking care of two houses and a stubborn dog, that’s enough to handle already.  Schnauzers, you know how they are.  Well this one particular bad schnauzer is named Ani.  Ani pooped herself and got all the poop matted in her butt fur.  It was stuck in there so bad that I had to cut it out with a scissors, and then bathe her, all just minutes before I had to leave for work.  And then, just when I thought that the week was over and things would get back to normal soon, I busted my glasses.  I was scraping the ice off my windshield, and I slipped.  I somehow got caught onto the antenna which sprung loose and thwacked me right in the face.  My glasses, minus one lens, was down in the snow.  A fucking brilliant week.