kiss

#1182: The Legendarium of George

RECORD STORE TALES #1182:  The Legendarium of George

Every neighborhood has a legend.  While in my own mind, I’d like to think that Bob Schipper and I were the legends, we were far too normal.  Oh sure, we were quirky, but we were not unique enough to be legends.   In our neighborhood, there was only one kid that was an absolute legend, and of his own making.  He was the obligatory “older kid” that had all the records, all the pornography, and reigned as the ultimate outcast.  That neighbor was George.

We lived in a relatively new subdivision.  When my parents bought their house, it was practically new.  Only one family owned it before.  Next door to us, George’s family had been there the longest.  Though he would only have been four years old, George always said he could remember when I was the new baby next door.

George was a dick from when he was just a kid.  He was also the ultimate neighborhood geek.  He had the big glasses.  He had the center-part.  But he was an enigma.  Even though he was most definitely a geek, he was also a braggart.  This probably came from his age, being the oldest kid on our street.  He was also one of the first kids to acquire a record collection, which meant there was often a reason to have to spend time with him, besides the times he’d just invite himself over.

His family was what you’d call dysfunctional today.  He never really had a chance, but George couldn’t be trusted.  While he could be sweet, he started young as a bad apple.

In one of my earliest memories, I was in my basement playing with Lego.  I built a colourful airplane.  I brought it outside to show George, and his two friends Todd and Sean.  “Make it bigger!” they egged me on.  I raced back inside and added another layer of bricks and brought it back out to show them.  “Bigger!  Make it even bigger!”  Eager for approval, I ran back inside and added another layer of multicolour bricks.  I leaped up the stairs and out the back door to show them again.  “Add more!  Keep adding!” they advised, and so I went back inside and added more bricks.  This went on approximately five times total.  The final time, I showed them my massive and impractical airplane, and George smashed it.  Laughing, they stole my bricks as I ran inside in tears.

Indeed, George soon earned a reputation as a thief.  In grade school, he was caught stealing Play-doh.  It became a well-known neighbourhood fact.  “George is a stealer!” said Michelle across the street.  It was like this black mark upon his house.  After he was caught, we didn’t see him around for a while.  He laid low.

Eventually the status quo returned, and George resumed joining the rest of the kids on the street in various activities.

We had a school with a baseball diamond and a tennis court nearby.  Two baseball diamonds in fact.  One summer afternoon, we were playing catch, but not on the diamond.  We were just playing in the schoolyard.  Someone threw George the ball; he ducked, and it went through the school window.

“Oooh George that’s your fault!”

“No it isn’t, you threw it too hard!”

“You should have caught it!”

We were all eager to throw George under the bus for that one.  We all felt he had it coming.

George would always bring two cans of pop with him when we went to the baseball diamond.  If you were thirsty, though, you didn’t bother asking George for a sip.

“These are mine for my diabetes,” he would always answer.

One of our weekend activities was playing “Pop 500” on the baseball diamond.  I don’t remember the rules, but the idea was to hit the ball as far as you could.  There was a regular group of us that played.  They included Bob Schipper, his brother John, George and his friends Todd Meyer and Scott Peddle.  It was well established that Bob was the best athlete in that group.  That wasn’t in dispute.  He was the biggest, strongest and fastest.  But George had his own ideas on how we ranked.

“Bob is the best at Pop 500,” he told me one afternoon.  “Then me, John, Todd, and you and Scott are in last place.”

He sure did think a lot of himself.  It seemed like he always had to be the best (or second best) at something.

Back to the Lego, when we were younger, George discovered this cartoon called Force Five.  It was a North American version of a few Japanese anime series.  Bob and I had never seen it or heard of it, but George was raving about this cartoon.  He built a Lego robot based on the show, but it was really shitty.  The arms and legs were just skinny little twigs that didn’t move, and it had a gun where its…well, where its dick would be.  Bob and I critiqued it fairly, but negatively.  However, we did take inspiration from George, and built our own robots.

We re-convened on my back porch with our robots.  Ours were cooler, had some movement and most importantly, didn’t have a gun for a penis.  (Oh, don’t worry, we’ll be talking about a different kind of “Love Gun” soon enough.)

George’s critique back at us was also in the negative, but for unexpected reasons.

“You see, yours are based on the idea of ‘robot’.  Mine is based on Force Five.”

Always had to be the best at something, to the point of basing the contest upon a show that neither Bob or I had heard of.  Sometimes it was hard to like George.

He was not the giving type, though he was always happy to show his younger neighbours his Playboy magazines.  I can distinctly remember one afternoon, we were out on the sidewalk, burning stuff with a magnifying glass.  I had an awesome plastic magnifying glass that could really burn.  For George though, burning holes in leaves and newspapers wasn’t entertaining enough.  He brought out a Playboy and encouraged us to burn the nipples.  That might have been the first pair of boobs I ever saw.

His young obsession with pornography put my parents on alert.  I think they considered George the neighbourhood pervert.  Indeed, he was the one who would introduce, shall we say, new terminology to our vocabularies.  He was the first one who had porno videos.  He would often talk about girls and sex, and at my age, I would have rather talked about Star Wars or comic books.

Because George was older, he was often first on board with many fads.  He had a Commodore computer early on, as well as a great collection of Transformers and GI Joes, including their accompanying comic books.  He had his own VCR, and he would borrow a second one from Todd to record porn videos.  And, he had a pretty killer record collection early on.  His favourite band was Kiss, and there is no question that without George, Kiss would not have been my favourite band.  When I discovered music, I spent a lot of time learning about Kiss, and other bands, from George.  He would bring his VCR over, and let me tape his music videos.

George’s big weakness was money.  He was stupid with money.  He would come into some money, and go to the comic store and buy a whole bunch of comics.  Then, six months later, he would get into something new, and sell off all his old stuff dirt cheap to fund his new obsession.  And so, he sold to me the first 24 or so issues of GI Joe: A Real American Hero for something like 50 cents each (except the early issues, which were a couple bucks).  This included the super rare first printing of issue 2, which I still have.  Unlike George, I kept every single thing I bought from him.  I still have everything.  This included G1 Optimus Prime, and a ton of early GI Joe figures and vehicles.  I have the GI Joe “MANTA” sailboard, which was mail-order only.  These things are priceless today.  He sold them to us for a few bucks.  Every time we came into some money, from allowance or chores, we could go over to his basement and buy a GI Joe toy.  This went on for a few weeks until he eventually sold everything, to buy records.  Because records were his new big thing.  Until CDs.  But let’s not jump ahead.

When George got into music, Kiss were his favourite band followed by Iron Maiden.  He quickly became a know-it-all.  He would play a tape, and try to stump us.  “Who’s this playing?” he asked.  We’d never heard the song before.  “I don’t know, Black Sabbath?”  He’d smirk and go, “NO, it’s Uriah Heep!”  This went on and on, to an annoying degree.  Bob and I decided to get our revenge and stump him instead.  Bob had recently acquired a cassette called Masters of Metal Vol. 2.  This compilation included a cool song called “Balls to the Wall” by a band called Accept.  “Who does this sound like to you?” asked Bob of me when he got it.  “It sounds like AC/DC to me,” I answered, considering the similarity between Brian Johnson’s grit, and Udo’s.

A plan was hatched.  We were going to put George in his place.

And so, in my back yard, gathered around a boom box, Bob challenged George to “name that band.”  Masters of Metal Vol. 2 was cued up to track five on side one:  “Balls to the Wall”.

George was quiet for the first minute of the track.

Then, “Watch the damned!” screamed Udo Dirkschneider from the speakers of that boom box.

Immediately George answered, “AC/DC”.

“No!  It’s Accept!”  exclaimed Bob in victory.

“Sign of victorrrrryyyy!” sang Udo behind us.

Bob and I stood up and high-fived in our own sign of victory.  George immediately tried to justify his mistake, by saying my stereo wasn’t very good quality, and that was the reason he got it wrong.  He certainly knew AC/DC when he heard it, he claimed, but my boom box was too cheap and crappy to tell the difference between AC/DC and Accept.

Sure…

Though George was seriously into music, as were Bob and I, there was one guy on the street that was miles ahead because he was in a band.  Rob Szabo is talented singer/songwriter today, but I remember when his favourite bands were Motley Crue and Stryper.  Rob had started playing with Peter Coulliard down the street.  He had even written and recorded two songs.  The second one was called “The Stroll”, and I can still hum it today.  George desperately wanted to be in that band.  He wanted to be cool.  He wanted to play in front of girls.  And Rob’s band needed a bassist.  George would hang out with Rob, watching him play, and Rob was kind enough to show him a few things on guitar.

George sold more of his stuff, and saved some money.  Soon, he had enough to buy a brand new bass.  He decided to surprise Rob one day by showing him.

“Look what I have!” he grinned.  “Now I’m your bassist!”  Only, George couldn’t play.  Rob was horrified.  He didn’t want this.  He was serious about music.  He also felt terribly guilty, because George bought the bass specifically because Rob needed a bass player!  For two weeks, George was technically “in the band”.   Rob made a copy of his two-song tape for George.  I was there when George played that tape for the girl he liked.  We were outside on the sidewalk, and George had his ghetto blaster in hand.  He played the first tune.

“That’s us!” he said.  “That’s my band.”  He wasn’t on the recording at all.

Like a kid who didn’t know how to break up with his girlfriend, Rob took a while to tell George he was “out” of the band.  He was crushed, but to his credit, he didn’t give up.

George kept practising.  Gene Simmons was his favourite bassist, followed by Steve Harris.  George would often bring his bass and amp outside to play, so he could be seen and heard by the neighbours.  Desperate to look cool, George brought his bass over to my house and plugged in on the back porch.  Then, he’d be back to “Guess this song” again, trying to stump us.  “Guess this song from the bassline!”

Durm durm durm durm.  Durm durm durm durm.

“Uhh, I dunno, ‘Shout It Out Loud’?”

“No, it’s ‘Love Gun!’”

Bob and I hated that game.  We may have schooled him on Accept, but he was relentless with the basslines.

Most of them were Kiss anyway.  He had a growing Kiss collection.  He would frequently come home from Sam the Record Man with new Kiss albums.   There was a point when he only needed two:  Hotter Than Hell, and The Elder.  There are good stories about each, but the main thing is that I actually got Hotter Than Hell before he did.  I had acquired it and Kiss Alive!, my first two Kiss albums, in a trade with Ian Johnson.  I gave him my sister’s Atari 2600 cartridge of Superman and got the two Kiss albums in return.  She was angry with me, but today accepts the importance of that trade to me.  I still have that copy of Kiss Alive!  As for Hotter Than Hell, I immediately phoned George and leveraged it in another trade, for a Walksman, a Black Sabbath cassette of Paranoid, an Abbot & Costello record of Who’s On First, and some Iron Maiden 12″ singles.  I definitely came out the winner.  That copy of Hotter Than Hell was brutally scratched.  But, I was now well on my way to having a rock music collection.

I taped most of my Kiss off George as I began my collection.  The annoying thing there wasn’t so much that I had to hang out with George to tape his records.  The annoying thing was that he would sit there and play bass as we were taping.  So, I had to politely compliment his playing, as he played along to the records I was taping.  The bass would bleed through, and therefore my dubbed cassette of Kiss Unmasked had his bass all over it!  I wasn’t able to get a proper copy of Unmasked for about two years, so for a long time, all I had was the cassette with George’s damn bass on it!  I can still hear it in my head, especially on “Naked City”.

George finished highschool, but I was just beginning.  In grade nine, I saw my first Battle of the Bands.  Rob Szabo was playing the regionals, and it was a big deal.  The grand prize was recording time at an actual studio.   I sat with Bob Schipper and Scott Peddle.  We were there to support Rob Szabo’s band, Over 550, but also to heckle George.  He had joined a band called Zephyr.

George was really rocking out.  He leaned way, way back as he played his bass.

“Don’t fall over George!” I yelled.

“You suck George!” shouted Bob Schipper.  Scott had his own comments that he yelled at the stage.  We thought we were absolutely hilarious.  It was our revenge for all the stupid bass he made us listen to in the back yard.

George eventually got a job at Long John Silver, a nearby seafood restaurant.  He was memorably disciplined for “finding a faster way to cook the fish,” but that was his main gig.  He would leave early in the morning, walking down the street alone.  He was notorious for singing on his way to work, with a Walkman and earphones.  George was not a good singer.  Not in the least.  My sister and I took to watching him from the front window when we saw him leaving for work.  We’d laugh in hysterics at his horrendous, off-key caterwauling.

The best example of this had to be one time we heard him singing Kiss.

He started his walk silently.  He was already halfway down the street when he raised his fist in the air and shouted “Alright! Love Gun!”  Then he proceeded with the off-key chorus.  “Love guuuuuuun…looove guuuuuuuuuuun!” he bellowed.  Somewhere in the distance, a dog answered his howl.

It was absolutely hilarious.  If there was such a thing as cell phone cameras back then, you can be guaranteed that I would have recorded it.  It was a moment, for sure!

When he was old enough to get into bars, he acquired his very own beer belly, which he showed off with his short T-shirts.  He got a perm.  With his big glasses, it looked even more hilarious than it would have on its own.  He wore studded wristbands and assorted metal jewelry.  He looked like an actual parody.  He used to show off this one photo of him with a bunch of strippers at a strip club, as if it were a trophy.

He was always talking dirty.

“Hey guys.  Wanna hear something cool?  I was getting out of the shower the other day, and I had a boner.  I hung a towel on it.  Pretty impressive.”

“What, a tea towel?” chided Bob.

Unfortunately, George’s problem with money was genetic.  After two and a half decades in the same house, they had to sell it and move.  He moved around a lot, and then eventually we lost track of him completely.  There were rumours he was in Orillia, or Windsor.

One day in 1995, I came home from work to find a message on my answering machine.

“Hey Mike, this is George calling.  I just wanted to tell you, I just bought all the new Star Wars Power of the Force action figures.  Call me.”

I could hardly believe it.  We hadn’t seen this guy in years and he was still up to his old habits:  Going all-in on the latest thing.  I’m sure by 1997, he had sold them all at a tremendous loss.

I didn’t call him back, but kind of regretted it.  Over the years, curiosity got to Scott Peddle and I, as we Googled and searched.  There was no sign of George, anywhere.  It was as if he had vanished without a trace.  Scott and I made jokes about how George was probably plotting his revenge against us somewhere, but the truth is, we spent more time telling “George stories” than anything else.  Because he was a legend.  A total legend.

Eventually, Facebook reunited us.  It was as if none of the past ever happened.  Nothing need be said; we were friends.  Perhaps for the first time.  As for George, he was more into Star Wars than ever.  He started a fresh collection of Star Wars Black Series action figures.  He read this blog, and commented on it.  But the sad ending to the story is that George died young, before he could even see The Force Awakens in the theater.

George passed on Boxing Day, 2014.  He was 46 years old.  He went to a party the night before, came home, and never woke up.  It is strange to think that George was always older than us, but now he will always be younger.  He went far too soon.  We reconnected as friends, but we learned that we are only immortal for a limited time.

We may talk shit about him to this day, but Scott and I toasted George when we went to see The Force Awakens together.

“Cheers, George.”  It was a moment.  He would have loved to see Star Wars back on the big screen.

We talk trash about him, and we make fun of him, but I guess he really became our friend.  He did earn every bit of shit that we threw his way.  It was always deserved.  I mean, he stole Bob’s brother’s bike.  (We know, because he put it in his garage, and his garage didn’t have a door, so you could see the bike from the street.)  He stole Lego from me more than once.  (We know, because I had a rare 4×3 clear windshield slope that disappeared one day and re-appeared in his collection.)  He stole Lego from Bob.  But, he let us tape his records and videos.  He taught us about bands, albeit in the most annoying ways.  Maybe when we were kids, the better word would have been that we were “Frenemies”.  That word didn’t exist back then.  When we reunited as adults, we became friends for real, though so briefly.  I’m not sure if George had a happy life.  He always had a smile, but he lost his family fairly young, and never married or had kids.  He was a loner.

But he was a legend.

 

MIX TAPE! Iron Maiden, KISS, Def Leppard and MORE! (You won’t believe your eyes!) on Grab A Stack of Rock

GRAB A STACK OF ROCK With Mike and the Mad Metal Man
Episode 96:  Mix Tape I

 

Recorded while I had Covid!  This special “Mix Tape” episode of Grab A Stack of Rock is a potpourri of metal:  there is something for everyone!  In particular, if you have been following us for Iron Maiden and KISS content, this episode is for you!

Topics:

  • Iron Maiden ReAction figures including the rare Maiden Japan #50yearsofironmaiden
  • A unique guitar carving from Kerras Jeffrey (RIP) from Prince Edward Island
  • Darth Vader cameo
  • KISS BstAxn 5″ action figures in box
  • KISS 24k Gold CD for Destroyer bought in 1998 at Carry On Books in Waterloo
  • Tee Bone Erickson’s poetic take on the Northern Lights
  • The best of “Ask Harrison” by Tee Bone
  • Soundtrack from the Video Historia (Def Leppard) with Tim’s Vinyl Confessions – an incredible LIVE coincidence from the LeBrain Train days

The Author Reads:

  • A chapter of Unspooled: An Adventure in 8-Tracks
  • The Rules: The First 10 Years of Iron Maiden
  • Record Store Tales Part 7: A Sh*tty Story

Video premieres at 7:00 PM Eastern.

Friday March 21 at 7:00 P.M. E.S.T. / 8:00 P.M. Atlantic.   Enjoy on YouTube.

 

The Collection: KISS CD Compilations (Episode 45) 2loud2oldmusic

Please join John T. Snow and I on his excellent channel, The Collection!  Snowman and I have always had a friendly competition over KISS.  He was the first to get the Vault (the BIG Vault!), and lately he has been collection KISS compilations on CD.  There are many, as you shall see in this episode.  Even with our collections combined, there are still a couple out there that elude us both.

We went chronologically, starting with the first compilation that you can buy on CD:  Double Platinum!  We then went through the entire collection, including Japanese imports, remasters, promos, oddities, Canadian compilations, and weird stuff that only Snowman could tell you about!

This episode airs tonight at 8:00 PM EST.

Musical Odds n’ Sods: A Grab A Stack of Rock Collection

GRAB A STACK OF ROCK With Mike and the Mad Metal Man
Episode 88: Musical Odds n’ Sods: A Grab A Stack of Rock Collection

We have had our first bump in the road with our 50 Years of Iron Maiden series:  Mike had come down with his second case of Covid.  Fortunately, we have been prepared for occurrences such as this, and we have already pre-recorded an episode to buy us a week if necessary.  This is that week:  Welcome to Musical Odds n’ Sods!

In this episode you will see topics including:

  • Fake KISS Autographs
  • Vertigo Records in Ottawa and Japanese Deep Purple imports
  • Record Store Tales
  • A Day in the Life of a Record Store Guy
  • Tom’s frozen winter beater car
  • Hot Wheels ZZ Top Eliminator car
  • Beat Up in a Mascot Suit
  • Metallica’s Fan Can #4
  • Secret method for unwrapping CDs
  • Record Store Photo Gallery
  • Unboxing 7 Japanese import CDs from Discogs
  • Unboxing Sloan Twice Removed box set
  • Dr. Kathryn Ladano “Evil Kirk” animation attempts
  • Iron Maiden – Seventh Son of a Seventh Son MuchMusic interview (1988)
  • Easter eggs

I have to admit, I enjoy watching this episode myself.  There is so much variety here to enjoy.  Join me in the comments tonight!

 

Friday January 31 at 7:00 P.M. E.S.T. / 8:00 P.M. Atlantic.   Enjoy on YouTube.

VHS Archives #152: Grumpy KISS Host the Power 20 on MuchMusic (1993)

A bitchy Paul Stanley and a disinterested Gene Simmons walked in to host the Power 30 on MuchMusic, with only Eric Singer and Bruce Kulick to save them.  On the road to promote the new home video KISS Konfidential, Paul starts off by complaining that Kiss never got played on MuchMusic.  (Untrue; all their current videos received ample play, with the exception of the ballad “Every Time I Look At You”, and “Domino” did quite well.  It was so popular with one of the MuchMusic hosts that he even played a clip of it on a rap show.)

Kiss videos played on this episode were “I Love It Loud” (Live), “Heaven’s On Fire”, and “A World Without Heroes”, which was the first time I ever caught the full track played any time on MuchMusic.  These videos are not included in the clip.

Bonus: Paul sings in the intro to “Heaven’s On Fire” live in the studio.

#1172: Top 5 Storeplay CDs – A Personal List

A sequel to #167:  Top Five Albums That Got Us In Shit At The Record Store
and #27:  Store Play

RECORD STORE TALES #1172: Top 5 Storeplay CDs – A Personal List

Let it be said:  The Beat Goes On had a lot of rules about what could and couldn’t be played in store.  You couldn’t scare off Grandma, shopping for the new NSync CD for the grandkid.  Therefore, Metallica’s Black Album was banned from store play.  Musicals, classical, and a large chunk of rap (language!) was banned.  Certain bands were banned outright:  Kiss & Rush.  (Tell me that wasn’t personal against me!)  Therefore, any time I could break the rules when bosses were not around, I would try to get away with playing music that I actually liked.

Another rule stated that you must pick five CDs of different genres, put them in the changer, and hit shuffle.  Me?  I preferred listening to albums, not shuffles.  But I was a good little employee 97% of the time.  This story is about the other 3%.

Here is a list of my Top 5 CDs that I loved playing at the Beat Goes On, whether it was allowed or not.

5. DIO – Holy Diver 

Most definitely NOT allowed to be played in store!  I didn’t care.  The boss man was out of town one day in 1996, and I knew I wouldn’t be caught by anyone that mattered.  Tom Morwood, who worked at our Waterloo store, popped in that afternoon to check out our jazz section.  We had just opened a few months earlier.  Upon hearing Holy Diver blasting from the speakers, Tom remarked:  “Holy Diver?  Wow.  That’s ballsy man!”

I didn’t own Holy Diver yet and I was checking it out for myself.  There was a lot to love, such as “Caught in the Middle” and “Don’t Talk to Strangers”.  I also played The Last In Line around the same time, and loved “Egypt (The Chains Are On)”.  It was a great way to discover classic music.  Which, of course, wasn’t the point of working in a used music store and trying to sell CDs.  “Nobody buys Dio,” reasoned the boss.  In ’96, he wasn’t too far off.  But I didn’t get caught.  Tom wouldn’t rat me out.

4. BLUE RODEO – Just Like A Vacation

This 1999 double live album came out when I was running two stores at the same time.  I was in charge of my own store on Fairway Road, but that summer I was also managing T-Rev’s store in Cambridge.  He was off helping put a new franchise together in (I think) Ajax Ontario, and I wasn’t given much choice in the matter.  I suppose it was a great compliment and a testament to management’s confidence in me, to give me two stores to run, but it sucked.  I felt like I was in exile when I wasn’t at my own store.

When this was a new release, I listened to both discs in sequence.  The acoustic balladeering and jams of Blue Rodeo really helped soothe that homesick feeling.  It’s a fabulous album.  In particular, the live version of “The Dimestore Greaser and the Blonde Mona Lisa” really hit.

3. MARILLION – Radiat10n

Same location, back in exile, but a different summer.  I discovered Marillion in 2000.  I had heard some of the Fish era stuff, but not the Hogarth.  This controversial album was on the shelves, so I put it in the player.  Mark Kelly looked a little weird on the inside, with the designs painted on his bald head, but let’s give it a shot.  By the end of the shift, I knew I was going to buy it.  I put in on a shuffle with four other discs.

As soon as it came on, I said, “Ah this must be the new Marillion singer.”  Steve Hogarth perked up my ears. Several songs jumped out immediately:  “Cathedral Walls”, “Under the Sun” and “The Answering Machine” in particular.

While my bosses might have scolded me and said “Don’t play Marillion, you’re not going to sell any!” a decades long obsession began by playing it in store.  So there you go.  The balance sheet doesn’t reflect that kind of lifetime impact.

2. The Candidates – Meet The Candidates

This Cambridge band included bassist/vocalist Neil McDonald, who also worked at our Cambridge location.  I genuinely loved this album he made with the Candidates.  Many of the songs connected with me in a big way, such as “Barely Bruised”.

They didn’t love that I played this frequently in store.  It was for sale, but it was unlikely that I would make a sale just by playing it.  People liked buying CDs with bands and songs they already knew, generally.  I was given a pass because, frankly Neil was favoured by management.

The reasons I played this in store so frequently are really simple.  One, I genuinely loved and connected with this album.  There are still songs, such as “Who’s Your Daddy Now?” that still connect with me.  “Sold your soul for a photograph, I tore it up and had the last laugh.”  I burned some bridges when I started Record Store Tales, and while I don’t know for sure that Neil was upset with me, I think it’s pretty likely.  I’m sorry about that – I’ll always think fondly of him and this band.

1.    – The Box Set

The closest I came to a breaking point, before I finally quit the store, was when I was working (exiled) to a miserable location in Oakville Ontario.  I have written extensively about this experience.  The customers were generally snooty and holier than thou.  A story about an asshole lawyer was a favourite with early readers of Record Store Tales.

The only good thing about Oakville was that I was working alone all day, and no bosses came there.  It was like working in another province, such were the frequency of the visits from head office.  The drive was really difficult and the mental health situation was not good.

And so, I played all five discs of the Kiss Box Set in sequence.  Because fuck you, boss.

Best song exclusive to the box at the time:  “Doncha Hesitate”, a classic sounding Kiss demo featuring all four original members, intended for Destroyer.

Had I been caught, I would have been given a boatload of trouble. But mental health is a thing too, and stuff like this helped keep me sane during a difficult few months managing two stores at once.  I was pushed so close to the edge, that it was a matter of luck that I survived.  And Kiss.  And that’s not hyperbole.  Playing the music I loved made the experience survivable, and that’s barely.

Thank you Kiss.

And that’s the list.  I hope you enjoyed this trip down memory lane.

#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.

 

 

 

 

 

MOVIE REVIEW: Role Models (2009)

ROLE MODELS (2009, 99 minutes, Paul Rudd, Seann William Scott)

Directed by David Wain

All those “bro” movies are from the same mold, aren’t they?  They still make them too, variations on a theme.  The same general plotline always applies:  there’s a pair of funny but crude friends, who have a love/hate thing going on.  There’s a girlfriend (or fiance), usually a professional of some kind, to win or win back.  There are usually dick and fart jokes.

Role Models is all this, so I won’t go and tell you that it’s different from Knocked Up, Superbad, or Mr. Woodcock in any significant way.

Except one way.

.

Role Models is a love letter to the Hottest Band in the Land.  One of the writers clearly loves them, and knew how to make that funny.

In one of the earliest scenes, Scott throws Love Gun into the car tape deck.  “Kiss?  Nobody likes Kiss.  Paul Stanley is sick of Kiss,” says Rudd.  Yet, the song “Love Gun” is a recurring motif in Role Models.

Here’s the plot in a nutshell:  Two guys work for an energy drink company called Minotaur (think Red Bull, but in gross green).  Their job entails doing presentations to kids in highschool to stay off drugs, and drink Minotaur instead.  (“We’re selling nuclear horse piss to kids” – Rudd.)  One day it all goes wrong for Rudd and his girlfriend Beth (get it?  See where this is going?), played by Elizabeth Banks.  Rudd goes a little nuts at a presentation, and his giant minotaur truck ends up mounting a horse statue in the school yard.

Luckily, Beth is a lawyer and cuts Rudd and Scott a deal with the judge (without the two even having to appear before him, how convenient for a 99 minute movie).  They have to volunteer with “Sturdy Wings”; sort of like a big brothers program.  They each have to mentor a child for a set number of hours.  The program, run by a hilarious Jane Lynch, is only mildly creepy.

As the two protagonists get to know their assigned “littles”, Scott teaches his new friend about Kiss.  “These guys look like clowns,” says lil’ Ronnie.  Scott explains that they’re not, they’re actually really rich Jewish guys, and all their songs are about fucking!  This interests his young friend, who then starts dancing to “Love Gun”.

“You pull the trigger of my…Love Guuuuuuuuuun!” goes the familiar song.

“See Ronnie?  His dick is the gun!” explains Scott helpfully.

Meanwhile, Paul Rudd’s little buddy Augie is played by Christopher Mintz-Plasse (known to you as McLovin).  Augie loves fantasy role playing (LARPing), and takes Rudd to a battle.  Rudd is not impressed (“I just spent the afternoon with Gleep-Glopp and the Floop-dee-doos”), but decides to help Augie when he needs battle companions.  There’s a memorable camping trip that ends with a naked Seann William Scott, but it’s balanced out by Wings jokes (including a fake Wings song called “Love Take Me Down to the Streets”).

Without spoiling the epic ending (complete with a sword battle, a siege, and  Ken Jeong), except to say that before credits role, you will hear at least two more Kiss songs, and see the four main characters dressed in Kiss makeup and battle armor.  No explanation is given for how the quartet threw the armor together in a mere afternoon, but details do not matter in a film like this.  Prepare for a climax that finishes the movie on a hilarious note.

Other great talents in this movie included Joe Lo Truglio and Ken Marino, so check it out if that sounds like your kinda thing.  And especially if you’re a Kiss fan.

4/5 stars

2/5 stars for non-Kiss fans