RECORD STORE TALES #965: The Collector’s Disease
There’s no question I have the disease of a collector. It’s undisputed and quite obvious. I like to have not just one of a thing, but many. I couldn’t just start with one Kiss album, I had to get more. The goal was to get them all. Having one GI Joe figure wasn’t enough. You had to have as many as you could afford. It’s marketing genius that this common psychological flaw was exploited guilt-free for so long. Where did it start with me?
Perhaps my collector’s nerve was first tickled by Lego. The more you get, the better stuff you can make. Every year, new pieces were introduced. In 1978 they launched the “Space” theme of Lego. Prior to that came the new “Technic” pieces. Right as I was hitting the perfect age for creating things made of Lego, they upped their game in a way that completely meshed. I remember getting quite a few Space sets and several Technic too, including one where you build an 8-cylinder engine. All you needed were more pieces to fully realize your creative visions.
At the same time, Star Wars had hit theatres and we were starting to collect the action figures. This planted a seed. Cleverly, Kenner included pictures on the back of every figure package: Each Star Wars figure, numbered in a checklist style. This was cribbed from trading cards, like Topps — another Star Wars merchandising brand we tried to collect. Something about a checklist is an itch that begs to be scratched by certain personality types. Hasbro recycled the checklist gimmick with their in-pack Transformers catalogues in 1984.
As I’m happy to recount the tale, I discovered Kiss in 1985. Their new album Asylum was out. The next door neighbour George had a bunch of rock magazines, and one of them (perhaps Faces) had a big full page Kiss ad. The famed “Accept No Imitations” Asylum ad. Simple branding, like Coke or Pepsi. The “real thing”. They were really promoting the new Kiss in North America as the 20th in a series of records, including the four solo albums, two live albums, and Double Platinum. Laid out in two rows at the bottom, checklist style, were all 19 of the previous album covers, including their release dates.
Like bells going off in my head, the collector’s itch needed to be scratched.
Gene Simmons is a lifelong comics reader, and he knew as well as anyone that Marvel had a monthly checklist near the back of each book. He would have had many trading cards in his youth and was surely familiar with the concept of a checklist. Whether that’s a connection or not, that Kiss ad really set off the fireworks in my brain. I stared at it, studying each individual album cover, and the frequency of release.
I’ve detailed, many times, my process in first recording all the Kiss records from George or Bob. The desire to have a complete set, buying as many as I could find while recording the rest. The need to include the “forgotten” Kiss Killers album in the count. I displayed all my tapes, either recorded or originals, in order by release date, just like the ad I had seen, except my taped collection numbered 22, including Killers and Animalize Live Uncensored. Eventually in highschool (1987 precisely) I discarded the recorded copies and acquired a complete set on tape. In the Record Store years, the process would repeat on remastered CD.
While all of the above is the truth, and nothing but the truth, it is not the whole truth. Kiss were not the first rock band I sought to “collect”.
Before I had that Kiss epiphany with the checklist, I can remember having a specific earlier conversation. It would have been Easter of ’85, several months before the September release of Kiss Asylum. My mom asked me what I wanted for Easter, and I told her “the new Quiet Riot” because “I want to have all their albums.” I thought they only had two, and it would be an easy collection to complete. But there it was: the desire to have “all” of something.
Strange how the concept of collecting only latched onto me in some ways. Atari games looked pretty on display in their coloured boxes, but we had no desire to get all the games. Just the “good” ones. Even with comic books. I would buy issues of current books off the newstands, but did not go back to buy older issues, because they could get insanely expensive, and numbered in the hundreds. Since comics always referred back to previous and concurrent issues, they really made you want to buy them all to get all the backstory. But I didn’t — couldn’t. This is exactly why Bob preferred only to buy limited series, like movie adaptations. I guess my collector’s desires only extended as far as I could reach, in a monetary sense.
Today, musical artists exploit this common need to collect at lengths never before seen. We’re still out there, trying to make it through an adult world, but now we have disposable income. It used to be you’d want all the albums, and if you discovered single B-sides, you wanted those too. Then it became the bonus tracks, the deluxe editions, the super deluxe editions, and all the different colours of vinyl you get for just about every release these days! That’s how they get us. Next thing you know, you just dropped a grand or two on a Gene Simmons Vault, or $800 on a Judas Priest box set.
And we go along with it, time and time again. Once the itch has been scratched, and the soothing radiation of a complete collection rolls over you like waves…the itch inevitably returns.
And so it ends? It never ends.