Hey folks, Statham here. You’re looking good. Now, sit down and let me tell you a story, it’s a good one.
Last night, I had a dream. One I think you need to hear about, in the context of Mike’s blog. You see, I dreamt that Mike and I opened a record store together. It seems, for the convenience of making things happen, that I had won the lottery again. (I say again because, c’mon, it’s like having won the lottery just being fortunate enough to be me every day of the week). Anyway. The oodles of money secured the financial end of things, thus freeing us up to be creative in the endeavour.
There were a lot of naysayers. Oh boohoo, physical media is dying (if not dead), this would have been great 15 years ago, blah blah blah. Yeah well, alot people would shoot down anything anyone else wanted to do because they are lazy, needy, selfish and generally dumb. If it had been them in our shoes, they’d want us to be gushing with praise for their initiative, and they’d want us to be giving them doggie treats for being so good and clever. Anyway, we didn’t listen to any of these peoples’ negativity and they soon went away. Relief!
To his credit, Mike was onboard right away. Somehow he was still working his current job too, but also able to be at the shop all the time. Now, we all know Mike is amazing, but he really was breaking the laws of physics, here. Ah, dream-time. It makes no sense, but is the more awesome for it.
So. Being of means, we found that the organization, construction and founding of the shop was just a matter of planning and patience, but it went together very quickly. I have no idea what town we were in when all this was happening, but it hardly matters. Somehow, when the contractors were done, not only was the shop beautiful, bright and spacious, but all the shelves were jammed full of well-organized and thoughtfully chosen CDs, DVDs and games, too. I tell you, I’d really recommend those contractors to you. They were very thorough.
It wasn’t long before our doors were open, and business really started to take off. With Mike’s knowledge and my enthusiasm, it turned out to be a really worthwhile venture. People responded well to our humour, easy-going sales patter that wasn’t like sales-talk at all and, of course, our dashing good looks. It was a winner.
I don’t have a whole lot of specifics for you, just this sense I had that it was a good thing. And that’s all I remember of that dream, in a nutshell.
ANALYSIS:
Well, clearly, all of Mike’s Record Store Tales have entered into my subconscious and activated the part of my brain that has always believed I’d like to work in a record store. Not the one Mike used to work for, from the sounds of it (even though at one point I did apply there), but still. I’ve spent enough time in record shops, so it seemed a natural enough thing to do.
And Freud would probably say this was somehow about my penis. Because everyone dreams about that, surely.
To be continued…
If you haven’t figured it out from past Statham stories, he’s Snake Eyes. I’m the Crimson Guard.
My buddy Statham is back with another guest shot. This guy has haunted record stores nation wide. He’s had a lot of experiences, selling used discs, and here’s his perspective in the context of Record Store Tales….
LeBrain & Statham, 15 years ago
RECORD STORE TALES Part 85: Selling,by Statham
I couldn’t tell you how Mike manages his record collection, though I have a guess. Allow me this imagining: Mike holds on to most of what he buys, because his is a collection built on deliberation, patient searching and care. He only pulls the trigger when he’s getting exactly what he wants. Of course, just about everything he owns is a Special or Limited Edition in some way. I picture him as more of a curator in the Living Library Of Rawk. (Hey Mike, am I close?) [LeBrain: Dead on.]
My own collection, by comparison to the above supposition, is completely scattershot. Finding/buying and selling CDs are fairly equal parts of the hobby, for me. Sure, I have a lot of things that I’ve found over the years that I will never sell. Some just have good monetary value (while also being something I want to own), some are out of print or from very limited print-runs. Some are autographed. I have complete (or nearly complete) collections of artists I love, and I’ll never break those up. Some are artists that were new to me at the time, and were great discoveries that have stayed with me since. I have discs that I bought, or was given, that have sentimental reasons for staying in the collection, as I associate people and places with albums/songs. Anyway, I call all of these the Anchors, the ones that have followed me everywhere.
But there is another, majority portion of the pile of CDs which I consider to be fluid. Unless I’m filling in gaps in a collection, many (if not most) of the CDs I buy are on speculation. I’m always wondering what things sound like, trying new artists out. Now, added up over the years, these purchases have spanned almost every genre. I’ve heard a lot of music. I remember that C’Dement on Ste-Catherines in Montreal had a huge 2-section sale bin by the front door where the constantly-rotating stock of CDs were priced from $0.99 to a maximum $5.99. I could load up on music, sometimes getting as many as ten discs for the price of one new release. I REALLY liked that. Such a great way to expand my horizons. Sadly, that place, like so many I used to haunt, is no longer there.
There are lots of reasons I sell discs. I have moved around quite a bit, so I sometimes unload CDs in bulk just to avoid having to lug them (and to get funds to help with the move). Clearly, not many of these are Anchor CDs. Sometimes I buy a disc because I like a song I heard, and the rest of the disc doesn’t cut it (and then I eventually tire of the song I liked), so out it goes. Sometimes people give me discs, thinking I’ll like it, and… well, no. And sometimes I think I’ll like a CD, but it turns out that it just sucks. That happens more than it should.
ANYWAY. How does any of this relate to LeBrain? Easy, I sold him a lot of CDs over the years that I dealt with him at his store. I always looked for him. He knew the score. Let me tell you, I’ve been “helped” by others (at his store, sure, and in many, many other shops across this great land of ours), and a lot of them just didn’t get it. Most often, I’d get someone who would offer me far less than things were worth, knowing they could then sell it for more and thus turn a profit. They could only hope I was an idiot. I am not. What these people failed to realize was that I spent a lot of time in record shops, and knew generally what things were worth or were priced at currently. This is especially true now that we have the wonders of the internets. Often was the time I’d hear what they offered, know it for the piss-take it was, and refuse. I’d just pack up my CDs and go.
Other times, there’d be a teenager behind the counter. And, all deference to them and their raging hormones (surely some of them must know what they’re doing), most just didn’t know what I was giving them. Honestly, if it wasn’t Top 40 or mainstream, they had no idea. Their offers were always laughable, and I should mention that I generally consider my expectations to be fair. One time, while they went through what I’d brought in, I was browsing the shelves and asked for Dead Kennedys. I was jonesing for it, and thinking I’d get it on trade. The kid looked me right in the face and honestly asked “Who?” Man, I wept for the future, that day. So as a rule, until they’re done bursting their spots, I tend to stay away from selling CDs to the youngsters.
But Mike was different. Sure, over time, we built up a rapport. But even the first few times I brought in a shoe box of discs for trade, he was fair and knowledgeable. He’d pick up this or that disc and have a comment about it, or a band somehow related to it. He never once tried to undercut me with less than what something was worth. Mike was unafraid to comment on what I had, too, often in humourous ways. I’ve already told these pages about the Jewel Incident, and the Zeppelin Incredulousness. Such was Mike’s way. Often, with other places and people, I felt I had to watch as they went through each disc and explain what it was. I could spot looks of indifference and/or confusion from across the room. But I knew I could trust Mike to competently sort through the pile on his own (thus freeing me up to browse for new-to-me things while he worked).
Mike respected, too, that I was up for trying new music, and always had a helpful tip or suggestion on what to try next. I hardly ever took the cash (unless I really needed it) when I brought stuff to Mike. I took store trade instead. Not only did I get more for my stuff that way, but I’d get some new music and happily be on my way… until the next time, when we’d do it all over again.
I’d left town eventually, but even then I would mail a box to Mike for trade or cash from his store rather than deal with the nits in the shops where I was currently living. And at some point, I heard that Mike had left the store and moved on to another, unrelated job. It was a loss for them, a gain for whomever got him next. And too bad, as I understand it, that the next job wasn’t putting his music knowledge to work. The man’s an encyclopedia.
With the exception of one fellow out West whose knowledge and ability I trust as on par, I have rarely met a record store employee with Mike’s capabilities and fairness. My collection has gained many Anchors, and is miles (and even Miles…Davis that is) better for having dealt with him.
The first time a record store person had any impact on me was actually well after high school. Until then, I never spent much time interacting with them. I always knew how to find what I wanted, and I never special-ordered anything because the stuff I wanted, they couldn’t get anyway. I had to order my rare albums from magazines.
In 1990, Peter and I got heavily into Faith No More. Peter got Introduce Yourself before I did, but I found We Care A Lot first. I found it at Sam The Record Man, generally considered the best store in town at the time. Angel Dust had just came out on CD, but I hadn’t got it yet. We Care A Lot was a rarity; therefore a priority in my spending budget.
It was there, on cassette. $14.99. Not cheap.
Al King was behind the counter. Al King was the undisputed music guru in town. Undisputed. I strived to be what he represented. Heck he even had a feature spot on a weekly local TV program — The Metal Mike Show — which I watched many times.
“Do you have the new Faith No More yet?” Al asked me as he took the security tag off my purchase.
“No, not yet. I saw this and I had to get it because I’ve never seen it before,” I answered.
“The new one is…pretty different. Have you heard Mr. Bungle?” he inquired.
Al was engaging me. He had just seen Bungle live. He liked Bungle, but the new Faith No More was still growing on him. He explained to me that you could really hear the Bungle influece on it. The next time I came in, he told me he had just seen Faith No More. He told me everything about the show.
Years later, things cycle around, and I found myself in Al’s shoes. Kids were coming up to me and asking my opinion on things. I tried my best to be honest and treat them with respect. I had my bad days — we all do — but I certainly didn’t want to recommend music that I didn’t think was any good.
When I saw a young guy or girl come in buying Kiss, that was an instant obvious coversation starter. Tall One and Short One, who I talked about several chapters ago, started getting into bands like Kiss and Oasis, so I tried to steer them into the albums I was into.
I made a lot of friends that way. Shane Schedler, who I’ve talked about twicebefore was one guy who trusted my opinion implicity. There was another guy, Italian Tony, who always wanted to know what I was into. I sold him Slash Puppet that way, I knew he would be into that band. And then there’s my buddy Statham. Some found me on Facebook, some I just run into randomly.
Of course I had just as many failures. Sometimes you expect someone to be into a new Maiden album just because they liked the old Maiden, for example. Then they don’t trust you anymore.
I don’t think I appreciated my position back then. I don’t think I saw myself as Al King. I think I saw myself as still trying but not quite succeeding at being that guy. It’s only now that I talk to people and get it. Somebody will say to me, “You told me to buy this album, and I did, and it’s in my top ten of all time now.” That’s a cool feeling. I wish I appreciated it back then.
The truth is, it was a job just like any other. You were a business and businesses were supposed to make money. Stores have to be cleaned, books balance, shelves stocked. Sometimes it felt like conversation was keeping you from your job. And spend too much time with a single customer, and you got dirty looks from people with the authority to give you dirty looks.
I appreciate now though, that conversation was the job. Conversations that I don’t even remember have turned out to have huge impacts on people’s musical lives. Al King was a trusted musical guru to me. It’s weird to think that I might be that to other people. But if that truly is the case, I have to say thanks, because that’s all I ever really wanted anyway.
My good buddy pen-named: Statham, who I met through the record store, has kept in touch via email over the years. We share many common interests, one of which is collecting music. We’ve helped each other find many treasures over the last 15 years.
I thought it might be a fun change of pace (instead of listening to me all the time) to get his perspective on the record store days!
For a view from the other side of the counter, here’s Statham!
RECORD STORE TALES Part 73: Crank It Up! by Statham
Mike asked me to write up something about any memories I have of the old days, back in the record store where he worked. I’ll give it a go.
I do not recall my first-ever visit to Mike’s store. My first memory of that particular company is of taking a shoebox full of old CDs I never played to their other location. But when I moved across town, Mike’s store was my mainstay. I was in there all the time.
You should know, I live in record stores. Always have, since I was old enough to buy my own music. I love the thrill of the hunt, the rare find, the new-to-me disc that branches my brain out into whole new fields of things previously unknown to me. Everywhere I’ve lived, I’ve haunted the record shops. And mostly the used-CD places… the new-CD corporate shops were good for new releases, not usually much else.
You should also know that I make it an unofficial habit to befriend at least one person in the shops that I like. Not in a needy way, not in a go-for-drinks sort of way, and definitely not in a creepy stalker way. Just a friendly thing, get to know them, and over time they learn my tastes too. It’s amazing how often they’d set aside stuff they thought I’d like (which I’d usually buy). And I’ve learned a ton from them, too. I’ve lived lots of places so far in my life, and have maintained this practice. Record store guys can be cool. Like Mike. Always super-helpful, to a fault sometimes. VERY knowledgeable. And his enthusiasm was absolutely infectious. Also, Mike’s a Sloan fan. And in my experience, this is generally the mark of a bright, caring and solid person. Hooray for Sloan!
Specific memories of the shop? Man, that was 16 years ago. But let’s see if I can cough up a few dusty recollections…
– Mike sold me my first Jon Spencer Blues Explosion CD (Now I Got Worry). He wasn’t convinced I’d like it, but he let me play it on the headphones, and I took it home. I am a lifelong fan of those guys now. If I don’t have everything they did, I have most of it. And it’s all awesome.
– I sold off all my Zeppelin albums one time. I just never played them, was probably listening to punk at the time and found them bloated, and I also probably needed the money. Mike was incredulous, tried quite hard to dissuade me. He eventually took them but still told me I was nuts. I probably was.
– One I definitely regret: I sold my Gits albums to Mike. I was in a different phase (probably jazz), and figured they were easy to replace. Ha! Have you any idea how many years I looked before getting most of those back again, when I realized my blunder? Remember, the internets were not then what they are now. And hey, I still need an old original CD copy of Frenching The Bully, too, so if anyone reading this has a good source, please leave a comment, thanks!
Statham selling his stuff
– I bought the Jewel record (the one with Hands on it) off Mike one time, when it was a new release. I think I just had that song in my head. Mike was sure I’d lost my mind. He told me he wouldn’t take it back in trade from me until at least one week had passed. Trust me, one week and one day, I took it back. He was right.
– I remember picking up the Black Crowes Sho’ Nuff box set for Mike, as I was going to Toronto anyway (and getting one for myself). No worries there, mate.
– I even applied to work at Mike’s store one time, too. They had this test you had to do, to try to see how much you knew about music. I guess they were weeding out the wannabes. Hell, I listen to music and pay attention to it constantly, and half of the stuff they had on there, I had no idea. So I got playful. I developed a “File Under” system. Like, Carole King was File Under: Stuff Your Mom Likes. And for ones I didn’t know, I made something up based on the band name or album title. I really was just taking the piss. Apparently, the manager wanted to interview me based on my results, but I’d just gotten another job anyway. To this day, I wonder how my life would have been different if I’d gotten that job.
I’m sure there are other memories that will come to me, now that I’m thinking about it. Maybe enough for a second instalment, if Mike would have me back as a guest. You know, to this day I still own many of the CDs I bought off Mike. I’ve lugged these things halfway across the country and back. It’s a sign of respect, man. Hold on to the good ones – both the albums and the good guys that sold ’em to you. I always do.
mikeladano.com 