Record Store Tales #1000: A Tribute

Introduction

1991 was the beginning!  While I was busy furthering my education, the future owner of the Record Store prepared for his grand opening.  The store was in a mall location and had a minimal staff.  It filled a niche in that mall, and managed to survive where other stores did not.  It wasn’t hugely successful, but that was about to change.

In 1994, everything shifted.  The owner brought in a tray of his own CDs to sell used, and they flew off the counter.  “Why not?” he asked himself, and switched to a 50/50 used/new format.  I bought my first used CD from him that July.  It was Kiss My Ass, which was a brand new release.  I paid $12 instead of $19.  Perfect, especially for a CD you didn’t want for every song!  I vowed to shop there loyally.

Later that month, July of 1994, I had the opportunity to keep shopping, but with a discount!  I was hired part-time.  The first used CD I bought as an employee was Rush’s Chronicles.  The sticker price was $20 instead of $34.

In 1995, the owner opened his second location with a novel 90/10 used/new format.  This format took off, and in 1996 he opened the third location.  He asked me to manage it.  I had been waiting for just such an opportunity.  It was the start of a decade long run for me, managing record stores.  I missed saying goodbye to the original location, but relished having my own full-time management position.  What a ride that was, as you have seen and read!

At the end of ’96, the original location finally closed but moved to Cambridge, utilizing the 90/10 format.  It was the end of an era – the era of the original location, which is still fondly remembered by all who worked there.  For Record Store Tales #1000, let’s pay tribute to the original mall location of the Record Store.  Some of the best years and memories of my life.  Very little of this will be new information, for there are only so many stories to tell.  However I hope you find this 1000th chapter interesting and entertaining:  a tribute to the original!


Record Store Tales #1000:  A Tribute

Back when it opened in 1991, it was just nice to have a Record Store at the mall again.  We used to have an A&A Records & Tapes, but they closed in 1990.  There was a period of time where there were no record stores within walking distance, except the Zellers store‘s meagre music section.  Unfortunately the Record Store prices were comparatively high:  $14.99 for a regular priced cassette.  I didn’t know then about things like cost and overhead, but Columbia House was a better option for me.  Still, he managed to keep that store alive.  Some of tapes I purchased there before being hired included Europe’s Prisoners in Paradise, Fight’s War of Worlds, and Mr. Bungle’s self-titled.  That may have been it.  Tapes weren’t cheap.

Then the used CDs came along.  A used disc like Kiss My Ass was cheaper than its cassette counterpart; a no-brainer purchase.  I was very fortunate to get on board the train just as they were taking off with a great idea.  The owner hired me in July of ’94, and T-Rev shortly after in August or September.  The things I saw come in used during my first weeks and months were incredible.  Rare import singles, bootlegs, and lots of out-of-print metal stuff, long before reissues were a “thing”.  I’d frequently have to choose what to buy for myself from paycheque to paycheque.  I’d look up items in our supplier’s catalogue, and buy anything used that was currently deleted.  Stuff like You Can’t Stop Rock ‘N’ Roll by Twisted Sister, or the Brighton Rock albums.

There were a number of CDs we had set aside as store play copies, but only a stack or two.  We could play anything that was in stock used, but if someone bought it, that was that.  Two of the store play albums we played most often in the summer of ’94 were Alice In Chain’s Jar of Flies EP and Stone Temple Pilots’ Purple.  Whenever I hear that Alice In Chains today, I can really feel that whole period again.  Dark, but with a nostalgic glow due to the years.  Once T-Rev and I started working alone, we picked our own music.  If you heard Max Webster blasting from the store, then T-Rev was working.  If you heard Sabbath, it was me.

We had a TV to play MuchMusic, but most often it was on mute while we played CDs in the store.  The boss hated that TV.  I think one of things that bugged him was when a customer asked him, “When did you get that TV?”  It had been there for three years!  I think I may have used it to watch Star Trek once.

I loved closing the store.  You could listen to whatever you wanted.  There was a lot to do though.  Balance the register, do the deposit, take out the trash, vacuum, and file any inventory bags and tags from sold items, so they could be re-ordered.  Each CD we stocked had a copy with a tag or bag on it, with the artist, title, and record company.  These were then filed in a book at the end of the day, and anything put in the book would usually be re-ordered.  That was the nightly routine.  Sometimes I forgot to take out the trash and boy did I get told for it.

T-Rev and I alternated nights.  There were two sets of shifts:  Monday night, Wednesday night, and Friday night.  Or, Tuesday night, Thursday night, and the weekend.  We alternated weeks and it was great.  But we worked alone, and Saturdays could be a grind.

The thing that really slammed us on Saturdays was buying the used CDs.  It was such an important process, because by buying CDs we were controlling our cost of goods.  So it took time and it was all done manually.  Searching physically to see if we had the CD already.  Flip through a book to see if we could find out what it was worth.  Inspect the condition.  Decide on a value.  Keep ’em organized.  It took time, and we had no space.  I remember we had this small counter, with a big cash register, and off to the side were two damaged CD towers that we basically used as an end table to pile more stuff on.

Every Wednesday night was tag check!  We had security tags like most stores, and every Wednesday, we re-taped ones that were coming off.  Speaking of security, let’s not forget Trevor the Security Guard, who got me in shit for killing time talking to me too much.  And the other weirdo security guard who got me into Type O Negative.  Kind of looked like Farva from Super Troopers.

I remember the “regulars”, and lemme tell ya, malls have characters.  There was a licensed restaurant in the same hallway as us, so we had the odd drunk.  It was just something you had to deal with.  If the smell didn’t give it away, the slurred questions did.  There was one lady that was in all the time, buying stuff for her sons.  Or at least, asking “if we had it”.

There was a pizza place and a convenience store, so food was taken care of.  We didn’t have a restroom, which was a good thing, because we didn’t have to worry about customers wanting to use it.  (There was one time a washroom would have come in handy, but only one time.)  Unfortunately there also wasn’t a back room to store things or to eat lunch.  I remember one afternoon, I was eating my slice of pizza on the bench outside the store.  A dad-type guy walked up to me, and said “I can see you’re eating your lunch, and that’s fine, but I’d like to speak with you later about returning a tape.”  I just nodded my head and said “OK”.  Jesus Christ!

T-Rev and I were given a lot of say in what we carried.  We special ordered new stock that we knew the store needed.  Meanwhile, the boss was bringing in bootlegs and Japanese imports.  T-Rev made the signage as mine were deemed too messy.  I often wonder if the owner feels that way about my website as well.  I was not allowed to make any signs!

The best memories of the Record Store were people, like T-Rev, who remains a friend to this day.  It wasn’t long before we were influencing each others’ purchases.  He recommended The Four Horsemen’s second album, Gettin’ Pretty Good…At Barely Gettin’ By.  I got him into buying singles for the rare B-sides.  It was great working with him.  Then one day I walked in and a big bearded guy was behind the counter.  Tom had entered the picture, and a new era was about to begin.  The founder of Sausagefest had arrived and things were about to get heavy!  Shortly thereafter, Tom threatened to sleep in the store one night when his car doors were frozen shut.  I kind of wish that had happened.

Or how about reconnecting with old school friends at the front counter.  Things like that were rewarding, not to mention the sheer cool factor in working at a Record Store in 1994.  It truly was the dream job!  My collection boomed and I had to start looking at new storage options!  And who was there to design my custom CD tower?  T-Rev!

So here is a tribute to the original record store, all the great memories, and the best years of my working life!  Thank you!

 

 

 

 

The Adventures of Tee Bone Man – Chapter Six: Tee Bone Goes to Camp!

“Enough is enough!” shouted the superhero in the cape.

“Alright, alright!” retorted the superhero in the motorcycle helmet.

“I am going on vacation, even if it kills me!” the first hero emphasized.

“Nobody’s stopping you!” returned the man in the black helmet.

“We have literally fought Sasquatch, Satan’s minions — twice, and Brad Marchand from the NHL, without a break!  It’s either Miller time or Tee Bone Man goes crazy time.” said the first hero, as he removed the mask from his face.

“How about Tee Bone Man chills for a minute time!” shouted his partner Superdekes, as his helmet dropped to the dirt.  “You are the one who insists on helping every single Australian, American or southern Ontario stoner we run across!”  Changing his tone of voice, Deke said calmingly, “There are other superheroes.  The weight of the world doesn’t have to be on your shoulders.  Maybe it’s just time for some Tee Bone time?”

A slight pause, and then Tee Bone removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes right where the headache was setting in.  He sighed.  “You’re right.”  Then he added, “This one time, you’re right.  I’m going to Camp for a week.  I won’t even fly there.  I’ll drive.  No superpowers for a whole week.”

“Atta boy!” said Deke as he patted Tee Bone Man on the back.  “I’ll take care of everything.  I have a ton of new gadgets and upgrades I’m working on up at Deke’s Palace.  I’ll mind the fort.”

“Thanks pal,” said Tee Bone to his best friend.  “See you in one week.”

“Seven days,” Deke responded as they fist bumped.

“Don’t let being right for once go to your head,” smartassed Tee Bone with a wink.


“We’re running around, like we’re in a rat race!  Monkey bars, swingin’ stars!  Countin’ the cars, by the monkey bars!”  Tee Bone was singing his lungs out on the highway to Camp.  Windows down, stereo on 11, sunglasses on his face, Tee Bone hadn’t felt so good in months.  The drive was relaxing to him and a short two hours later he had arrived.  “Devil’s Deck”, the actual name of Camp Tee Bone, was given due to its luxurious and expansive decks.  Littered with chairs and umbrellas, the party deck alone could comfortably seat 20.  In fact, the name “Devil’s Deck” was coined by the Devil himself, at an after-party there when Tee Bone and Deke faced off with him over a Gene Simmons box set.

Tee Bone got out of the car with his hockey bag and gazed reminiscing at the big deck.

“That was one wild party,” said Tee Bone shaking his head.  “Turns out Satan can’t hold his liquor.”

The big man stepped up and unlocked the main door.  The smell of wood hit him as he entered.  Always so pungent yet sweet, the smell of wood at Camp.  But something was off.  He wrinkled his nose.  He sniffed the air.

“Squirrel poo.  That God damn squirrel has been in here.  I thought I sealed off all the holes.  Must have missed one last season.”

He put his bag down, flipped on the power, unpacked some liquor and put it in the fridge.  He looked around just to absorb that feeling again, the feeling of being free in your own Camp, with only forest and lake in your line of sight, in every direction.  He went outside to gather wood.

“Squee! Squee! Squee!”  An abrasive sound from the trees.  High above him, the branches moved as something jumped from vantage point to vantage point.

“God damn squirrel,” complained Tee Bone as he grabbed six logs from the wood pile.

“Nice and dry,” said Tee Bone approvingly as he examined the lumber.

“Squee!” came the sound from the trees!  “Aaaackackack!”

This must have been squirrel talk for “Bombs away!” because the very next second, Tee Bone was wiping squirrel shit from his glasses.

“What the…?”  He looked up in fury!  “You little bastard!”

“Squee squee squee ack ack!” responded the squirrel, easily dodging the piece of lumber thrown at him.  In seconds, he had leapt so far away that Tee Bone could no longer see him in the trees.

Inhaling deeply, Tee Bone dropped the wood and closed his eyes.  He inhaled again, smelling the pollen and pine.  “I am not letting that squirrel ruin my week at Camp.  Absolutely no way.  Not happening.”  He then raised his voice and shouted into the forest, “NOT HAPPENING!”

“Not happening…happening…happening…happening…” the forest echoed back as if in mockery.


Tee Bone sat by the campfire in complete relaxation.  Such utter peace.  He took a deep breath, held it a moment, and let it go.  The fire crackled before him, alive and sparking with the sound of dry wood and combustion.  He watched the flames dance before him, forming red, orange and yellow shapes just as quickly as they disappeared.  The sound of the popping wood was like music to his weary soul.

From his stereo nearby came another sound:  that of rock and roll!

“Like a one-eyed jack, stick a knife in your back,” sang Carl Dixon on Coney Hatch’s debut album.  “There’s a devil in her deck!”

Tee Bone swigged his beer and nodded his head to the song.  He sang along.

“Take all you got!  Hell’s so hot!” boomed Tee Bone, with his beer in the air.  He would know, having defeated the minions of Satan at the gates of hell with Superdekes not that long ago.  “Yeah man!” Tee Bone shouted in celebration.  He deserved a little celebration!  He did save the world, after all.  He stood, and mimed a little bit of air guitar to the classic Steve Shelski solo.  “Oooh there’s a devil in her deck!”

At the conclusion of the track, Tee Bone put down his beer, stretched and smiled at the sweetness of camp life.

“Better go get some more wood,” he said to himself.  “And some hot dogs and marshmallows to go with it!”

Tee Bone turned around, took a step, and tripped.  He fell to the ground with a heavy thud.  As he did, he heard a victorious “squeeee!” from the trees.  Getting up and brushing the leaves and grass from his shirt, he saw what caused his fall.  A small pile of twigs and branches that he certainly did not leave there.  Which means….

“Squeee! Ackackack,” came the sound from the trees again, just before another squirrel poop was dropped on Tee Bone’s head.

“That God damned squirrel…” mumbled a fuming Tee Bone to himself as he wiped the crap from his hair.  Anger smouldered inside him, much hotter than the campfire.  The squirrel hurriedly left the scene of the crime with a jump and a leap.  “That little bastard.  He’s targeting me!” shouted Tee Bone at the trees.

The forest turned silent in answer.


The moon was full that night, and Tee Bone slept like he had not been able to sleep back in the city.  The satisfied sleep of the just.  The kind of calm re-energizing that comes only with…

“Squee! Ackackack.”

Tee Bone was startled awake.  It took a minute to remember where he was.  Then, he rubbed that spot in the corner of his eyes where the headache liked to go.

“That God damn squirrel!”

He removed his covers and got out of bed with a start.  He ran down from his bedroom to the first floor of the Camp, and flipped the lights.  Outdoors, night became as day!  The light flooded the property.  He stormed out onto the deck, yelling as a man possessed!

“You!  You little bastard!  You will not ruin my vacation!  You will not!”  He violently shook his finger at the nearest tree.  “I’ve just about had it with you!”

The night was silent, but for the cool wind that rustled the leaves on the Devil’s Deck.

Tee Bone lingered a moment and then, satisfied that he had scared the little rodent off, stepped back inside.

“Squee!” the squirrel teased from a distance.

“Little bastard,” mumbled Tee Bone under his breath as he closed the door.  “I’m gonna lose it I swear.”  The forest whispered quietly behind him.


Morning came.  “Bacon and eggs over an open fire?  Don’t mind if I do!” mumbled Tee Bone as he yawned himself awake.

The big man sat up and removed his nightcap.  Outside the bedroom window:  a symphony of birds, a delight that he let enter his body through all his senses.  He closed his eyes and simply absorbed the music of the outdoors.  He was hungry but food could wait just a few more minutes.  Then he opened his eyes.  The lake was deep blue.  He strode over to the window.  Looked like it was going to be a clear day.  Good day for…

“SQUEE!”  The squirrel suddenly appeared, jumping right at a startled Tee Bone, and landing on the flowerbed beneath the window!

“AHHH!” screamed Tee Bone in shock.  His heart raced 100 beats a minute as he staggered backwards onto the hardwood floor.  “OW!” he yelped at his bruised tailbone.

Satisfied, the squirrel jumped away back into the trees.

Tee Bone felt the rage rise once again in his blood.  He stood with a groan, threw open the windows, and yelled.

“Today, squirrel!  It’s going down today!  You are dead meat, rodent!  Dead meat!”

Closing the windows, Tee Bone ran to his dresser and took out his best camouflaged clothes.

“Told you I’d need these one day,” he whispered to Mrs. Tee Bone as if she was actually in the room with him.  “Today I’m gonna catch a squirrel.”  Then a pause.  “Because I promised Deke I wouldn’t use my powers!” answered Tee Bone impatiently to nobody.  He was losing his grip.

Mentally on the brink, he frantically searched for items around the house.  It was psychological warfare now and Tee Bone was on the losing end.  The squirrel was winning and worse than that, Tee Bone knew it.  He was looking for a specific bag with an item inside that he would require today.  He also needed a hat.  “No, not the Montreal Canadiens hat!” he shouted to no-one.  Instead he selected a plain white baseball hat.  In the downstairs closet, he spotted the bag he sought, with the big “Deke’s Palace” logo on the side.

“I’ve got him this time,” said the rapidly deteriorating Tee Bone, getting more manic as he changed into his camo outfit.  “Shut up!  Shut up!!  No more narration!”


I watch from my hiding spot, crouching uncomfortably in the thorns.  My face is covered in black facepaint, leftovers from last summer’s Kiss costume party.  Remember?  I was Ace, and Deke drew the short straw and had to be Vinnie Vincent.  Note to self:  no more black leather in summer.  But now the party is over and I’m here in the bushes to catch a little bastard rodent.  Next to me, I have a special bag from Deke’s Palace.  One of gadgets that he left here after the party.  A toy, actually, for the kids, but it’ll work for these purposes.  I’ve already programmed the course.  I just need that little prick to take the bait.

There’s movement in the trees, but I can tell from the colours that it’s just birds.   Two blue jays and a cardinal.  No squirrels.  He’s a smart little shit.  He’s been watching me.  Clandestine surveillance.  He knows I’m up to something.  I know he knows.  But here’s the thing.  He may be smart, but I’m crazy.  Crazy like a fox.  He made me this way.  And now he will find out what happens when you mess with a crazy fox!

Now I hear him.  “Squee-ing” in the trees.  A battle cry.  He knows what’s happening here:  winner take all.  Either I win and have my vacation, or he wins and they take me to the funny farm.  There’s no other outcome.

I’ve waited here motionless for so long I’ve lost track of time.  I know the sun has moved.  The bait was in the sun when I dropped it.  Now it’s in the shade.  I just have to hope that that squirrel is a big enough asshole to steal my hat.  There it sits, my hat, the bait.  I dropped where it lay and made it look like an accident, like I didn’t notice it had fallen from my bag.  Wait, I see the branches moving again!  It’s not a bird.  Heavier than a bird.  It must be that God damn squirrel.

There he is; that little rodent just jumped down from the trees!  Oh my God he’s moving towards the hat!  Come on you little…come on…one more step.  That’s right.  Touch it.  Try to take it.  Try!

YES!!! 

The cage came down!  He’s trapped!  Wow he’s really making noise now.  He’s pissed off!  Hah!  How do you like it, you little shit!  OK, got my bag here…grabbing the rocket from the bag.  Deke’s special rocket.  Made it for the kids but far too powerful for regular play.  OK.  Gotta grab the little bastard now and…OH!  OH!  You shit!  You little shit!  Hold still you bastard…HA!  Inside you go.  Got you!  Got you!  Closing the hatch now.  Enjoy your Rocket Ride!  Alright…running to the launch pad now…placing the rocket.  And now…3…2…1…launch!

Hah!  It launched!!  Bye squirrel!  Bye!  I hope you like Australia!


With that, sanity returned to Tee Bone Man and the narrator returned to his job.

The rest of the week was quiet and completely uneventful.  Lots of reading, sleeping, paddling in the lake.  Catching a few fish, Tee Bone was well fed and finally relaxed.  And sunburned.  Falling asleep on the boat one afternoon left him a little red in the face, but it was truly one of the best naps he’d ever had.  He felt great!

At the end of his seven day break, Tee Bone packed his car, and prepared for the long drive home.  He gazed a moment at the Camp, and smiled looking at Devil’s Deck.  Until next time.

On the road home, Tee Bone stopped for a Tim Horton’s coffee and thought it might be nice to talk to Deke.  Let him know (for the last time) that he was right all along and a vacation was the cure.

“Hey buddy,” said Tee into his phone when Deke answered.  “I’m just calling you from a Tim’s on the highway.  Just wanted you to know vacation was great and I’m feeling refreshed.”

“That’s great man.  And I won’t hold it over your head that I was right again, as usual.”  The two friends laughed.  “Did anything interesting happen?”

“Nope,” lied Tee Bone.  “Nothing at all.  Oh, I got a sunburn.”

“Nothing else got burned?” asked Deke.  There was no answer.  “A little rocket fuel maybe?”

“Oh!  Oh!  Right,” fumbled Tee Bone as he raced to come up with a story.  “You must have noticed that on your tracker right?  Right, so you know I shot your rocket to Australia.  Well you remember that Harrison Holden kid right?  He asked me to send him something from Canada so I just, you know, BLAM!  I just rocketed it to him.”

“You sent him something by rocket?  What did you send him?” questioned Superdekes, smelling that the story he was being fed had a fishy scent.

Tee Bone swallowed.  The line was silent a moment.

“A…coin.”

“You sent him a coin by rocket??” asked Deke.

“Yeah, umm, he said he wanted to see a Canadian loonie, so,” answered Tee Bone awkwardly.

“You sent a $1 coin that you could have mailed, to Australia, by rocket, at the cost of $10,000 in fuel plus my rocket that I’m probably not getting back?”  The incredulous Deke was like Judge Judy holding court now.  It was an interrogation.

Another swallow.  “Yes,” answered Tee Bone, now sweating so much that the phone was slipping from his hands.  “Oh, shoot Deke it just started raining here, I’d better get going, talk to you soon, I’ll call you tomorrow, see you pal.”  Tee Bone hung up as quickly as he could hit the button.

He looked up to the clear blue sky and swore, “I shall never tell anyone what really happened at Camp.”


Australia.

The ground was streaked where the rocket had come to its soft landing.  Though the engine was still smoking, the rocket was motionless.  Then, it shuddered.  Again.  Now, it shook with some force until the top panel burst open.

The squirrel leaped out and gazed around his new surroundings.  The sound of Blaze Bayley poured from a distant window, catching his ear.  The squirrel headed East.

#999: Slo-Mo Schnauzers, Stop Motion Autobots, and UFOs? Oh My! (Video)

RECORD STORE TALES #999:
Slo-Mo Schnauzers, Stop Motion Autobots, and UFOs? Oh My!

Nothing really went as planned when the internet went out.  So, we did what we could.  We pretended it was 1989 and had fun in old fashioned ways.  Good thing no LeBrain Train show was planned!  And boy, did we take advantage of the break.  Fortunately music was not an issue, so I warmed up the laptop and dug into the hard drive for some albums that reminded me of the old days.

To a soundtrack of Kiss, Kim Mitchell, Max Webster, Aerosmith, Alice Cooper, Bon Jovi, Def Leppard, Iron Maiden, and many more, I grabbed the comic books and the Yahtzee.  It was too cold to swim (weird for July) so we had to do other things.  Jen worked on her adult colouring books.  I made food.  I also took plenty of video.

The wildlife this weekend was captured for your viewing pleasure.  Plenty of gulls, eating multitudes of beach insects (which were so plentiful you can clearly see them on camera).  We had a brave little chipmunk who seemed to enjoy the sounds of Aerosmith.  I think I’ll name him Joe Perry.  There were two cute doggos (one Schnauzer and one Miscellaneous), which I filmed in slow motion.  The visuals this weekend were unrivalled!  A pretty epic night fire, and sunsets that kill any you have seen yourself.  All captured and carefully edited to a soundtrack of unreleased Max the Axe music, and classic Tee Bone Erickson tunes.  Although the finished video is on the long-ish side, your reward is unreleased Max tuneage (one live, and a preview of a coming remix of “Randy”) and plenty of stunning visuals in HD slow motion.

We talked last time of being bored at the lake as a teenager.  If I had this kind of technology as a kid, I’d never had been bored.  That’s the truth.  There’s always something worth documenting.  The fact that I can have it finished and edited at the end of the weekend is actually pretty mind blowing.

The weirdest thing that happened (besides hearing a coyote calling at 11:30 at night, and then screaming at 5:00 AM), was the UFO.

Now, I’m not saying “aliens” when I say “UFO”.  Let’s be clear on that.  However the object was flying and none of us could identify it.  There were minimum three witnesses each time.  On the first night, the UFO appeared at sunset as a quickly brightening star, which eventually faded or was hidden by clouds.  It didn’t move.  My camera didn’t reveal much, although it looked like a blocky shape.  Our working theory was the International Space Station.

The second time, the object appeared in the same place at the same time, still motionless.  It looked like a flame in the sky, a frozen flame.  That’s the best way I can describe it.  It stayed in the sky until we eventually left the beach about half an hour later.  When I returned later at night, it was too cloudy to be seen.  Two examples below, and you can see more in the full video.

Internet outage aside, the only crappy thing about the weekend was that I did not get to visit Sausagefest as I’d hoped.  The internet outage disrupted Jen’s routines a bit and I elected to stay home and make sure she was OK.  As it stands I’m glad I made that decision, as she needed a little help doing a few things.

Otherwise, it was a delightful weekend of music and doing things differently.  I wish I had written down all the albums we listened to, but with no movies and no TV, music was the obvious dominant force.  A lot of Kiss this weekend, folks.  A lot of Kiss.

The video may be long but it’s worth it.  Slo-mo Schnauzer is your payoff!

 

#998: Yeah…Nah!

Part Thirty-Three of the Def Leppard Review Series

There comes in a time in many, but not all, bands’ lives.  Its a fan moment, not a band moment, but just as important.  It’s the point in time when a fan starts losing interest.  Every fan has their own reasons.  I can chart the trajectory of my own Def Leppard love on a graph.

In grades 10 and 11, when Hysteria was at its peak, Def Leppard were my favourite band.  I cut them some slack for the lack of anything truly new on Adrenalize, given what the band had endured to get there.  Slang was the spiritual successor to Hysteria, returning to musical experimentation and dramatic change.  But it didn’t catch on, so Leppard were forced to contrive a “return to roots” on Euphoria, which failed to resonate with me.  The X debacle with all the boy-band pretensions was a right turnoff.  Only on Sparkle Lounge did the trajectory start to return in the right direction.

But…it was not the same.  A trust had been broken.  The band that I had loved in highschool (when my previous favourite band, Kiss, made some dubious direction choices in the late 80s) had taken some serious detours over the years that left me unsure.  As much as Kiss had let the quality slide themselves, I had a hard time forgiving Def Leppard over X.  And I don’t think that feeling from the before-fore times ever really comes back.

The Taylor Swift thing was like a reminder.  “Def Leppard are going to do things that you don’t like much.”  Nothing against Taylor who has her own style of art.  There is an entire demographic of fans that are not going to listen to a collaboration with Taylor Swift.  Many of them are reading this now.  Meanwhile, there are fans who have delighted to one degree or another in every twist and turn in the Def Leppard discography.  And that’s fine too.  There is no right or wrong.  It’s only fair for you to know where the head of the reviewer is.  This is your disclaimer.

Because of my love for this band, I’ll always give them a fair shot.  I just won’t always care.  And that’s the big difference.  Def Leppard went from a band that I cared deeply about, to one that I was buying music from out of routine instead of passion.  Similarly, with these reviews, they are being written out of diligence and not a place of deep commitment.  It is becoming harder work, so beware!

Thanks to Holen for the inspiration

Previous:  

  1. The Early Years Disc One – On Through the Night 
  2. The Early Years Disc Two – High N’ Dry
  3. The Early Years Disc Three – When The Walls Came Tumbling Down: Live at the New Theater Oxford – 1980
  4. The Early Years Disc Four – Too Many Jitterbugs – EP, singles & unreleased
  5. The Early Years Disc 5 – Raw – Early BBC Recordings 
  6. The Early Years 79-81 (Summary)
  7. Pyromania
  8. Pyromania Live – L.A. Forum, 11 September 1983
  9. Hysteria
  10. Soundtrack From the Video Historia – Record Store Tales
  11. In The Round In Your Face DVD
  12. “Let’s Get Rocked” – The Wait for Adrenalize – Record Store Tales
  13. Adrenalize
  14. Live at the Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert
  15. Retro-Active
  16. Visualize
  17. Vault: Def Leppard’s Greatest Hits / Limited Edition Live CD
  18. Video Archive
  19. “Slang” CD single
  20. Slang
  21. I Got A Bad Feeling About This: Euphoria – Record Store Tales
  22. Euphoria
  23. Rarities 2
  24. Rarities 3
  25. Rarities 4
  26. Cybernauts – Live
  27. Cybernauts – The Further Adventures of the Cybernauts (bonus disc)
  28. X
  29. Best Of (UK)
  30. Rock Of Ages: The Definitive Collection
  31. Yeah!
  32. Yeah! Bonus CD With Backstage Interviews

Next:

34. Songs From the Sparkle Lounge

#997: De-Programming

RECORD STORE TALES #997:  De-Programming

 

On July 8, there was a massive nation-wide service outage in Canada.  No cable, no cellular, no internet.  As stinky as this situation was, it did create a time machine of sorts.  Jen and I were already celebrating the summer of ’89 with albums such as Pump and Dr. Feelgood.  The internet outage really took us back to 1989 (and earlier) in a specific way.

I’ve written in glowing terms about childhood and cottage life.  Rose coloured glasses, my friends.  Rose coloured classes.  For this service outage reminded us of the before-fore times when we had two channels on TV and nothing else.

So here I am, writing this in the middle of the outage, into a word document.  These are the fresh thoughts as they happen.

Thought the first:  Boy, am I ever glad I have my music collection meticulously backed up on hard drives.  Otherwise, I’d have no music.  To continue the summer of ’89 feel, we listened to the “Fire Woman” EP by The Cult.  Then, Dirty Rotten Filthy Stinking Rich by Warrant.

Second thought:  I remember I had something of a catchphrase at the cottage back then.  “I’m boooooored.”

Indeed, it is all coming back to me now!  I was bored a lot up here.  I had my music (on cassette) and some books with me at all times, but that wasn’t enough to stave off the boredom of a pimply teenager with hockey hair.

I think it’s worse today because we’ve been conditioned to be able to look stuff up on demand.  As I listened to The Cult, I wanted to read the lyrics.  I wanted to look up the production personnel.  I’m conditioned to be able to do that.  I’m constantly distracted by wanting to look stuff up.

Additionally, I am always used to a steady stream of messages through the day, be they emails or comments.  I’m trained to look at my phone every so often to glance at notifications.  That reflex is there even now.  I’m trying to de-program myself today.

The summer of 1989 was the year that I declared Warrant to be my favourite new band.  So let’s go where the “Down Boys” go, and figure out what was so boring about this place to the teenager with nothing to do.

The most exciting thing to do for me back then was to go to town.  Then I’d have the opportunity to buy a new rock magazine or perhaps a tape at the Radio Shack or Stedman’s stores.  Some candy too if we were lucky.  But a teenager needed a family to take him to town, and they didn’t always want to go to town.  And if they did, it was on their terms, which meant a lot of waiting around as they tried on shoes or looked at knick-knacks.

I’m boooooored.

We usually split into groups.  The ladies (my aunt, mom and sister) would go to the knick-knack stores.  My dad and I would go to Radio Shack, Stedman’s and Leisure World.  And then we’d sit around waiting for the others.

I’m boooooored.

We’d play games, but you’d have to wait for everybody to be ready.  Mom had to make her coffee.  Sister had to dry her hair.

I’m boooooooored!

I enjoyed helping my dad cook dinner.  Always a cottage highlight for me.  I’d season the steaks, make the fire, and let my dad take it from there.  We made a lot of good steaks over cedar fires in 1989.

I enjoyed when my friend Bob, who had a license and a car (Pontiac Fiero), would drive up for a visit.  His family had a trailer about 30 minutes south.  His trailer park even had girls!  There were never any girls to meet at the cottage.  The isolation here was a lot to deal with for a teenager.  No MuchMusic, no VCR, no music videos at all.

Just now, I wanted to Google how far away his trailer park was, to get the details right.  No internet.  Must de-program.

It’s not like I was meeting any girls at home, but at least I could go to the mall and run into school friends.  At the cottage I couldn’t even call them.  Today I have Jen with me, and my sister is right next door, so the isolation isn’t really an issue.  While I wish I could message Harrison or Meat with my latest thoughts, they’ll just have to wait.  And if I can’t remember the thoughts to message them, then they couldn’t have been all that important.  De-programming!

Compared to yesteryear, I have more freedom.  Here I am on the front porch, rocking to Warrant and nobody’s telling me to go to my room or turn it down.  If I want to go make a fire, nobody will tell me not to.   I don’t have to wait for anyone else if I feel like swimming.  If I want to barbecue a steak for lunch, good on me.

One thing that never bored me:  a cottage project like putting on a new deck.  It was always a communal effort with all of us contributing to cutting and nailing wood.  Maybe I’d even be allowed to bring my ghetto blaster outside to listen to music (at a reasonable volume).

Sometimes we’d play baseball (not easy with all the trees in the way), badminton, frisbee, darts.  Pellet guns were always stocked with ammo and tin cans were kept for target practice.  It’s not that there was nothing to do.  It’s that I didn’t always want to do that stuff because I’d rather be bored.

Sometimes we’d be so bored we’d count the seams in the ceiling planks.

This deprogramming stuff is hard.  We’ve been heavily conditioned to be connected.  I’ve written all I have to say at the moment, so I’m going to pick some more tunes to play, and go make a fire.  Fascinating weekend, this will be.

 

REVIEW: Cry of Love – “Bad Thing” (1993 CD single)

CRY OF LOVE – “Bad Thing” (1993 Columbia CD single)

“Just a new song, that I gotta sing…”

Cry of Love were awesome.  Most frequently they were compared to the Black Crowes, but perhaps like many bands who live in the shadow, they might actually have been better.  On a technical level, they had a better singer and a stellar lead guitarist.  The original lineup with Kelly Holland (R.I.P.) was something truly special so you may as well try to get all the tunes you can.  To do that, you’ll need some CD singles.  “Bad Thing” was a single in 1993, featuring four tracks – one remix and three live.

Leading the single is “Bad Thing” in the form of a “New Mix”.  It is admittedly hard to tell specific differences without doing an A/B test, but it is ever so slightly new.  One thing for sure:  “Bad Thing” is a wicked cool groove, with a thumping bassline and incredible guitar work from Audley Freed.  The man has such a tube-y sound!  There’s really nothing better than a Cry of Love groove with Audley and Kelly wailing!

The three live versions are pretty clean sounding.  Live in the studio?  Probably.  Their big hit “Peace Pipe” is way, way groovy.  The way that bass rolls just makes your guts rumble.

Tearing the temple down!
Burn down the sacred ground!
Tear the temple down!
In the name of God somehow.
Burn down the sacred ground!

Sing it Kelly!  What a chorus.  The powerhouse blues rocker made short work of it, drilling the song fully into your noggin.  While your grey matter focuses on that melody, your intestines are shaken by the groove.  Then Audley takes a solo and bam!  Instant classic.  The live version is very authentic to the studio original.

The Willie Dixon cover “I Ain’t Superstitious” takes the blues and cranks it right up.  You’d be forgiven if you thought this was a lost Crowes tune, but Cry of Love rock it just a little bit harder.  This one is a party so bring your dancing shoes.  It boils and bubbles through a jamming middle section and finishes with a bangin’ flourish.

The 7:10 “Bad Thing” opens with a two minute slow blues jam.  Audley’s wiry guitar tone here is different and cool.  Then the drums and bass kick in and we’re groovin’!  Killer version of a song that was already killer.

If you haven’t checked out Cry of Love yet, then what are you waiting for?  You’ve had 30 years!

4.5/5 stars

 

#996: “These are really big in Europe”

RECORD STORE TALES #996: “These are really big in Europe”

Summer 2003

I was working for a stretch at our newly opened Mississauga location.  It was deader than dead, but many of the managers had to take turns running the ship until we had a trained staff.  There were always staffing problems like people not showing up for their first shifts, and I don’t think the manager lasted a long time either.  Kind of a nightmare, as many store openings were back them.  This store sat in the middle of a medical strip plaza.  Dentists, pharmacies, that sort of thing.  Across the street was a vacant field.

I think there was a barbershop or something in the plaza, or hair dresser if you will.  This one Mississauga kid came in to check us out.  He was related to someone who worked at the hair dresser.  He was into dance music and had lots of questions.

“Do you buy CDs?  My cousin is a DJ and he has a lot.”

“Yes we do, get him to bring them in and I will go through them and see what we can use.”

“He has really cool dance music.”

“Right on, yeah, bring it in and I’ll have a look.”

“How many can you take?”

“Well I’ll have to have a look first, but you can bring in as many as you want and I’ll sort through them and let you know.”

“How much can he get for them?  He has really great dance music that’s hard to find, he bought them on import from Europe.  These are all artists that are really big in Europe.”

Egads.  That was never something I wanted to hear.  Dance music that was “big in Europe” usually sat for months on our shelves because, well, Canada is not in Europe.  I went through the spiel.

“Well we offer between $1 and $7 cash each for CDs, and 20% more for credit.  It’ll depend on what kind of shape they’re in, what they retail for, and if we have any in stock already.  So bring them in and I’ll have a look.”

“So, like $5 each then?”

The kid did indeed have a lot of questions.  Eventually he was all questioned out, and returned a few hours later with a big box of CDs.  As promised, mostly dance music from Europe with a couple American and Canadian titles sprinkled in there.

“OK, give me an hour or so and I’ll have these all priced out for you.”

“Can you give me an idea?”

Jesus.  “No, I haven’t even started looking at them yet.  If you want to go and grab a coffee, I’ll need about an hour to sort through these.”

There was absolutely nowhere to grab a coffee nearby, I just needed him our of my hair.

I sorted through the discs, and most of them were in pretty bad shape.  Scratched, with some damaged booklets.  We always offered less for scratched discs because we had to pay a third party company to buff the scratches out.  We had already nickle-and-dimed the third party CD fixers to death, but we generally deducted $2 from the offer for discs that were scratched.  Plus a lot of these were older titles, and that meant the fad was often over on them.  So the kid wasn’t going to be getting full value.  I was sure that would be easy to explain to him…not.

I had no idea who many of these artists were.  Mississauga was definitely more into dance music than the more…eh…white trash of Kitchener-Waterloo.  But this was not a busy store, and we really had no idea what was going to sell or sit for years.  I looked the artists up, disc by disc, and passed on the majority simply because I could not find out a single thing about them.  The thing about buying discs like that was that I was always second-guessing myself.  The last thing I wanted was to get in shit for buying shit!  I played it on the safe side and decided to take a small token number.

I called the kid over and went through his discs stack by stack.  “The ones back in the box I can’t take — they are just too damaged, too obscure, or both.”

“But this guy here is really big in Europe right now.”

I had to be blunt.  “Yeah, I know, but this isn’t Europe and I have a really hard time selling stuff like this.”

“Lots of people are looking for these man.”

“I’m sorry but I just can’t give you anything for those.  I just can’t find out anything about them and sometimes obscure dance music can sit for years.  A lot of these are from the 90s.”

The kid was clearly disappointed but I went on.

“These ones here are a bit scratched but I can fix them up.  These here are worth $3 each and these are worth $2 each.”

“$2 what?  My cousin paid $40 for that one at HMV.”

He could very well have been right…back in 1997.  I had no way of knowing what its present value was.  I kept going.

“These ones are in great shape,” I said trying to butter him up.  “I can give you $5 for this one, $4 for this one, and $2 each for these because I have a couple copies already and could only buy these for our bargain bin.  All together, I can give you $47 cash or $55 credit.”

“$55 that’s it?”

“$55 credit,” I corrected.  “Or $47 cash.”

“What’s credit?” the kid asked.

“That’s if you wanted to buy something in the store, I’ll give you $55 to spend here.  Or you can have $47 cash.”

“That’s all I can get for these?  If you take them all you can have the whole box for $150.”

Blunt time again.  “Man, I can’t even stock them all, some of them are in un-sellable condition.”  But not too blunt.  I couldn’t just say, “Kid, these are all crap.”

“But they all play fine, my cousin’s a DJ.”

Of course he is.  That’s how they got so banged up.

“It’s not about how they play, it’s also about how they look.  We want to sell our customers CDs that look and sound new.”

“So all of these CDs behind you are brand new?” the kid continued to interrogate.

“No, they’re used, but if everybody’s been doing their job right, they’re all in mint or near perfect condition.”  I paused a moment and threw him a bone.  “Listen I’ll round it up to an even $50 cash but that’s really the best I can do for these.”

The kid took back every disc except for the one I had offered $5 on.  He sold that title to me, and walked with the rest.

And that’s how you spend over an hour working for a measly $5 of inventory!

 

 

$5 Polymer Note - Bank of Canada

 

 

 

 

 

 

MOVIE REVIEW: Hobo With a Shotgun (2011)

HOBO WITH A SHOTGUN (2011 Alliance)

Directed by Jason Eisener

If you liked Grindhouse (you know, Planet Terror + Death Proof and assorted trailers) or Machete, then this Canadian-born movie, Hobo With A Shotgun, should also be on your radar.  The original Hobo With a Shotgun trailer, pre-Rutger Hauer’s involvement, originally screened with Grindhouse in Canada.

If you happen to notice a few of your friends from the Trailer Park Boys (Ricky AKA Robb Wells, as well as Sam Tarasco and others) that’s because it was filmed in Nova Scotia. And if you’re wondering why co-star Molly Dunsworth looks so familiar, there’s a good reason. She is the daughter of John Dunsworth (Jim Lahey) and sister of Sarah E. Dunsworth (Sarah). There’s lots of Trailer Park lineage in this movie.

However, that is where the comparisons end. When the Hobo (with no name!) shows up in Hope Town (renamed Scum Town) he immediately notices something amiss: Gangs and prostitutes running wild. Then he bears witness to Logan’s (Robb Wells) brutal death by the hands of his own brother and nephews (by decapitation no less) and realizes that this town truly is scum town.

What follows is a bloody cartoon-violent spectacle that really has no socially redeeming value, other than evil is evil and must be punished. The town is run by The Drake and his two nephews, Slick and Ivan, who make rape and murder a part of daily life. Torching a school bus full of kids just to keep the town in line is nothing to these guys. Although a certain hobo might have something to say about it….

This hobo doesn’t want to be a part of the violence. All he wants is $50 to buy a lawnmower and start his own business. After earning the $50 (in a exploitive Bum Fights style video) he has a change of heart, thanks to prostitute Abby (Dunsworth). A shotgun is also $50, and he’s just the right man to clean up this town.

You will see intestines, blood, gore, and plenty of sharp objects. This hobo takes no prisoners — but neither do his foes! Can the hobo clean up this town? He will be up against his match when The Plague (a mysterious supernatural armored duo) show up to do him in….

Not a particularly good film, but one that will find an audience with those who know how to appreciate it.  The acting in Hobo With A Shotgun is amateur and over the top, but Rutger Hauer keeps it grizzled and serious, turning in ironically one of his better performances.  If there ever was a grizzled action star ready for a comeback, it was actually Rutger Hauer all along.

Hobo With A Shotgun on DVD is loaded (pun intended) with extras including two audio commentaries and an alternate ending that might be superior to the real one. You also get the original trailer (with Mike Jackson also of Trailer Park Boys) that started it all.  A pretty easy purchase to complete your Grindhouse collection.

 

3/5 stars

#995: Terminology

RECORD STORE TALES #995: Terminology

All of us music-heads do it:  we like to celebrate the anniversaries of our favourite (and occasionally not-so-favourite) albums!  But how do you like to say it?  That’s up to you.  Is there a right and wrong way to do it?

I’ll tell you one thing you’ll never hear me say:  “This album dropped on this day…”

I do not use the word “dropped” to refer to an album release.  I know that’s what the kids say today.  That’s precisely why I won’t say it.

A lot people say “Celebrate the anniversary of this album’s release today…” which is perfectly fine.  No issue.  Lots of big words that my fat thumbs have trouble typing on my phone though.

So I choose something simple and easy for my fingers to mash out on my phone while I’m eating my Cheerios.  I choose to say “Happy birthday to this album!”

I don’t write long album birthday posts.  Instead I simply paste the link to my review (when applicable) and post “Happy birthday!”  I figure the review has most of the info if anybody cares enough to click it.

Two people have questioned my use of the word “birthday” in this context:  rock journalist Mitch Lafon, and one loyal LeBrain Train viewer who you might be able to guess.  I get it, I really do.  Wishing “happy birthday” to an album?  Is an album “born”?

According to Merriam Webster dictionary, the word “birth” can also mean “to give rise to”.  Even so, I like to have fun with words and use them in ways not always intended.  I’m also not the only person to wish a “happy birthday” to an inanimate object.

Look, it’s real simple.  I won’t say “dropped”, and I don’t like the word “anniversary” (or typing it with my thumbs).  I’ve chosen “happy birthday” for my album anniversary celebrations, and I think most people understand “Oh, he means it must have been released on this day.”  I find a lot of arguments in the music community comes down to what I consider semantics.  You’ll see all kinds of debates on what “metal” really is, or what qualifies members of a band as “original”.  We care about these things because we’re music fans.

Admittedly, for me to type “Happy birthday!” on social media for an album, instead of a proper sentence about its release, is an act of laziness.  But social media itself is an embodiment of laziness so I won’t apologize for that.

How do you post about an album’s anniversary?  Are albums “born”?  Does anyone actually care about English anymore?  Let us know in the comments.