Record Store Tales

#1159: The Community is Dead – Long Live the Community!

RECORD STORE TALES #1159:
The Community is Dead – Long Live the Community!

Once Upon A Time, the old WordPress music Community was an important part of our daily breakfast.  It was a wonderful way to connect and talk music with like-minded folks.  It was even a good way to seek support in our lives.

Then in 2023, the Community died.  I don’t know why, and I no longer care.  It’s possibly a “type of feint, or fake technique, whereby a player draws an opposing player out of position or skates by the opponent while maintaining possession and control of the puck.” People just…disappeared.  Ghosted.  I actually don’t want to know why.  “Let the past die,” Kylo Ren said.  “Kill it, if you have to.”  That is done, but not by my own hand.

I knew it was dead in 2024, when several people from the old Community refused to watch or acknowledge my trip to Toronto with Aaron, the Community’s spiritual leader.   It was a shunning, with intent.  Rest in peace, Community!

Whatever their issues are, I hope they find peace and harmony, wherever they went and whatever they are doing now.  I miss them. But there was a silver lining.

A new Community awaited me.  A bigger, more welcoming Community.  A Community that stretches from Australia to America, east coast to west, and up north to Canada.  A stronger Community. For me it began as the old Community died in 2023.  Marco D’Auria encouraged me to work with the Contrarians, and suddenly I started getting invites to appear on other shows, such as Rock Daydream Nation and My Music Corner.  With these fine folks, together, we have rebuilt what was lost.  Bigger, better, faster, stronger!

I welcome you to the Community!  A place where we support each other, collaborate, and celebrate the power of music!  A place where you will not be judged for your mistakes, nor shunned.

Welcome…I bid you welcome!

#1158: I dated a witch!

Welcome to a series of posts related to Halloween 2024!  Holen has written some guest posts, and I have my own bag of treats planned.  Enjoy!

RECORD STORE TALES #1158: I dated a witch!

 

A sequel to #904:  2000 Dates and #616:  None of My Exes Live in Texas

 

I have held off telling this tale long enough!  There are many reasons why I haven’t told this story until now, but here are the two main ones:

  1. I didn’t want to upset my grandmother.
  2. I don’t know anything about witchcraft at all, therefore I don’t want to seem like I’m making fun of someone’s religion.

However, I also think it’s amusing to say the sentence, “I dated a witch once”.  So here we go.

I explained in Record Store Tales #904:  2000 Dates, I did a lot of online dating in the year 2000.  Every time, it seemed the girl had something unique about her.  For example:

  1. One girl was the cousin of Haywire singer Paul MacAusland, and suffered from I osteogenesis imperfecta, the same disease that affected Mr. Glass in the Unbreakable trilogy.  We went out once, and she wasn’t into me.
  2. Another girl was in AA and I actually attended a meeting with her, which was a bad idea.  We went out a few times.  She wasn’t sure if she wanted a friend or a boyfriend, so I stopped calling her.
  3. One was legally blind!  She got into that movie The Cell with Jennifer Lopez and Vincent D’onofrio for free.  She was starting a new life in a new town and I don’t think I was her best prospect.  I stopped hearing from her, until one day she accidentally emailed me.  I think we went out twice total.  She had awesome black dreads.

This story is about none of those women.

Cynthia was from Toronto.  She shared her surname with a prominent Star Trek character.  She was into Sloan and A Perfect Circle.  She took horrible care of her CDs.  We wanted to listen to music, and I suggested 4 Nights at the Palais Royale by Sloan, but the discs were all mixed up in her collection.  I knew it wasn’t going to work out.

We had one day together.  I drove up to Toronto, got lost, and had a huge panic attack on my way there.  No GPS, but I did have a cell phone.  That was actually the end right there.  It had nothing to do with her.  It was the drive.  I knew I’d never do that drive again.

Besides listening to music, I watched Cynthia work.  She was an online psychic.  I’m a sceptic, but the kind that would like to be convinced.  She got on her computer, opened a word file, and began responding to emails.  She scrolled through her word file, found a paragraph she liked, and hit “copy”.  “This one will work,” she said.  She had all her “psychic” readings pre-written; she just selected one that applied to the question.  “I do real ones sometimes,” she justified to me.  Sometimes.  Not that night though.

We went for a walk, we talked, and Cynthia tried to explain her religion to me.  She was a “weather witch”, she told me.  She practiced Wicca.  Wicca and witchcraft, she explained, were not interchangeable terms, but she was both.  I was pretty clear that I was comfortable where I was spiritually, but hey, cool.  I very much had a “you do you” attitude when it came to religion.  We were both raised Catholic, so we had that in common.  She had two roommates, also Wiccan.  They had a picture up in their main entrance of their horned god, which was interesting, but they didn’t laugh when I commented that their god appeared “horny”.  Come on, cut the new guy some slack!

I made it home on Highway 401 in one piece.  I knew I’d never be going back.  It was a matter of telling her.  She did not take it well.

Cynthia had made for me a little magic pouch to protect me on the highway.  When I told her I could not do that drive again, she was quite upset.  “I’ll take the bus to you!” she offered.  There were tears…I felt awful.  I had described her as a “stage 5 clinger” before, which is unkind but not untrue.  It was the first time I had experienced something like this.  I went from indifferent dates, to this!

I went out the night of that phone call with some friends to a round of mini-golf.  It helped me get my mind off things.  I shared that I was slightly afraid she’d cast a spell on me.  You always say “Oh but magic and witches aren’t real,” but I thought, “Cynthia didn’t think so.”  What’s real?  And what the hell did I know at age 28?   We laughed a lot during that round of mini-golf, but then my friend Will prank called my car phone pretending to be an angry friend of Cynthia’s.  That took some calming down after.  Later, I was teased at a staff party by my co-workers about the kinds of spells she would put on me for dumping her.  You can see why I haven’t told this story before.

Sometimes I wonder what happened to all these people I went out with during that period of time.  Married, with adult kids now?  Do they even remember me?  I’m the one writing all this; maybe I’m the clinger after all.

 

 

#1157: The Lone Classic Hard Rocker

RECORD STORE TALES #1157: The Lone Classic Hard Rocker

For almost my entire tenure at the Beat Goes On, I was pretty much the only “classic hard rocker”.  By that I mean, the guy who not only liked Rush, Iron Maiden and Black Sabbath, but also Poison, Dokken, Motley Crue, Kiss, and the Scorpions.  I started in 1994, and hard rock was definitely the black sheep of the musical family back then.  The entire genre had received a hard thrashing from the new generation of bands, who had cleaned the slate and wiped the charts of the old guard.  For a little while, anyway.  When I began in 1994, hard rock was all but banned from store play.  That’s obviously a broad statement, as I distinctly recall giving a store play copy of Tesla’s Bust A Nut a shot while working with the boss.  He didn’t like it, but there was no way I was going to play Poison in the store with him around.

“Nobody’s buying that stuff,” he would say, and he wasn’t wrong.

When Trevor started later that year, he too liked a lot of hard rock bands, but he probably more into the current crop of groups.  Brother Cane, and this new snotnosed group out of the UK called Oasis.  He discovered all that Britpop stuff on a trip to England, and he was quick to adapt to electronic and dance beats too.  While he enjoyed some Poison and Motley Crue, I don’t think he would have played them in store.  I don’t think he would have called himself a hard rocker.

When I was bestowed my own store to manage in 1996, my staff gave me a nickname:  Cheeser.

The reason being, I listened to “cheesey” music, such as hard rock.  They wouldn’t give me credit for the jazz albums, or the Faith No More collection.  They only looked at the Dokken and the Brighton Rock.  I should have said, “Don’t call me Cheeser.  I’m your boss.”  Not that I was opposed to nicknames.  Many employees had nicknames of their own, but that one really bugged me.  It was unfair and it was uncool.  It was one-dimensional.  I remained the only classic hard rocker at the store.  Oh sure, one guy liked the Black Crowes.  Another guy had a soft spot for classic 70s Kiss.  They were not hard rockers in that classic “cheeser” sense.

I look back on those days, and I was very different then.  I was not assertive.  I was eager to fit in.  So, I let them call me Cheeser.

I felt like a second-class citizen due to my musical tastes.  The boss seemed to think playing a Poison in the album would lose us sales.  He wanted a family-friendly atmosphere, and I tended to be the rebel when he wasn’t around.  I was told to remove AC/DC from the CD player once.  An band that has sold about 200 million copies worldwide, incidentally, but with God as my witness, my boss hit the “stop” button one morning and took it off himself.

This is why I had low sales, I was assured.  You wanted people to linger and shop.  People would leave the store if the music was too heavy.  I only saw it happen a couple times, but no more than I saw it happen with other genres of music such as rap and dance.  It was rare you’d have a walk-out due to the music, but I will argue that hard rock did not get this reception any more than other genres.  I do remember one guy giving me credit for playing Poison’s Native Tongue one afternoon.

“I’ve never heard this before in a music store!” he said, with his compliments.

I would get the occasional surprised reaction when people would ask what the cool music I played was.  Motley Crue?  Poison?  No way!  That doesn’t sound like Poison.

Our store was very generic “music store circa late 90s early 2000s” when you walked in.  There would be music playing from the current charts, lots of indi bands with cool haircuts, and the requisite Motown, soul, and 60s albums.  Exactly the music you expected to hear, and I suppose that was the point.  If my manager reviews were poor, one of the gripes was the music I chose to play.  I broke the rules, and they made note of it.  I became quite despondent.  I would pick five CDs in the morning, that I picked for the soul purpose of not getting in shit that day, and I hit shuffle.  I’d leave them in all day.  Or, I would just leave in whatever the previous shift had playing.  I literally stopped caring, because those above me had sucked me dry.  I had no soul left.  My heart was empty.  It was time to go.

By the end, my only motivation was survival.  There was no enjoyment.  There was no challenge.  There was nothing to look forward to, except a day off.  I was dead inside.  I couldn’t care about music anymore.  The music I played in the store towards the end…I can’t remember the bands.  I seem to remember names like Death Cab For Cutie, Death From Above 1979, and Metric, but I cannot tell you if those were bands we played in the store, or bands that the staff liked.  Eventually, some of their musical tastes wore off on me.  I did buy a Killers CD, and I did buy one Bright Eyes.  If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em, but I have not played either in over 15 years.

I know some of my old co-workers and staffers were surprised to hear all these revelations from me.  What can I say?  I was fakin’ it.  I was fighting, quite frankly, to stay alive at that place.  You can take that to mean whatever you like.  In those days, I was not aware of the importance of mental health.  The store was run with a real old school “pick yourself up by the bootstraps” methodology.  I remember one day, my boss handed me a business card with the name of a counselling service on it.  I didn’t ask for this, and I considered it a huge invasion of my privacy.  I also considered it an invasion of my privacy when he called my parents behind my back at their home.  Yet, when I wanted him to listen to me, the only person who could possible change my fate, he didn’t listen.  He waited to talk.  He lectured.  The bullying situation at the store had reached unacceptable levels, and he was so biased towards certain people, that I had no hope.  None at all.

I went from being the lone classic hard rocker, to completely alone.  It was a very dark time in my life.  I am sorry if my old friends do not understand why I had such anger for the people in charge.  I know I am not the only person to feel alone, but what happened, happened.  It was an emotional time and I wrote about it emotionally.  It was a necessary expulsion of bad feelings and poison.

But not Poison.  Today there’s nobody calling me Cheeser.   They might shrug and wonder why I need so much Poison, but the difference is respect.

#1156: To What Lengths? (Shelf Wear)

RECORD STORE TALES #1156: To What Lengths? (Shelf Wear)

We, as collectors in this community, generally buy our music on a physical format to listen to it, but also value its condition and cosmetic perfection.  We don’t want creases in the inner sleeve, or banged-up covers if we can avoid it.  We especially don’t like being the ones responsible for damage.  It does happen.  Sometimes it’s as simple as pulling a favourite CD or LP out of its designated filing location too many times.  Scratches and scuffs appear on the jewel case or sleeve, if not protected.  Most people protect their vinyl LPs in plastic, and a small minority of CD aficionados do as well, which mitigates damage to just those moments you remove the packaging from that sleeve: the dirt and oils in your hands, the dust in the air, the light wear from handling.

If you’re new here, this is a judgement-free place!  If you go to tremendous degrees to protect your jewel cases (I had one customer who bought them 5 at a time and insisted each one be in its own separate little bag) then I applaud you.  I wish I had your discipline, honestly.  I’ve cracked and scuffed many-a-case over my years as a fan and collector.

Another fact known to CD collectors:  Many, especially in the 1990s, came in specialised jewel cases that could not easily replaced if damaged.  The best you could hope for was a Krazy Glue solution.  Example:  Pet Shop Boys’ Very CD in 1993, which came in a unique, opaque orange case with lego-like bumps on the front and a sticker with track listing on back.  It had a matching orange tray inside.  Fortunately, these were a bargain bin perennial and if you broke you case, you could buy a replacement for under $6 bucks.  If not, you could do a reasonable repair job with glue.

Coloured jewel cases were another variation.  With collector’s allure, Alice In Chains’ self-titled CD in 1995 came in two variations.  The common one was a yellow case with a purple inlay.  The very rare reverse was purple case with yellow inlay.  So rare in fact that in my 12 years in music retail, I never saw a copy come my way without one or both components damaged.  Less rarely, Kiss’ 1996 CD You Wanted The Best, You Got the Best came in a wine-red case with yellow tray.  I may or may not have swapped some at my store with plain cases, allowing me to keep the wine-red and yellow for myself, for other Kiss releases.  Perhaps I did.

 

 

Regardless of how you acquire such packages, the ideal collection has them relatively intact for the duration of their stay at your home.  How to do ensure this to the best of your ability?  As implied, I don’t want to put every CD I own in a sleeve.  However, I do make sleeves for discs like the above.  Simple ones out of clear comic bags (for example) cut down to size.  They even make sandwich bags in the exact right size if you feel lazy.  Remember:  no judgement!

Of course, this cannot prevent breakage all the time.  If you have ever moved house with boxes of CDs, you probably endured some damage.  When I moved, I did two important things:  1) I insisted only I handled the boxes marked “CDs”, and 2) I packaged all specially-cased CDs in a special padded box, also handled by myself.

Another variation, and perhaps my favourite, is the engraved jewel case.  One of the most common is the Prince “Love Symbol” CD, fairly easy to find multiple intact copies.  My most treasured engraved case is Deep Purple’s 25th anniversary edition of In Rock.  (Now we’re over 50 years…)  I bought my copy in 1996, in Toronto, at (I think) Sunrise.  It was there or HMV, and I was present with the mighty T-Rev, who braved the streets of Toronto with no air conditioning on a hot summer day in my Plymouth Sundance.  He drove – I wouldn’t.  I cradled my precious Purple in my arms so carefully on my way home.  I could see easily that the signatures and text on the front were in the plastic of the case, and not printed on the booklet.

I made a plan, and carefully executed it.  My solution protects my CD to this day.

Using a Swiss Army knife, I carefully slit the right side of the plastic wrap, all around the entire CD, and removed this side flap.  I then carefully coaxed the CD out of its plastic home, and upon success, pushed it back in.  I had created a little sleeve that protected my new purchase upon my shelves.  It still functions today, and my copy of In Rock still looks pretty good despite hundreds of plays.

Fingers crossed!

 

#1155: When Bob Came Back

RECORD STORE TALES #1155: When Bob Came Back

My best friend, Bob Schipper, spent most of the summer of 1986 out on Alberta with his brother Martin.  The two of us had been joined at the hip for summer after summer.  He was gone for about six weeks:  the majority of the holidays.  He was excited to have some independence out there with his brother, far from parental supervision.  I missed him terribly.  It just wasn’t the same without him.  My partner in crime was gone, and I was lonely.

We wrote back and forth.  I’ll never forget the day my first letter from Bob arrived in the mail.  My mom came into my room excited that my letter from Bob had come.   I could have cried, I missed him so much.  His letter did not disappoint.  It was loaded with drawings and stories, and I read it over and over.  It helped alleviate the pain.  I wrote back immediately of course.  I think I wrote my letter on the family computer.  Bob wanted one so badly.  In his letter, he said “When I come back, I’m getting a computer and a dog.”  My parents laughed at that.  They knew there was no way his parents would agree to a dog!  Bob was showing that independent streak that he was picking up.

I was counting the days until he came home.  We had so much to discuss.  Bob had missed six weeks of WWF wrestling!  There were heel turns he knew nothing about.  I had new music to show him on my VHS collection.  Most seriously though, I was weeks away from starting high school.  Bob was going to show me the ropes and help me buy school supplies.  He knew exactly what I’d need and what to be prepared for.  While I was excited to start highschool, far from the Catholic school bullies that tormented me for eight years, I was also extremely anxious.  I didn’t know the building and I had heard about hazing “niners”.  I needed reassurance.

One day in mid-August, Bob came home.

I gave him some time…a little bit…to settle back in.  Then I raced over and rang that doorbell.  His mom always greeted me with a warm smile.  Bob had great parents:  Tina and John.   They treated us so well.  I can still see his mom’s smile and hear her voice, every time she greeted us at the door.  Then Bob came downstairs.  We didn’t hug or shake hands.  Kids didn’t do that back then.

“HEY!” I said.

“HEY!” he returned.  Simple as that.

We went out on the back porch, and talked and talked and talked.  There was show and tell, gifts, and stories.  Importantly, Bob had returned with Kiss.

The vinyl copy of Killers that he brought home with him is the very copy I own today.  I think he also arrived with Kiss Alive II on cassette.  I taped both immediately!  Taping Kiss records from Bob meant I didn’t have to tape them off creepy George next door.  There were a few songs we were quickly obsessed with:  “All American Man”, “I’m A Legend Tonight”, and “Nowhere To Run”.

Bob also brought home for me an unusual gift:  a defused hand grenade!  Imagine putting that in your luggage today.  I don’t know what happened to it.  I should still have it in a box of stuff in storage somewhere.  It was hollow inside, but heavy as hell!  I played with it so much I eventually broke the pin off.

It wasn’t a long visit.  Bob promised to help me with school supplies before the end of the summer, and he was true to his word.  I knew he’d also shield me from anyone looking to haze a “niner”.  I just couldn’t wait to get back at it with him:  drawing, creating, listening to music, watching wrestling, and raising havok everywhere we went.  It had been a quiet summer, spent collecting GI Joe and Transformers figures, and playing with them in the yard by myself.  But now…the kids were back.

 

 

 

 

 

#1154: The Roar

RECORD STORE TALES #1154: The Roar

When summer turns to fall at the lake, there is a constant roar. It is always there. It is a mixture of a churning lake only meters away, dulled by the branches of the evergreens, but amplified by the wind. The wind is steady now, always pushing us towards fall.

When we arrived on Thursday night, the weather hadn’t turned foul yet.  It was still warm, and the wind was tame enough to fly.  I took the drone up for its first lake flight in a month.  We haven’t been here for a long time.  And now, it’s time to wind things down.  No more stocking up on food and games for the season.  Instead we are faced with a full freezer needing consumption, and a shelf of Uno variants that we just never got around to.

Models kits unbuilt.  ZZ Top’s Eliminator, and a gold C-3P0.  Never got to ’em this year.  And now there’s no time for it this year.  Next year, maybe.

We drove up to the sounds of Triumph Stages, a cottage classic.  It took us almost the whole way.  When here, we played ELP’s Brain Salad Surgery for research purposes.  Opinions were mixed.  More on that another time.

My usual routine involves setting up on the porch with my speakers and some music.  It’s getting darker sooner, and this was probably the last weekend of the year for that routine.

Now, there is only the sound of the roar.

#1153: The Roots of Trauma

STOPARRET

Serious stuff ahead.

 

RECORD STORE TALES #1153: The Roots of Trauma

I don’t remember the photo session, but I remember the picture clearly.  My red, white and black shirt is what I recall the most easily about this picture.  I couldn’t remember my age or what I looked like in the photo, but I remember that shirt.  This portrait was on display at my parents’ house for many years, along with others depicting my sister and I as children.

When I saw this picture again, for the first time in probably decades, I was shocked.  I looked into my own face and I read my own mind.

I still make that face.  know every angle of the eyes and the curvature of the mouth.  I am intimately familiar with that face.  It is the face of anxiety and fear.  If you have ever seen me make that face, it wasn’t a good day.

You can’t blame my parents.  Back then, nobody knew any better.  Baby was crying, baby didn’t want his photo taken.  So you ignored the crying, you sat the baby down, and you let the photographer take the photo.  There were going to be lots more photos.  He’d better get used to this.

I look at the picture and I don’t see a baby crying for his first portrait.  I see the fear and the need to be understood.  I was always “shy” around strangers.  You can imagine how I felt, with this strange photographer and in this weird place with a shag carpet beneath me and a dreary grey background.  My parents were probably frustrated that they were paying for this photo, and this baby keeps crying.  I can read that face.  It’s the face that says, “I’m in distress here and why isn’t anybody listening to me?”

My whole life, I have felt like people don’t listen to me.  They either don’t understand what I’m trying to convey or they just won’t listen.  I have had dreams about this going back to when I was a kid.  Trying to tell people what I’m feeling or what I need, and being dismissed.  Eventually the frustration at not being understood boils over to screaming.  To me, there is nothing worse than not being heard.  To this day, sometimes the only person who understands what I’m saying and feeling is Jen.

In this picture, I see a need.  I clearly wanted the hell out of there, and back home where felt safe and sound.  I needed someone to hug me, tell me it was alright, and it will be over in just a minute.  I needed someone to touch me and say, “I know you’re scared, this is all new to you.  I know that camera and all that stuff looks scary.  I know that person is a stranger, but if you need me I’m right here and I won’t let anything happen to you.”  I needed that time being reassured.  I can see it in my face.  It’s as clear as words on paper.

This picture makes me feel a lot of things.  I see my entire future laid about before me.  So many fears.  Going to school, learning to drive, living alone…that’s the face of someone who doesn’t want those things.  He wants to stay home with his mom and dad, where he would be safe and surrounded only by familiar things and people who love him.  This is the face of someone who is so uncomfortable that he is questioning why mom and dad are doing this to him.  This is the face of someone who feels utterly alone inside.

It was over in minutes and forgotten, but I can’t help but feel that seeds were being sown.

There’s nobody to blame.  Nobody knew any better.  I couldn’t even talk, let alone understand all this terror I was feeling.  I couldn’t have said “That person is a stranger and something about them is bothering me, I don’t know what those things are, I don’t like being up on this table covered with a shag carpet, and can someone please just tell me what is happening right now?”  All I could do was cry.

I hate being this way.  I hate the constant anxiety that nibbles away at me every day.  I hate the feeling of not being understood.  It’s amazing to think that I can see all this in my baby picture.

 

#1151: An Egg of a Deal: End of August Scores

RECORD STORE TALES #1151: An Egg of a Day: End of August Scores

I have a coworker whose parents recently passed.  This is always sad, but the time came for my coworker to purge her mom’s music collection.  Periodically when this happens, people come to me to ask my opinion.  Essentially, she wanted to know:  “is there anything here that I shouldn’t take to the local Beat Goes On because it might be worth more?”  She didn’t think much of her chances, but wanted to be sure.

“Sure, I’ll pop over and have a look,” I said.  “I can’t promise you anything but I can at least have a look.”

That was good enough for her.

“I bet I find a bunch of Lawrence Welk!” I joked to Tim Durling and Jex Russell.  You know the kind of record collection I mean.

Indeed, I did find Lawrence Welk in the very first box of vinyl.  I had a laugh and kept digging.  To everyone’s surprise, I found things that might indeed have been valuable, and they had no idea how it got into that collection.

First of all, she had a really nice stack of 78s.  Big Crosby was the first one I saw.  I have no idea on value of 78s, but this were stored well and all seemed in good condition.  It might have been my first time handling a stack of 78’s like that.  They are thicker than an LP, and much heavier.  They require a special stylus as well as a turntable that can go up to 78.  I used to have that equipment.  She even had a cylinder, whether Edison or a competing brand, that was out for professional appraisal.  So, this collection I was looking at had these formats:

  • LPs
  • 45s
  • 78s
  • Cassettes
  • 8-tracks
  • CDs
  • and one cylinder

Pretty wild scope.  The genres were all over the place, from easy listening and country (the usual suspects) to disco, jazz, oldies, and even progressive rock and heavy metal, as you’ll see.  This, I did not expect.

Then I spied an album called Egg.  Something about it jumped out at me.  I flipped it around and there were black and white photos of long haired guys jamming.  That struck me as out of place in this collection, so I set it aside.  Somebody looked it up, and it can sell for easily over $100.  Everyone seemed really impressed by my ability to sniff this out.  I am no expert, folks.  Not at all.  But it looked out of place, which is why I took a second glance.  It turns out Egg were an English progressive rock band, and the album was released in 1970.  Very surprising, but they felt that this one find justified me coming over and looking at their records, so I was happy.

Original price:  $6.99

I found some things I wanted for myself and made an offer.  I left with the following titles:

  • Guns N’ Roses – “You Could Be Mine” 1991 Geffen cassette single.  I own it on CD, but never on cassette.  Why not?  In this day and age of owning everything on every format, why not?
  • The Best Of ZZ Top 1977 Wea Music cassette.  A staple, but one that I somehow have never owned before on any format.  Stone cold classic compilation.
  • John Williams and the Boston Pops – Pops In Space 1980, Philips, made in Holland.  This contains music from some of Williams science fiction classics:  Superman, The Empire Strikes Back (which was brand new in 1980), Star Wars, and Close Encounters.  I haven’t seen this one before.
  • Oscar Peterson – The Trio – Live from Chicago 1961 Verve/1986 Polygram CD.  My second Oscar Peterson score this summer.  You rarely find Oscar in the wild, and never this one.
  • Johnny Cash – His Greatest Hits, Volume II 1971 Columbia 8-track.   This was the Cash album I grew up with in the car with my dad, albeit on cassette.  This cartridge is in great shape, and resides in a bright red shell.  This is my first red shell 8-track tape.

When I called my dad to tell him of my musical scores, he was surprised at the 8-track.  While he clearly remembers that Cash album, he asked me “Do you have anything that plays an 8-track?”  This is a common question that we collectors get.  No I do not.  I don’t have a way to play a Minidisc, a DAT, or a DCC either but I would love to have some in my collection.  My collecting desires are no longer strictly just to have music to play.  Now I collect music I can’t even play too!  Just to have a piece of history.

After we completely examined the collection and left some advice, I departed with my treasures.  Since we were in the neighbourhood, I decided to visit the old Toys R Us/HMV store.  There, I finally decided to pick up Iron Maiden’s Powerslave on vinyl, edging me closer to completing the 1980s collection.  Now, all I should need are the first two Di’Anno albums (I think).  Powerslave was $36 and hard to pull the trigger on, since I can distinctly remember a time when Sam the Record Man was swinning in new copies for $6.99 each, and that sticks with you.  I finally have it now.

A successful Saturday.  Time to listen to some music!

#1150: “867-5309 / Jenny”

RECORD STORE TALES #1150: “867-5309 / Jenny”

In 1981, rock band Tommy Tutone released their second album, 2.  The lead track and single was a song called “867-5309/Jenny”.  As you can imagine, placing an actual phone number in a song was, while catchy, also problematic.   Lorene Burns from Alabama, who unfortunately had that very phone number, had to change it in 1982.  “When we’d first get calls at 2:00 or 3:00 in the morning, my husband would answer the phone. He can’t hear too well. They’d ask for Jenny, and he’d say ‘Jimmy doesn’t live here any more.’  Tommy Tutone was the one who had the record. I’d like to get hold of his neck and choke him.”

Tommy Tutone was in fact a “them” and the song was written by guitarist Jim Keller, with Alex Call from the band Clover.  The song soared to #2 in Canada, and #1 on the US Mainstream Rock chart.  It’s a great tune.  David Lee Roth recently covered it, but in its original incarnation, it’s a guitar driven rock classic with a plaintive chorus and memorable lyrics.

Jenny Jenny who can I turn to?
You give me something I can hold on to,
I know you’ll think I’m like the others before,
Who saw your name and number on the wall.
Jenny I’ve got your number,
I need to make you mine,
Jenny don’t change your number,
Eight six seven five three oh nine.

Many Jennys were teased worldwide (my wife included) by boys singing the song to them; an anthem of calling a number found on a bathroom wall.  The origins of the song are unclear.  “There was no Jenny,” claimed Alex Call in 2009.  The number, he said, just sounded right when sung.  Tommy Tutone lead singer Tommy Heath claimed in 2008 that Jenny was a real girl, and they wrote her telephone number on a wall just for laughs.  The Alex Call account sounds more believable.

Whatever the origins, many people with that phone number were prank called year after year after year.  One day in 1998, I heard “867-5309” for the first time.  Although I was not involved, a prank call ensued.

It was at the old Heuther Hotel in Waterloo (now, sadly, destined to become new condos).  I had a bad day (girl trouble), and was taken out by friends to get over it.  I sat enjoying a rum and coke (Captain Morgan’s spiced rum, always) with my co-workers Neil and Trevor.  In fact, it could have been my first ever spiced rum.  Tommy Tutone came on, and I liked the song, which I was unfamiliar with.  “It’s Tommy Tutone!” enthused Trevor.  “You don’t know this song?  Come on!”

We rocked along to the tune for a bit before Trevor realized that 867 was a local number.

“Should I call and ask for Jenny?  I’m gonna call and ask for Jenny!”

We laughed and I said no, but the drinks were flowing and Trevor dialed up 867-5309.

“Hello?” went the female voice on the other end.

“Hi, is Jenny there?” asked T-Rev with total innocence.

“Jenny’s not home,” went the answer.

“There’s actually a Jenny there?  COOL!” said T-Rev.  He was assured there was indeed a Jenny there.

“No way!  Really?  A Jenny really lives there?”  Once again, he was told yes.  “Do you know there’s a song called ‘Jenny’ with this phone number?”  The person feigned ignorance and reiterated that Jenny was not home.

“Cool!  Can you tell her Trevor called?  Thanks!”

And that was it!  We laughed all night about there being an actual Jenny at 867-5309, but I think the girl who answered the phone was just so used to getting this call that she called Trevor’s bluff.

We may never know.  Please don’t call 867-5309 and ask.

#1149: Eddie’s Story – The Narrative of Derek Riggs’ Iron Maiden Art

RECORD STORE TALES #1149: Eddie’s Story – The Narrative of Derek Riggs’ Iron Maiden Art

Edward T. Head, better known as “Eddie”, has been Iron Maiden’s mascot since the late 1970s.  He was just a mask then, made by roadie Dave Lights, to hang on the band’s live backdrop.  Why “Eddie”?   Because the mask was essentially just a head, or “‘ead” in British slang.  Therefore:  Eddie the Head!  When Iron Maiden were signed to Capitol Records, manager Rod Smallwood wisely surmised that the band would do well with an identifiable “stamp”…like a mascot.  He contacted artist Derek Riggs, and before too long, Eddie made his painted debut on the cover of Iron Maiden’s 1980 single “Running Free”.

Eddie’s impact cannot be overstated.  He is more recognizable than any single member of the band.  He is seen on T-shirts worn by diehards, casual fans, and even those who have never heard an Iron Maiden song in their lives.  He is ubiquitous.  Needless to say, Rod Smallwood was very wise, and Derek Riggs very talented.  Riggs did the cover art for every Maiden album from 1980 to 1990, and almost every single and EP in the same time frame.

As young impressionable kids growing up in suburban Ontario, we certainly knew who Eddie was.  My friends and I collected not just the albums and singles, but also the buttons.  We were intimately familiar with Eddie, his different outfits, settings, and crimes!  We attempted to draw our own Eddies.  I took a shot at a single cover for “The Duelists”, a favourite song.  It featured Eddie and the Devil fencing at the edge of a cliff.  The Devil was a foe of Eddie’s going back to the “Purgatory” single cover.  Derek Riggs eventually built an extensive mythology for Eddie and associated characters.  He focused on “Easter Eggs”, hiding characters and symbols within the artwork.  Powerslave and Somewhere In Time were chock full of such goodies.  References to the bars Maiden played, the Reaper, and even a TARDIS can be found on those albums.  One of the great pleasures of being an Iron Maiden fan was opening up an album and looking for all the secret images and messages while you played the records.

By 1986, some of us had noticed that the album covers, not including the singles, seemed to a tell a continuing story.  There was a continuity to the cover art, and Eddie in particular, that made us think there was an actual story unfolding with each album release.  This story seemed to run through Derek Riggs’ entire tenure as Iron Maiden’s cover artist, from 1980 to 1990.  While I am certain that this is entirely something made up in our heads, it does seem to hold water.

Let’s have a look at the album covers, and the story they may tell.

IRON MAIDEN -1980

Just an introduction to the character.  Eddie is a street punk, in a loose T-shirt, standing on a London street at night.  Behind him is a lit doorway, and a window with a red light – a reference to “Charlotte the Harlot”.  You can also see two of the streetlamps behind Eddie form an arc, with the moon.  Eddie’s eyes are just black sockets with light behind.  Later artists would change Eddie’s eyes, but Riggs always painted them black with some kind of illumination.  Eddie’s skin appears yellowed and stretched, like that of a mummy.  His hair is pure punk rock.

The story has yet to begin, but Eddie is clearly someone you don’t want to mess with on a London street at night.

KILLERS – 1981

Eddie appears much more refined in this image.  You get a better look at the character, including a belt and blue jeans.  The punk rock hair is gone, though Eddie remains on the streets.  It could be the same neighborhood as the first album.  The black clouds in the sky are similar.  This time, Eddie has a bloody hatchet in hand, while his victim grips his shirt in dying desperation.  Eddie seems to have no mercy.  He even seems to relish killing.  Fitting, for an album called Killers.  Our interpreted story begins here, with a murder.

 THE NUMBER OF THE BEAST – 1982

The plot thickens.  In Riggs’ best album art to date, Eddie appears a giant over a scorched, hellish background.  The rear cover had more of this scenery, indicating we were indeed in hell.  Eddie’s eyes are now lit by flames, matching the ground below.  He also has a fire in his hand, a reference perhaps to Montrose’s “I’ve Got the Fire” which was an earlier B-side.  The most striking feature here though is the appearance of the red Devil himself!  Eddie appears in control, manipulating the evil one with green puppet strings.

This was the first cover that really had us squinting at the details, on our little cassette J-cards.  For if you look closer, you will see Eddie is not in control at all.  Satan himself has his own puppet, and it is Eddie!  Our minds were boggled.  What could this mean?  We began pulling together the threads that seemed to be telling a story.  Derek Riggs had outdone himself, but he was only getting started.

 PIECE OF MIND – 1983

Imprisoned!  Captured, chained in an asylum, and lobotomized to boot!  Now bald, Eddie bore a scar across his head!  He had been cut open like an egg, and this scar would remain for the next several album covers.  Two more details were added:  a stream of blood going down his nose (always his right side), and a metal bracket holding his head together.  The screws in the bracket would always be in the same orientation.

Clearly, Eddie was in trouble.  We saw this as the punishment for his crime of murder.  The Devil came to take his due, and now Eddie is stuck in a cell.  Would he escape?  The next album told us no.

Of course, the real life inspiration for the artwork was the title Piece of Mind.  On the inner sleeve, the band members are preparing to dine upon a brain!  It doesn’t look tasty, and Adrian Smith in particular doesn’t look hungry.  In our childhood fantasy world, the Devil had served up a particularly brutal punishment for our favourite Metal mascot.

 POWERSLAVE – 1984

It appears that Eddie did not survive his brain surgery and imprisonment, for here he was being laid to rest in an ancient Egyptian setting.  In Riggs’ best artwork to date (again), a multitude of Easter eggs were hidden on the front, back and inner sleeves.  The Great Pyramid appears as it once did in antiquity, smooth and topped by a golden capstone.  Eddie’s sarcophagus can be seen, carried up the stairs, to his eternal resting place.

Or was it?

It seems pre-destined that Maiden’s next album would be called Live After Death.  It was really at this point that we started to put together that there was a story unfolding here.  Live After Death, and Eddie was buried on the previous album?  It all made sense!

 LIVE AFTER DEATH – 1985

Now this was an album that simply had to be owned on vinyl.  There was text to be read on the tombstones (“Let It RIP”), and so many Easter eggs on the back cover, including a black cat, the Reaper, and a visible “Edward T. H…” on his tombstone.  For many of us, this was the first indication that Eddie did have a last name!

With a bolt of lightning re-animating the already dead corpse, Eddie was back!  Still wearing his chains from the Piece of Mind album cover, Eddie’s hair had grown back while his T-shirt has seen better days.  Flames can be seen bursting from the ground, hinting at his hellish past.  On the rear cover, a city can be seen, surrounding the pyramid from the last album.  The continuity seemed clear.  The only issue here was that on the prior album, Eddie was laid to rest inside the pyramid.  Here, he is seen bursting out of a normal grave.  It would seem that Eddie’s remains were re-located between albums.  A minor issue easily explained away.

The city on the back cover calls to Eddie!  He was back, and up to his old ways again…

 SOMEWHERE IN TIME – 1986

Riggs outdid himself again, with the Blade Runner inspired Somewhere In Time.  Owning this album on vinyl is simply a must, for there is so much going on.

Still lobotomized, but bearing a new brain of circuitry, Eddie was technologically enhanced.  The blood, scar and bolts holding his head together are still visible despite the modifications.  On his chest, Derek Riggs’ signature emblem can be seen clearly.  It was always hidden somewhere on his albums, but here it was plainly visible.  A poster that reads “EDDIE LIVES” can be seen on the right, with the dying hand of a victim that he has just exterminated.  Back to his old killing ways from the Killers album!  Instead of a blade, Eddie now wields a pair of blasters.  Eddie seems to have arrived in a “Spinner” vehicle, similar to Blade Runner.

The same familiar moon from previous albums blazes behind, but there is so much on the back cover to discover too.  A reaper, red-lighted windows, and the names of things important to Iron Maiden’s lore are present.  As far as our story went, we imagined that Eddie emerged from his tomb centuries in the future.  This time, the Devil would not stop him!  But despite the cybernetic enhancements he underwent, his body was not whole…and soon it would be time to be reborn.

 SEVENTH SON OF A SEVENTH SON – 1988

This is where things got weird.  Really weird.  Not content to keep drawing Eddies with axes through people’s heads, Riggs went abstract on Seventh Son of a Seventh Son.  Eddie was now little more than a torso, with his skull ripped open and aflame!  The scar, bolts and blood are still present (though the blood would be replaced by a mustard-like substance on the single cover for “Can I Play With Madness”).  The remnants of his cybernetic enhancements are still present, with one eye replaced by a robotic one.  He also still has a metal throat.  An apple can be seen within his ribcage, but most striking is the Eddie-infant he’s holding in some kind of embryonic sac!  This sac is attached to his ribcage with an umbilical cord.  An arc of lamps recalls the first album.  A “book of life” is present on the back cover, tying into the album’s concept.  There are also ice statues of past Eddies on the back cover, for a total of seven Eddies.

Look closely and you can see that the surface below is both solid and liquid, and the icebergs do not touch the surface.  In our story, this represented Eddie on another plane, as he gave birth to his successor – a new Eddie.

 NO PRAYER FOR THE DYING – 1990

For the first time, we felt disappointed by an Iron Maiden cover.  Gone were the layers of Easter eggs.  The art felt unfinished, and indeed, Derek Riggs would remake it for a 90s reissue.  The album was sonically a “back to basics” affair for Iron Maiden, with simpler lyrics and shorter, harder songs.  The artwork reflected this, with a simple Eddie just back to killing again.

Reborn, and without scars, bolts or lobotomies, Eddie emerges from a stone coffin.  Because why not?  The undead should surely be reborn in a grave!  Grasping the poor gravekeeper by the throat, Eddie is seconds away from his first killing in his new body!  Looking at his coffin, the name plate is unfinished, with no clever names or puns.  The fragments of the shattered coffin don’t even fit together properly.  The blue and yellow colour scheme definitely links the album to Seventh Son, Live After Death, Powerslave and The Number of the Beast, but there is far less to keep you looking at the cover.

And this is the end of our Eddie story, for Derek Riggs would not do another Maiden cover for years, and by then there was no point in any continuity.  The next time we see Eddie, he has red bug-eyes and is half-tree.

Iron Maiden would continue to produce fascinating album covers in the future, always featuring Eddie in some way.  Notable artists included Mark Wilkinson, Melvyn Grant, and Hugh Syme.  For most fans, the original run of Derek Riggs covers will remain the pinnacle of Maiden artwork, primarily the period of 1981 to 1988.

Did Riggs have a story that he was telling with his covers?  Probably not; he probably just liked keeping Eddie consistent from cover to cover.  He would probably appreciate the fact that a bunch of Canadian kids in the suburbs had interpreted this entire saga from his artwork.  I think he’d like that a lot.