One weekday afternoon here in Houston, I drove over to Fifth Ward to see these junker twins I visit with on occasion. The guys just have your random assortment of junkman-type accoutrements. Old beer signs, some records and apparently, on this day, two photo albums of homemade porn that a local had allegedly made and sold. Said the guy once played for the Kansas City Chiefs and the only thing he loved more than football was the ladies.
The building is situated at the corner of an intersection with a residential street. Remember, Houston doesn???t have any zoning laws and it???s not like the Fifth Ward would care anyways. I had struck out, the twins didn???t have any records for me that day and we were standing outside, shooting the shit and I posed my general inquiry whilst out digging in unfamiliar locales. ???Do y???all know anyone else around here that might have some records they would like to sell????
Without missing a beat, one of the twins turns and points down the residential street and tells me to go speak to Arthur at the fifth house on the left. As dumb luck would have it, as he???s telling me this, Arthur actually walks out onto his porch. One the twins screams out his name and points at me. I thank the twins and start my way down the block.
Upon reaching his gated yard, I immediately noticed the size of this man. He???s an easy 6???5 and 300lbs, not to mention he???s had a tracheotomy and was smoking Kool Filter Kings through the nicotine-stained hole in his neck. He wore a 1990-era Chicago Bulls bucket hat and fingerless gloves and when I went to shake his hand, I realized he was missing his right pinky.
Arthur didn???t have one of those electronic vibrato robot-voice amplifiers that you see people in similar circumstances tend to have. In order for him to speak, he had to press down on the valve in his neck and could only muster slightly more than a whisper. He told me he had tons of records in his garage, so like a moth to a flame, I followed him down the driveway.
At some point, part of the garage was converted into a tiny social room, completely separate from the rest of the structure. Arthur unlocked the door and let me into a little room that a Chihuahua lived in and apparently peed in, next to a few nice-sized piles of records. Arthur walked in behind me and shut the door.
I started going through all the vinyl and occasionally Arthur would make a random question from behind me like ???Do you like to play Pacman????
I started digging faster.
Rare local Houston disco twelves, local jazz titles like Bubbha Thomas and the Lightmen were appearing and at the same time, I came to the realization I may not be in the safest of situations. He???d randomly start belly laughing through his tracheotomy. I dug faster.
Then, I hear ???Hey man??? and I turn around to face Arthur and notice he???s pulled out a fucking ninja sword. A big, sharp fucking sword and he???s pointing it towards me from two yards away. I freeze. I don???t say a word. I???m cornered. My stomach sank; I figured I???d finally done it this time. I was going to die looking for records. How depressing! Killed by my hobby, I always imagined I???d die when my record shelves collapsed and crushed me. Nope, I???m going to be killed by a nine-fingered man with a tracheotomy and a ninja sword, wearing a hat straight out of Do the Right Thing.
He took a couple steps towards me, lifted the sword up to my neck and held it there for what felt like an eternity. I didn???t move, I didn???t speak, and I don???t think I so much as took a breath. Arthur just looked at me for a moment, started laughing, lowered the sword and asked me I found anything I wanted to buy.
I made sure to pay him VERY WELL that day.
Oddly enough, Arthur and I ended up becoming friends and he takes me over to his friend???s homes on occasion to buy records as long as I stop by the store first so he can buy a pack of smokes.
The only story that is coming to mind is my very first trip.
I was 10, and in Toledo Ohio with my Dad, who was then and still is a record man. I had been on trips with him before, but this was the first time I was an active member of the dig. He was buying 78 stock at Seligman Brothers, a shop that had been around I believe since the 40s, and this was 1981. They basically served the Black community with music, and the other side of their shop was hardware I think. We were not the first to get there, but my Dad was doing pretty good with finding stuff that would be great store stock for his shop in Toronto. My job was to carefully collect all his pulled items and stack them in the crates, while counting as I went and coming up with the grand total at the end. It's basically here that it all started for me. I look back at this with great fondness, as it was me and my Dad digging through music, and years later it became my profession as well. The craziest thing is, I remember passing by the entire 1st floor which was Full of LPs. My Dad didn't want that stuff as it was all 70s Disco and R&B. Of course....if we could only go back in time.
OK here is another story from Ohio (Akron)....so I am standing in my driveway washing my car. This lady rides by in a red Lexus she stops and rolls down her window to ask me if I had a quarter she could borrow to make phone call. I dig into my pocket, walk into the street to give the lady a quarter (thinking the whole time who the hell has to use pay phone these days....must be a damn crackhead). So I think nothing of it and go back to drying off my car. Later that day I get a call from my homie F*rrest asking me if I would like to go on a record site with him. He goes on to tell me that this lady had been calling him for like the past few weeks but the thing is he can only come by when her husband was not home (I think she was trying to sell her husbands records without him knowing). So two days later F*rrest calls me and says that we have a meeting scheduled with the lady that day. So we get to the house and low and behold it is the same lady I had given the quarter. I jokingly tell her "Hey I know you...you owe me 25 cents." She let's us in the house and stands over us with her coat on and car keys in her hand. The first box I see F*rrest pulling Syl Johnson " Is it because I am black", Sun Ra,, S.O.U.L, Albert Ayler trio etc etc so we hurry up and pay the lady so we can leave. As I am driving down the street I see a red Lexus fly by me blowing the horn...it's the lady going to buy some blow. She calls us back three days later sayin that she has more records from her mothers house in Kent. We come by dig, pay her out.....and as we are driving down the street she blows by us going to score some crack.
This was back in the fall of 2000 when I was still digging for US Funk 45s. I had just moved from NYC back to Berlin and was on my first digging trip back to the states. It was towards the end of my stay that I also had a dj gig at the good old Silk City in Philly on a Friday night before flying back Sunday morning.
A friend from NYC and his buddy, an at the time big funk & soul 45 collector from Philly, let's call him "DB" came to see me at the club. After the party we hung out at the bar when at around 3 am DB offered to take us around town and show us some legendary Philly record sites. First stop was the building that had housed the Virtue studios which was behind a construction fence and already half demolished. Next stop was a store called "Smith's Records". DB explaiend how he had tried for 8 years to get records out of the place but how the ownre flat out refused to deal with white folks... DB said he had reason to believe that there was a storage room full of heat in the building and I couldn't believe that getting to it was an impossible task. We called it a night and got a few hours of sleep. The next day I talked DB into going by Smith's Records again and to let me try and get in there. According to DB this was a really sketchy part of town. I was surprised to find the front door unlocked but when I opened it, some sort of an alarm went off and kept going until store owner Stanley appeared behind the counter and flipped a switch. The entire L shaped counter was behind glass and additional wire fencing like in some liquor store. On display were mostly religous CDs and videos. I asked the owner if he had any funk and soul 45s and he immediately said he had a room full of them but that he would charge $5 a piece. To brighten the mood, I told him that if I'd find the type of stuff I was looking for, I'd gladly pay him $10 a pop. He let me in and I walked upstairs. There were shelves full of boxes and all of them contained 45s. First one I opened contained 100 copies of the Gunga Din "snake pit" 45 which at the time was still a $200-$300 record, Smoking Shades Of Black, Bobby King & The Siver Foxx Band, Maurice McKinnies & The Champions and a lot of more obscure stuff I had never seen before. All the boxes I could see were thickly and evenly covered with dust and it was clear that nobody had touched these for many years. Since this was on my last day, I only had about $400 left on me so this translated to only 40 records. DB at this point had also entered the store and was chatting with Stanley downstairs. Stanley soon got very antsy and said he only had very limited time because he "had to be somewhere". We still got to talk a bit more after the transaction was done and I asked him why there were so many Country 45s in there as well. He said that his daddy had also been a producer and been travelling a lot up and down the East Coast, recording for all sorts of bands. We stood on the sidewalk for a bit and talked about how awesome his old store sign was. mounted above the store name light was a red elyptical thing with a record painted onto it. Stan said it used to light up and turn. We asked if it would still work and he said he hadn't used it in over 10 years but why not give it a shot. He went into the back of the store, flipped a switch and the sign lit up and the red thing with the record on it began to creak and slowly move when na electrical wiring box next to the sign suddenly exploded with a loud bang, sending thick, golden sparks raining onto the sidewalk all around us.
Later that night, DB and I went out to celebrate. We were very excited. I had only been in there for 30 minutes and without a portable so I only pulled the obvious funk stuff. No doubt I had only skimmed a bit around a small part of the surface. DB promised he would give me 50% of all the stuff he would pull out of there because I had "opened the door" for him and also because there was more in there than one person alone could even want to keep for themselves (or so I thought, I was still a bit naive back then). DB puked down his shirt in the cab on the way home. I left for the airport after giving him 20 out of my 40 records just to be fair and after all, there was no true guarantee that he'd be allowed back in at Smith's. Of course he got back in and of course he only sent me small packages of shit refcords all the while complaining I had inflated the price from $5 to $10. I called up Stanley from back home in Berlin and arranged for my friend and that time Philly resident Haim to go in there and get records for the both of us which worked just fine.
I went back for sentimental reasons when I was back in Philly some 5 years later. Stan was in much better shape than when we had met before and of course the storage room had all been turned over completely. All the 45s were removed from their boxes and they were stacked with only piles of turds remaining. One of the big guys had been there years ago and taken care of business for good which had been obvious by the number of Gunga Din buy-it nows popping up on ebay for several years already.
Just before I was about to say good-bye, Stan told me that he still had some LPs in his office downstairs, if I'd want ot have a look. First handful I pulled out of the shelf was all weird looking, mint African LPs on a label from Nigeria called "Tabansi Records". I had no clue about African records back then but was intrigued by the amazing cover art. I bought as many as I could afford. One of them was the Pax Nicholas & The Nettey Family LP and it got in immediate constant rotation right away. I had zero results when I googled the band name. At the same time, my wife was supposed to leave the country for her first forreign assignment. I said, "why not go to Africa" maybe there's more of this type of music out there..."
This was less than 6 years ago but it feels like it had been another life time. Amazing how a casual visit to a dug over old record store can completely change everything.
I'm sure there are some fabulous stories on this thread, but i have to apologize because my eyes don't read off the screen and I am more off a listener than a reader anyway. I love your voice!!!
Every great diggin' experience of mine has more to do with the people I dig with than the records I score...coincidently they go hand-n-hand to the beat of my recollection anyway.
Like I remember when I got my womb record at a KDVS record swap in Sacramento next to the spagetti factory restaurant. And sitting on the tailgate of the car in the sun making sure everybody had seen enough art was great. I think that was with a two radio friends D. S. & B. I., and friend.
More consistly though, I dig with the children. Some of them are boys and some are girls. Some like pokemon, some like animals, some like rap, some like friendly games and fun days. So, we talk about Charzars and charmander and pokemon stadium, or (because we are both at SPCA with are dogs) I will introduce Harley Davidson and they will introduce Squishy Elephant and we will talk about large breed and small breed and different dog blends. Today, for example, we talked independent rap, compared to major label rap. This lead to more talking about stories and intellectual property and claim jumpin'z. Cool groups of kids hang out around here, I love their voice.
I told them I'm a Dj at the local volunteer radio station, showed them the Tommy Tate on Juana, and that will be on tonight.
Just before I was about to say good-bye, Stan told me that he still had some LPs in his office downstairs, if I'd want ot have a look. First handful I pulled out of the shelf was all weird looking, mint African LPs on a label from Nigeria called "Tabansi Records". I had no clue about African records back then but was intrigued by the amazing cover art. I bought as many as I could afford. One of them was the Pax Nicholas & The Nettey Family LP and it got in immediate constant rotation right away. I had zero results when I googled the band name. At the same time, my wife was supposed to leave the country for her first forreign assignment. I said, "why not go to Africa" maybe there's more of this type of music out there..."
This was less than 6 years ago but it feels like it had been another life time. Amazing how a casual visit to a dug over old record store can completely change everything.
Record karma in full effect.....great story Frank.
so on a trip down to malaga, spain i passed by a city called montpellier, i was driving through the center and stopped in an instance as i??ve seen a small "musique boutique" on the side, went in, and there was this old grumpy guy listening to bon Jovi Cd??s with one of his customers.... to make a long story short, guy was just a Wanker, didn??t like me from the second i walked in... Store was pretty messed up and had all kinds of used CD??s, VHS, Magazines and of course some Records, though most of it french chanson or 90??s disco folkloric weak all well overpriced... pulled out 2 records finally, one Rascalz Soul Obligation priced 6??? + a unpriced Foundation 7, walked to the guy and let my girl explain him i??d like to buy this records, guy said not now, so i had to wait watching them jamming to jon, as they found a minute he turned on this computer, while that thing was in progress to start he pulled the F7 out the sleeve, put it on the plate with 45RPM and said something foolish to his friend (african ancestor) in french bout those stupid kids listening rap music while the wax plays in wrong speed. Did go straight popsike that shit, but wasnt even able to turn up any results. Guess i??ve gave him a big F U when i walked out the door after paying 10??? for both loudly repeating COM-PRE-DA-TOR....
ahah man i live in this city and actually 30 sec. from this shop... it's probably Black & Blue and that dude is well known to be a total asshole with 90% of the customers, overpricing most of his shitty records... never found something interesting there, but 2 streets away there's another one with TONS of 45s, psych lps and a nice secret garage where i found some nice stuff...
This was less than 6 years ago but it feels like it had been another life time. Amazing how a casual visit to a dug over old record store can completely change everything.
great story!! DB is featured on the aeiou2 mix explaining to formerdiplo how to rip old artists off. dude has moments of genuine clarity where i can even say i care about him, but his inner record gollum is too damn strong. ..leading to stellarly shady shit. i did get my copies of sherlock holmes and saturday night special off him for thirty bucks back in the day.
I went to Smiths once before Frank accessed it. I was brought there by a friend who thought that my being white would help us get in cause "he doesnt like black people". I thought it was strange that there was still ol prejudiced white dudes on Columbia Ave in North Philly, but what the hell, we were gonna try to get into some records.
It didnt work. Smith, who was about as white as i am black absolutely refused. "i'm waiting for the avenue to come up before i start selling them." huh? might be a long wait. my friend pulls out a wad of twenties..."my moneys no good here?". apparently not. my friend walked out in disgust after a complete stonewalling by Smith. i leafed through the uninteresting stock on the lone rack in the corridor (like frank said, the place was mostly behind bulletproof glass) and when my buddy closes the door behind himself i notice, among the collage of music pictures on the wall, a clipped picture of Timothy McVeigh and another clipped quote from his last statement from his trial. Curious, i go back to Smith and ask what was up with McVeigh sharing wall space with a whos who of phillys soul artists. "That motherfucker was right! In fifty years, history books are gonna be saying hes a hero." huh? "you should see what they trying to charge me for electric! and then they trying to charge me for some shit from SEVEN years ago." Definitely a non sequitor, but one of those things where i just had to nod in agreement as i backed out the door.
This was less than 6 years ago but it feels like it had been another life time. Amazing how a casual visit to a dug over old record store can completely change everything.
great story!! DB is featured on the aeiou2 mix explaining to formerdiplo how to rip old artists off. dude has moments of genuine clarity where i can even say i care about him, but his inner record gollum is too damn strong. ..leading to stellarly shady shit. i did get my copies of sherlock holmes and saturday night special off him for thirty bucks back in the day.
I went to Smiths once before Frank accessed it. I was brought there by a friend who thought that my being white would help us get in cause "he doesnt like black people". I thought it was strange that there was still ol prejudiced white dudes on Columbia Ave in North Philly, but what the hell, we were gonna try to get into some records.
It didnt work. Smith, who was about as white as i am black absolutely refused. "i'm waiting for the avenue to come up before i start selling them." huh? might be a long wait. my friend pulls out a wad of twenties..."my moneys no good here?". apparently not. my friend walked out in disgust after a complete stonewalling by Smith. i leafed through the uninteresting stock on the lone rack in the corridor (like frank said, the place was mostly behind bulletproof glass) and when my buddy closes the door behind himself i notice, among the collage of music pictures on the wall, a clipped picture of Timothy McVeigh and another clipped quote from his last statement from his trial. Curious, i go back to Smith and ask what was up with McVeigh sharing wall space with a whos who of phillys soul artists. "That motherfucker was right! In fifty years, history books are gonna be saying hes a hero." huh? "you should see what they trying to charge me for electric! and then they trying to charge me for some shit from SEVEN years ago." Definitely a non sequitor, but one of those things where i just had to nod in agreement as i backed out the door.
So funny... I actually think it was my kraut accent that got me in. He immediately asked where I was from and seemed to like the answer. DB had warned me that he specifically hated the British. And obviously black and white compatriots...
After Haim's last visit, we spoke on the phone. He was still shook, telling me how Mr. Smith had stood behind him the entire time while he was digging, visibly wearing a handgun in his belt and saying something like "You're going to spend at least a couple a grand with me today, right? You're not going to waste my time?"
Then when I went back all those years later, he was all mellow and nice. Seemed happier than DB last time I saw him actually.
I get a call from a man, asking if I buy records, etc etc. Yes, how many, where are they... the dude basically stops me mid-breath and lays down all the details in a succinct fashion more suitable for a business merger. It's an estate... very important man in the recording industry...The estate is that of the one Mitch Miller. Sing along with Mitch. Scourge of the Salvation Army. Golem of Goodwill! But the promise of sealed records and label promos gives me a shred of hope. The collection doesn't sound in the least bit appetizing but it's a couple stops down the 2 line so I'm on it.
I head over there on the established date, hungover from the night before. I'm maybe ten minutes late. I realize upon walking in that being late and hungover is not the move, as the guy I'm dealing with is moving at light speed and I am just trying to get my head around holy shit this apartment is huge. It runs half the length and width of the building which runs half the width of a city block. Each room is bigger than the next, and all are bigger than my home. The records are in a main room with a gargantuan meeting table. There are more records in a side room with a grand piano and audiophile set-up. One piece of furniture here is worth 100x the records. I realize I am probably in the wrong game for this lead.
There are epic amounts of chud. I manage to rescue a few sealed avant garde type LPs and a random ass box of ethnic and brazilian records. Miller's wife was into that stuff apparently. I assemble my boxes but am told I cannot buy them as the family needs to comb through to keep anything they might want. OK. I am assured they won't keep any records. I don't really care either way.
Months drag on as the sale of this mediocre collection is managed by a guy who doesn't live in New York. On my long-last return date the crib is far more empty than the last time, and my records have been combined with the records a second dealer assembled after I had already gone through. The boxes with my name written on them in big marker are filled with junk. I sigh.
I carefully pick through the records for a second time, which is two too many times for this collection. I buy what I need and take a walk through this gorgeous apartment again, thinking the whole time that this is going to be partitioned into 3, maybe 4 individual units by the time they're through.
1/3 of my haul was purchased on sight by a severely crusty Japanese customer mere days later. But you know who won? Fucking Mitch Miller. Dude lived in the lap of luxury for being basically the musical antithesis of anything good. And now I own his Religious Music Of The Falashas
Some great Jack Kerouac type tales...someone should compile this shit into a book.... "On the dig"....
Here's my 2 cents... a few crazy digging highlights....
Years ago I had to attend a work related conference in cairns for a few days. In my spare time I hit a few of their Lifeline stores and picked up some cool shit. Then one day as part of the conference activities we went to this little old mining town about an hour away in the rainforest, the old town had been turned into a tourist type place with all the stores selling food, drinks, soveniers etc.
So Im covering this event for my magazine and Im taking photos, chatting with dudes and they all sort of start doing their own thing so i follow one group for a wander around. We walk into this faux Old General Store type place and I suddenly see some record crates out the back in a shed. Straight into I start going hard digging quickly cus theres tons of crates there and we are due to leave soon. Nothing too crash hot, plenty of dollar bin stuff but I pull some stuff Ive never seen before, some which turned out to have some heat on it. So Im carrying about 30 records and my camera and Im quite happy, I got to dig when i wasnt expecting too....and on company time.
The guide tells us we got an hour to do our thing and the train leaves after that so we got to be at the station. Cool, so i wander off on my own looking for a cold beer and end up at the community centre/libary building at the end of the town. Walk in and see some books for sale so i go have a quick look at see a crate of wax. Sweet, I ask the lady are these for sale and she tells me "yes love, but they are $2 each".... First half of the crate is very Kamahlish and all of a sudden I hit a dope patch Kerrie Biddell ST, a couple of Daly Wilsons I hadnt seen before, a Col Nolan solo, another fresh aussie jazz/soul tri Hi Way, all up I pulled about 10 dope LPs all in NM condition. The score wasnt so rare but the fact i found records, and decent ones, in some remote mining town turned tourist trap always spins me out.
And the cherry on top. On the train ride back the train stops at a station on the outskirts of Cairns and I look and see a massive Lifeline (thrifty store) that I hadnt been able to find in my wanderings the previous day. I was mid way thru a sentence and said fuck it, grabbed my bags and jumped off to the astonishment of the ppl I was with. I ended up coming back with over 100 records from that trip.....and with a bit of creative expenses claims the company cover half the cost... :-)
Another time I was on holidays with the GF in the Gold Coast. i scoped a few stores to check while I was there. But one that I saw online (Atlantis Music) looked like it only had CDs so i dismissed it. So on my allocated 'record digging day' Im heading to a thrift store depot and cus I dont know the area I get the wrong bus and end up kinda lost. Pissed off I decide to go for a walk to a nearby shopping district to get a coffee.
As Im walking there I see Atlantis Music store front. Hmmmm, I see 'records' on the signage. I start walking towards it. I stop before crossing the road cus a bus is coming. My phone rings. Its my GF (who was on her way to another area to shop for clothes).
Her: "Hey babe, Im on the bus and it just drove past this store that looks like it sells records, I didnt catch the name properly, something Atlantic, Atlas... but its in the Southport area".
Me: "Im actually standing in front of it right now."
The store ended up being a goldmine. The front of it is very typical music store, more CDs, merch and shit, the second part is straight up vinyl heaven. And the shit is organised well. Bonus points they got a turntable to listen to shit. I pulled out around 200 titles ended up buying around 80 and the dude gave me a mad discount.
I get a call from a man, asking if I buy records, etc etc. Yes, how many, where are they... the dude basically stops me mid-breath and lays down all the details in a succinct fashion more suitable for a business merger. It's an estate... very important man in the recording industry...The estate is that of the one Mitch Miller. Sing along with Mitch. Scourge of the Salvation Army. Golem of Goodwill! But the promise of sealed records and label promos gives me a shred of hope. The collection doesn't sound in the least bit appetizing but it's a couple stops down the 2 line so I'm on it.
I head over there on the established date, hungover from the night before. I'm maybe ten minutes late. I realize upon walking in that being late and hungover is not the move, as the guy I'm dealing with is moving at light speed and I am just trying to get my head around holy shit this apartment is huge. It runs half the length and width of the building which runs half the width of a city block. Each room is bigger than the next, and all are bigger than my home. The records are in a main room with a gargantuan meeting table. There are more records in a side room with a grand piano and audiophile set-up. One piece of furniture here is worth 100x the records. I realize I am probably in the wrong game for this lead.
There are epic amounts of chud. I manage to rescue a few sealed avant garde type LPs and a random ass box of ethnic and brazilian records. Miller's wife was into that stuff apparently. I assemble my boxes but am told I cannot buy them as the family needs to comb through to keep anything they might want. OK. I am assured they won't keep any records. I don't really care either way.
Months drag on as the sale of this mediocre collection is managed by a guy who doesn't live in New York. On my long-last return date the crib is far more empty than the last time, and my records have been combined with the records a second dealer assembled after I had already gone through. The boxes with my name written on them in big marker are filled with junk. I sigh.
I carefully pick through the records for a second time, which is two too many times for this collection. I buy what I need and take a walk through this gorgeous apartment again, thinking the whole time that this is going to be partitioned into 3, maybe 4 individual units by the time they're through.
1/3 of my haul was purchased on sight by a severely crusty Japanese customer mere days later. But you know who won? Fucking Mitch Miller. Dude lived in the lap of luxury for being basically the musical antithesis of anything good. And now I own his Religious Music Of The Falashas
Jonny i remember you had a story about a call from some dude way out in Brooklyn who was a crackhead living in a shack near the train tracks with no lights and you dug by lighter light? or some shit. but there was good jazz shit or something?
A good friend in the UK emigrated to Montana with his American wife and got himself a Sunday night show spot on KGLT Montana playing Jazz on Sunday evenings, and he was given free-reign of the vinyl archives to play from, and told that as they had 2 copies of most releases he was free to keep one copy of anything he wanted, so as he went through he pulled a copy of anything he wanted to keep and took them home. We're talking thousands of albums here, the basement was chocka.
After a while he came back to the UK on a family visit and rang me to say he was back and he'd brought a few albums over for me in his case, so we hooked up at my place and he pulls out a pile of albums as gifts - Black Jazz, Strata East, Steve Reid 'Nova' and the like, all in pretty much unplayed condition. I was overjoyed, as you would be with a gift like this and punched the air. He tells me they have an almost complete archive of OG Van Gelder Blue Notes down there he's not even start to get through and asked me for a list of my biggest wants, which I gave of course.
So he spends his month back in Blighty and heads back to the States and carries on doing his show and taking a bag of albums home every week, mainly concentrating on the more obscure titles he'd never seen before. After another while of this he goes in one Sunday night to do his show, goes to the basement, looks over to the shelves where the Blue Note section is, and there's nothing there.
He runs upstairs and says 'where's all the Blue Note section gone from the basement', and the receptionist replied 'oh, we sent it all to the dump on Tuesday to be crushed, we've run out of room to store the CD singles'...
He runs upstairs and says 'where's all the Blue Note section gone from the basement', and the receptionist replied 'oh, we sent it all to the dump on Tuesday to be crushed, we've run out of room to store the CD singles'...
He runs upstairs and says 'where's all the Blue Note section gone from the basement', and the receptionist replied 'oh, we sent it all to the dump on Tuesday to be crushed, we've run out of room to store the CD singles'...
This was less than 6 years ago but it feels like it had been another life time. Amazing how a casual visit to a dug over old record store can completely change everything.
great story!! DB is featured on the aeiou2 mix explaining to formerdiplo how to rip old artists off. dude has moments of genuine clarity where i can even say i care about him, but his inner record gollum is too damn strong. ..leading to stellarly shady shit. i did get my copies of sherlock holmes and saturday night special off him for thirty bucks back in the day.
I went to Smiths once before Frank accessed it. I was brought there by a friend who thought that my being white would help us get in cause "he doesnt like black people". I thought it was strange that there was still ol prejudiced white dudes on Columbia Ave in North Philly, but what the hell, we were gonna try to get into some records.
It didnt work. Smith, who was about as white as i am black absolutely refused. "i'm waiting for the avenue to come up before i start selling them." huh? might be a long wait. my friend pulls out a wad of twenties..."my moneys no good here?". apparently not. my friend walked out in disgust after a complete stonewalling by Smith. i leafed through the uninteresting stock on the lone rack in the corridor (like frank said, the place was mostly behind bulletproof glass) and when my buddy closes the door behind himself i notice, among the collage of music pictures on the wall, a clipped picture of Timothy McVeigh and another clipped quote from his last statement from his trial. Curious, i go back to Smith and ask what was up with McVeigh sharing wall space with a whos who of phillys soul artists. "That motherfucker was right! In fifty years, history books are gonna be saying hes a hero." huh? "you should see what they trying to charge me for electric! and then they trying to charge me for some shit from SEVEN years ago." Definitely a non sequitor, but one of those things where i just had to nod in agreement as i backed out the door.
So funny... I actually think it was my kraut accent that got me in. He immediately asked where I was from and seemed to like the answer. DB had warned me that he specifically hated the British. And obviously black and white compatriots...
After Haim's last visit, we spoke on the phone. He was still shook, telling me how Mr. Smith had stood behind him the entire time while he was digging, visibly wearing a handgun in his belt and saying something like "You're going to spend at least a couple a grand with me today, right? You're not going to waste my time?"
Then when I went back all those years later, he was all mellow and nice. Seemed happier than DB last time I saw him actually.
I remember Haim telling me the stories when that was all going down. I ended up getting a couple of things out of there from him (including Gunga Din).
The estate is that of the one Mitch Miller. Sing along with Mitch. Scourge of the Salvation Army. Golem of Goodwill!
Mitch Miller hated Rock & Roll
In the 80???s I met and became friends with the singer Boyd Bennett. He recorded some Pop/Rockabilly sides for King Records and his LP on the label is so rare it sold for $1,000 30 years ago. He told me a story about Mitch that he was still pretty bitter about some 25 years after the fact. He was signed to a ???4 song deal??? with Columbia and was given the opportunity to record 4 tracks with no guarantee that they would be released. He recorded 3 ???rockers??? and a ballad. The ballad was a cover of ???Just Walking In The Rain??? by The Prisonaires who had recorded for Sun Records. They submitted the 4 tracks and a few weeks later he was called in to meet with Mr. Miller. Mitch told him they were ???buying out his contract??? which meant paying him a minimal fee and that the songs would not be released. Boyd said that Mitch basically told him his voice was not star quality, the arrangements were too amateurish and the songs sucked.
A few weeks later Boyd turns on the radio and hears the new Johnny Ray #1 hit, on Columbia Records ???Just Walking In The Rain??? done almost identical to Boyd???s version.
I graduated High School in 1995. That summer i was determined to dig harder than i ever had. I had a car, I had a job plus money i made selling Cutco knives; i was ready to get steady on the dig in the hopes to take my beats to the next level.
Down in the hood there was a very strange psuedo one-stop/vinyl warehouse ran by a wonderful old man named Murray. When i say in the hood, i mean it was literally around the corner where they shot police chief Bernard Park's daughter to death at a Popeyes - and down the street from the J's. Not such a big deal in uber-gentrified LA now, but for a latin kid with a shaved head in 95, this was kind of a mission. Right in the middle of a feud between Black P Stone Jungles and Rollin' 40s Cripgang. I had visited Murray off and on during high school and he knew me well enough to agree to what i had in mind: I would show up every day at opening time for a week straight, bring a pack lunch, and proceed to turn the warehouse completely inside out. Murray wasn't getting any new records in and i knew that once i did that i could definitively check it off of my list. He had had a random visit from a japanese collector or brit in his history but it was sparce and never lasted more than an hour to his recollection. Cool, twas on.
I showed up the first day with my pack lunch and proceeded to set up my portable in the farthest, most desolate corner of the warehouse. Murray had an office in the front room completely seperate from the warehouse that he never left so I would be completely on my own (YES!). Running alongside the first floor of the warehouse there was a massive wall of 45's. It was about 10 feet tall, and ran approximately 60 feet. It turned, ran another 10 feet, then turned again and run another 20 feet. How many 45's there on the shelf along? At least 5-600,000. moving out from that wall there were shelves, and rows and shelves. Stuff was out, stuff was boxed up, some boxes had never been opened in 30 years. This was only the first floor (there were two). I made a little map on a scrap of paper so i could keep track of what i had sorted through and what i hadn't. I planned on going through EVERY 45 on the shelf and all the records. The 45 shelf itself had been alphabetized to a certain extent it seemed, by whom I wondered? I proceeded to start at A's. Not even midway through the first shelf, teetering on my tiptoes, I grab three deadstock copies of Tony Alvon Sexy Coffee Pot. And remember, this was 1995, so that was a big frickin deal. F that, no one has ever truly hit these shelves i triumphantly thought to myself. I stretched harder up to try to get a better look on the top shelf as i thumbed through the 45s, tiptoeing on the highest wrung of the step stool. Just then, I felt two hands on my hips. I spun around like what the f*** and this chubby slow looking dude with an afro is just standing there with his face next to my johnson. "Oooh," he says "I figured you could use some help". "YO" I scream at him and he scampers off with a delighted squeal.
Ok, what the hell just happened. I stood there in shock for a second and realized two things:
1) I had possible uncovered a score of once in a lifetime proportion.
2) Apparently Murray had a hired a local, very gay lispy man to box records in the warehouse and now it was going to be me and him. And he seemed very comfortable propositioning me.
I could walk out, here on the first morning at the brink of this discovery or i could truck through it and keep one eye on the "dude". I thought about it and said screw it. I kept digging. By the time i got through the first top to bottom shelf i had only finished A-D and had a stack of about 150 45s. Some were known keepers but lots were local/private soul things i didn't know that i was going to listen to. I took my stack back to my portable set up and cautiously sat down. I hadn't seen "dude" in a while and that was fine with me. As soon as i got my headphones on and i got comfortable, I noticed dude coming towards me again. He had some records in his hand and the stepstool. I tried to ignore him and turned up the volume on my headphones. He plopped the stool down RIGHT next to me and feigned some interest in the top shelf above my head. I pulled one earphone off and asked "do you want me to move?" He just shook his head and whispered "your good your good". Aight. Dude proceed to climb the stepstool and then lean over as far as he could sideways, basically putting his junk all up on me. I jumped back and threw my headphones off. Without stopping the bend over, Dude turned around and said "IT'S ALL GOOD!".
I shook my head and walked out the warehouse, past murrays office and went outside for a smoke. It was only about 11am on the first day. I would have left right there if it wasn't for the fact that my portable and a stack of unstoppable heat was sitting there, AND there was no telling in what was on the rest of the shelf or in the warehouse proper. I had already found some 45 by a group named "Duralcha" that was blowin' my mind.
I mentally kicked my ass and then walked back in. As i passed Murray's office, he shouted "Hey, Mitchell is going to help you in there if you need anything!" Aight. I went back to my stack and looked around for Mitchell. No Mitchell. Good. I went back to listening. A few hours later, I was listening to another stack of records, clocking more heat. Here comes Mitchell and he's got one 45 in his hand and is looking dead at me. He says "Here!" and hands me something titled "Gay Poppa". WTF. I say thanks, and put it in my stack but i don't listen to it, and an hour later i track him down and give it back to him and say "Thanks man but it's not really my THING". The best part is two weeks later I was talking to Mike Vague and he told me that was a really rare, expensive soul 45. Whoops. I made it through the day, then the next day and the heat was stacking up to epic proportions. Mitchell was giving me more space but more often I would catch him just staring at me, or i would catch him watching me through the opposite side of a shelf.
On the last day i finally made it upstairs, where there were tons of unsorted full length LP's and about 8 rickety tall shelfs holding them. It seemed the whole second floor could collapse at any minute. It was filled with cobwebs and dust, and there were un-sleeved records everywhere. It was very very isolated up there, and there was hardly any light. I spent the better part of the day going through the shelves, and pulling random things like Greek Psych records and local gospel. I hadn't seen Mitchell all day, but that was good, and i didn't even think twice about it. As i was getting ready to pack up and head out i noticed some very very dusty photo albums underneath the first row of shelves. They were tucked under the shelf and were in part acting as support for the whole thing. The idea of photos from LA in the 60s-70s sounded cool to me so i got down and carefully slid the easiest one i could out. I opened the "photo-album" and to my surprise instead of photo pages inside there was one single manilla colored record sleeve with a thick acetate inside. I carefully slid the acetate out and it read: "Capitol Records, July 1969 FOOD test mix, alt v.1" I didn't know what food was but i did know i had found something completely immense and there were still 9 or ten of these photo albums underneath there. Blood rushed to my head and i totally focused on getting them out without tipping the shelf. I was on my hand and knees, bent down as far as I could with my head literally on the floor trying to look under the shelf. I didn't realize mitchell had snuck upstairs. I didn't realize that Mitchell had come up behind me. Somehow, by the grace of god and all that is holy in this universe, I freed one of the "photo albums" and deftly slid it back and jumped up spinning around only to see Mitchell attempting to, shall we say, line up the pucini. I screamed, he screamed and an alt mix acetate of Roy Porter's Jessica fell out of the photo album and hit the floor. I screamed again, yelling "FUCK DUDE WHAT THE FUCK!" Mitchell ran out of the room. I looked down and thankfully the acetate somehow hadn't broken, It landed on the first photo album i pulled out.
8 photo albums, 8 acetates, one of which is a 4 song soul EP that is absolutely priceless and amazing to me. Mitchell was gone for good. I squared up with Murray and left with the giant pull, and did my best not to think about anything that had happened. 6 years later i stopped by to say hello to Murray and make sure he was still alive. he was and he remembered me, and we had a good talk. Mitchell, it seems, was long gone. Two years ago I stopped by again and his son had taken over the record warehouse and the dude seemed like a complete and utter douche. It also seemed like they still hadn't gotten anything new in since the 90's so it was all good. Every now and again I'll hear a hipster or LA newbie mention "this giant record warehouse of Exposition" and i chuckle to myself. I wish Mitchell was still around to give them the grand help out.
Oh and, no, no records at Murrays (now). Welcome to LA.
Comments
One weekday afternoon here in Houston, I drove over to Fifth Ward to see these junker twins I visit with on occasion. The guys just have your random assortment of junkman-type accoutrements. Old beer signs, some records and apparently, on this day, two photo albums of homemade porn that a local had allegedly made and sold. Said the guy once played for the Kansas City Chiefs and the only thing he loved more than football was the ladies.
The building is situated at the corner of an intersection with a residential street. Remember, Houston doesn???t have any zoning laws and it???s not like the Fifth Ward would care anyways. I had struck out, the twins didn???t have any records for me that day and we were standing outside, shooting the shit and I posed my general inquiry whilst out digging in unfamiliar locales. ???Do y???all know anyone else around here that might have some records they would like to sell????
Without missing a beat, one of the twins turns and points down the residential street and tells me to go speak to Arthur at the fifth house on the left. As dumb luck would have it, as he???s telling me this, Arthur actually walks out onto his porch. One the twins screams out his name and points at me. I thank the twins and start my way down the block.
Upon reaching his gated yard, I immediately noticed the size of this man. He???s an easy 6???5 and 300lbs, not to mention he???s had a tracheotomy and was smoking Kool Filter Kings through the nicotine-stained hole in his neck. He wore a 1990-era Chicago Bulls bucket hat and fingerless gloves and when I went to shake his hand, I realized he was missing his right pinky.
Arthur didn???t have one of those electronic vibrato robot-voice amplifiers that you see people in similar circumstances tend to have. In order for him to speak, he had to press down on the valve in his neck and could only muster slightly more than a whisper. He told me he had tons of records in his garage, so like a moth to a flame, I followed him down the driveway.
At some point, part of the garage was converted into a tiny social room, completely separate from the rest of the structure. Arthur unlocked the door and let me into a little room that a Chihuahua lived in and apparently peed in, next to a few nice-sized piles of records. Arthur walked in behind me and shut the door.
I started going through all the vinyl and occasionally Arthur would make a random question from behind me like ???Do you like to play Pacman????
I started digging faster.
Rare local Houston disco twelves, local jazz titles like Bubbha Thomas and the Lightmen were appearing and at the same time, I came to the realization I may not be in the safest of situations. He???d randomly start belly laughing through his tracheotomy. I dug faster.
Then, I hear ???Hey man??? and I turn around to face Arthur and notice he???s pulled out a fucking ninja sword. A big, sharp fucking sword and he???s pointing it towards me from two yards away. I freeze. I don???t say a word. I???m cornered. My stomach sank; I figured I???d finally done it this time. I was going to die looking for records. How depressing! Killed by my hobby, I always imagined I???d die when my record shelves collapsed and crushed me. Nope, I???m going to be killed by a nine-fingered man with a tracheotomy and a ninja sword, wearing a hat straight out of Do the Right Thing.
He took a couple steps towards me, lifted the sword up to my neck and held it there for what felt like an eternity. I didn???t move, I didn???t speak, and I don???t think I so much as took a breath. Arthur just looked at me for a moment, started laughing, lowered the sword and asked me I found anything I wanted to buy.
I made sure to pay him VERY WELL that day.
Oddly enough, Arthur and I ended up becoming friends and he takes me over to his friend???s homes on occasion to buy records as long as I stop by the store first so he can buy a pack of smokes.
Sometimes life is stranger than fiction.
6 Stars
I was 10, and in Toledo Ohio with my Dad, who was then and still is a record man. I had been on trips with him before, but this was the first time I was an active member of the dig. He was buying 78 stock at Seligman Brothers, a shop that had been around I believe since the 40s, and this was 1981. They basically served the Black community with music, and the other side of their shop was hardware I think. We were not the first to get there, but my Dad was doing pretty good with finding stuff that would be great store stock for his shop in Toronto. My job was to carefully collect all his pulled items and stack them in the crates, while counting as I went and coming up with the grand total at the end. It's basically here that it all started for me. I look back at this with great fondness, as it was me and my Dad digging through music, and years later it became my profession as well. The craziest thing is, I remember passing by the entire 1st floor which was Full of LPs. My Dad didn't want that stuff as it was all 70s Disco and R&B. Of course....if we could only go back in time.
A friend from NYC and his buddy, an at the time big funk & soul 45 collector from Philly, let's call him "DB" came to see me at the club. After the party we hung out at the bar when at around 3 am DB offered to take us around town and show us some legendary Philly record sites. First stop was the building that had housed the Virtue studios which was behind a construction fence and already half demolished. Next stop was a store called "Smith's Records". DB explaiend how he had tried for 8 years to get records out of the place but how the ownre flat out refused to deal with white folks... DB said he had reason to believe that there was a storage room full of heat in the building and I couldn't believe that getting to it was an impossible task. We called it a night and got a few hours of sleep. The next day I talked DB into going by Smith's Records again and to let me try and get in there. According to DB this was a really sketchy part of town. I was surprised to find the front door unlocked but when I opened it, some sort of an alarm went off and kept going until store owner Stanley appeared behind the counter and flipped a switch. The entire L shaped counter was behind glass and additional wire fencing like in some liquor store. On display were mostly religous CDs and videos. I asked the owner if he had any funk and soul 45s and he immediately said he had a room full of them but that he would charge $5 a piece. To brighten the mood, I told him that if I'd find the type of stuff I was looking for, I'd gladly pay him $10 a pop. He let me in and I walked upstairs. There were shelves full of boxes and all of them contained 45s. First one I opened contained 100 copies of the Gunga Din "snake pit" 45 which at the time was still a $200-$300 record, Smoking Shades Of Black, Bobby King & The Siver Foxx Band, Maurice McKinnies & The Champions and a lot of more obscure stuff I had never seen before. All the boxes I could see were thickly and evenly covered with dust and it was clear that nobody had touched these for many years. Since this was on my last day, I only had about $400 left on me so this translated to only 40 records. DB at this point had also entered the store and was chatting with Stanley downstairs. Stanley soon got very antsy and said he only had very limited time because he "had to be somewhere". We still got to talk a bit more after the transaction was done and I asked him why there were so many Country 45s in there as well. He said that his daddy had also been a producer and been travelling a lot up and down the East Coast, recording for all sorts of bands. We stood on the sidewalk for a bit and talked about how awesome his old store sign was. mounted above the store name light was a red elyptical thing with a record painted onto it. Stan said it used to light up and turn. We asked if it would still work and he said he hadn't used it in over 10 years but why not give it a shot. He went into the back of the store, flipped a switch and the sign lit up and the red thing with the record on it began to creak and slowly move when na electrical wiring box next to the sign suddenly exploded with a loud bang, sending thick, golden sparks raining onto the sidewalk all around us.
Later that night, DB and I went out to celebrate. We were very excited. I had only been in there for 30 minutes and without a portable so I only pulled the obvious funk stuff. No doubt I had only skimmed a bit around a small part of the surface. DB promised he would give me 50% of all the stuff he would pull out of there because I had "opened the door" for him and also because there was more in there than one person alone could even want to keep for themselves (or so I thought, I was still a bit naive back then). DB puked down his shirt in the cab on the way home. I left for the airport after giving him 20 out of my 40 records just to be fair and after all, there was no true guarantee that he'd be allowed back in at Smith's. Of course he got back in and of course he only sent me small packages of shit refcords all the while complaining I had inflated the price from $5 to $10. I called up Stanley from back home in Berlin and arranged for my friend and that time Philly resident Haim to go in there and get records for the both of us which worked just fine.
I went back for sentimental reasons when I was back in Philly some 5 years later. Stan was in much better shape than when we had met before and of course the storage room had all been turned over completely. All the 45s were removed from their boxes and they were stacked with only piles of turds remaining. One of the big guys had been there years ago and taken care of business for good which had been obvious by the number of Gunga Din buy-it nows popping up on ebay for several years already.
Just before I was about to say good-bye, Stan told me that he still had some LPs in his office downstairs, if I'd want ot have a look. First handful I pulled out of the shelf was all weird looking, mint African LPs on a label from Nigeria called "Tabansi Records". I had no clue about African records back then but was intrigued by the amazing cover art. I bought as many as I could afford. One of them was the Pax Nicholas & The Nettey Family LP and it got in immediate constant rotation right away. I had zero results when I googled the band name. At the same time, my wife was supposed to leave the country for her first forreign assignment. I said, "why not go to Africa" maybe there's more of this type of music out there..."
This was less than 6 years ago but it feels like it had been another life time. Amazing how a casual visit to a dug over old record store can completely change everything.
I'm sure there are some fabulous stories on this thread, but i have to apologize because my eyes don't read off the screen and I am more off a listener than a reader anyway. I love your voice!!!
Every great diggin' experience of mine has more to do with the people I dig with than the records I score...coincidently they go hand-n-hand to the beat of my recollection anyway.
Like I remember when I got my womb record at a KDVS record swap in Sacramento next to the spagetti factory restaurant. And sitting on the tailgate of the car in the sun making sure everybody had seen enough art was great. I think that was with a two radio friends D. S. & B. I., and friend.
More consistly though, I dig with the children. Some of them are boys and some are girls. Some like pokemon, some like animals, some like rap, some like friendly games and fun days. So, we talk about Charzars and charmander and pokemon stadium, or (because we are both at SPCA with are dogs) I will introduce Harley Davidson and they will introduce Squishy Elephant and we will talk about large breed and small breed and different dog blends. Today, for example, we talked independent rap, compared to major label rap. This lead to more talking about stories and intellectual property and claim jumpin'z. Cool groups of kids hang out around here, I love their voice.
I told them I'm a Dj at the local volunteer radio station, showed them the Tommy Tate on Juana, and that will be on tonight.
Lots of Love (my LOL)
Record karma in full effect.....great story Frank.
ahah man i live in this city and actually 30 sec. from this shop... it's probably Black & Blue and that dude is well known to be a total asshole with 90% of the customers, overpricing most of his shitty records... never found something interesting there, but 2 streets away there's another one with TONS of 45s, psych lps and a nice secret garage where i found some nice stuff...
great story!! DB is featured on the aeiou2 mix explaining to formerdiplo how to rip old artists off. dude has moments of genuine clarity where i can even say i care about him, but his inner record gollum is too damn strong. ..leading to stellarly shady shit. i did get my copies of sherlock holmes and saturday night special off him for thirty bucks back in the day.
I went to Smiths once before Frank accessed it. I was brought there by a friend who thought that my being white would help us get in cause "he doesnt like black people". I thought it was strange that there was still ol prejudiced white dudes on Columbia Ave in North Philly, but what the hell, we were gonna try to get into some records.
It didnt work. Smith, who was about as white as i am black absolutely refused. "i'm waiting for the avenue to come up before i start selling them." huh? might be a long wait. my friend pulls out a wad of twenties..."my moneys no good here?". apparently not. my friend walked out in disgust after a complete stonewalling by Smith. i leafed through the uninteresting stock on the lone rack in the corridor (like frank said, the place was mostly behind bulletproof glass) and when my buddy closes the door behind himself i notice, among the collage of music pictures on the wall, a clipped picture of Timothy McVeigh and another clipped quote from his last statement from his trial. Curious, i go back to Smith and ask what was up with McVeigh sharing wall space with a whos who of phillys soul artists. "That motherfucker was right! In fifty years, history books are gonna be saying hes a hero." huh? "you should see what they trying to charge me for electric! and then they trying to charge me for some shit from SEVEN years ago." Definitely a non sequitor, but one of those things where i just had to nod in agreement as i backed out the door.
So funny... I actually think it was my kraut accent that got me in. He immediately asked where I was from and seemed to like the answer. DB had warned me that he specifically hated the British. And obviously black and white compatriots...
After Haim's last visit, we spoke on the phone. He was still shook, telling me how Mr. Smith had stood behind him the entire time while he was digging, visibly wearing a handgun in his belt and saying something like "You're going to spend at least a couple a grand with me today, right? You're not going to waste my time?"
Then when I went back all those years later, he was all mellow and nice. Seemed happier than DB last time I saw him actually.
Lonestar Tall Boys Represent.
Great story.
I get a call from a man, asking if I buy records, etc etc. Yes, how many, where are they... the dude basically stops me mid-breath and lays down all the details in a succinct fashion more suitable for a business merger. It's an estate... very important man in the recording industry...The estate is that of the one Mitch Miller. Sing along with Mitch. Scourge of the Salvation Army. Golem of Goodwill! But the promise of sealed records and label promos gives me a shred of hope. The collection doesn't sound in the least bit appetizing but it's a couple stops down the 2 line so I'm on it.
I head over there on the established date, hungover from the night before. I'm maybe ten minutes late. I realize upon walking in that being late and hungover is not the move, as the guy I'm dealing with is moving at light speed and I am just trying to get my head around holy shit this apartment is huge. It runs half the length and width of the building which runs half the width of a city block. Each room is bigger than the next, and all are bigger than my home. The records are in a main room with a gargantuan meeting table. There are more records in a side room with a grand piano and audiophile set-up. One piece of furniture here is worth 100x the records. I realize I am probably in the wrong game for this lead.
There are epic amounts of chud. I manage to rescue a few sealed avant garde type LPs and a random ass box of ethnic and brazilian records. Miller's wife was into that stuff apparently. I assemble my boxes but am told I cannot buy them as the family needs to comb through to keep anything they might want. OK. I am assured they won't keep any records. I don't really care either way.
Months drag on as the sale of this mediocre collection is managed by a guy who doesn't live in New York. On my long-last return date the crib is far more empty than the last time, and my records have been combined with the records a second dealer assembled after I had already gone through. The boxes with my name written on them in big marker are filled with junk. I sigh.
I carefully pick through the records for a second time, which is two too many times for this collection. I buy what I need and take a walk through this gorgeous apartment again, thinking the whole time that this is going to be partitioned into 3, maybe 4 individual units by the time they're through.
1/3 of my haul was purchased on sight by a severely crusty Japanese customer mere days later. But you know who won? Fucking Mitch Miller. Dude lived in the lap of luxury for being basically the musical antithesis of anything good. And now I own his Religious Music Of The Falashas
Here's my 2 cents... a few crazy digging highlights....
Years ago I had to attend a work related conference in cairns for a few days. In my spare time I hit a few of their Lifeline stores and picked up some cool shit. Then one day as part of the conference activities we went to this little old mining town about an hour away in the rainforest, the old town had been turned into a tourist type place with all the stores selling food, drinks, soveniers etc.
So Im covering this event for my magazine and Im taking photos, chatting with dudes and they all sort of start doing their own thing so i follow one group for a wander around. We walk into this faux Old General Store type place and I suddenly see some record crates out the back in a shed. Straight into I start going hard digging quickly cus theres tons of crates there and we are due to leave soon. Nothing too crash hot, plenty of dollar bin stuff but I pull some stuff Ive never seen before, some which turned out to have some heat on it. So Im carrying about 30 records and my camera and Im quite happy, I got to dig when i wasnt expecting too....and on company time.
The guide tells us we got an hour to do our thing and the train leaves after that so we got to be at the station. Cool, so i wander off on my own looking for a cold beer and end up at the community centre/libary building at the end of the town. Walk in and see some books for sale so i go have a quick look at see a crate of wax. Sweet, I ask the lady are these for sale and she tells me "yes love, but they are $2 each".... First half of the crate is very Kamahlish and all of a sudden I hit a dope patch Kerrie Biddell ST, a couple of Daly Wilsons I hadnt seen before, a Col Nolan solo, another fresh aussie jazz/soul tri Hi Way, all up I pulled about 10 dope LPs all in NM condition. The score wasnt so rare but the fact i found records, and decent ones, in some remote mining town turned tourist trap always spins me out.
And the cherry on top. On the train ride back the train stops at a station on the outskirts of Cairns and I look and see a massive Lifeline (thrifty store) that I hadnt been able to find in my wanderings the previous day. I was mid way thru a sentence and said fuck it, grabbed my bags and jumped off to the astonishment of the ppl I was with. I ended up coming back with over 100 records from that trip.....and with a bit of creative expenses claims the company cover half the cost... :-)
As Im walking there I see Atlantis Music store front. Hmmmm, I see 'records' on the signage. I start walking towards it. I stop before crossing the road cus a bus is coming. My phone rings. Its my GF (who was on her way to another area to shop for clothes).
Her: "Hey babe, Im on the bus and it just drove past this store that looks like it sells records, I didnt catch the name properly, something Atlantic, Atlas... but its in the Southport area".
Me: "Im actually standing in front of it right now."
The store ended up being a goldmine. The front of it is very typical music store, more CDs, merch and shit, the second part is straight up vinyl heaven. And the shit is organised well. Bonus points they got a turntable to listen to shit. I pulled out around 200 titles ended up buying around 80 and the dude gave me a mad discount.
Jonny i remember you had a story about a call from some dude way out in Brooklyn who was a crackhead living in a shack near the train tracks with no lights and you dug by lighter light? or some shit. but there was good jazz shit or something?
spit that one
Great and disturbing story but I don't think you're missing much by avoiding that particular listen. It's really not a good record.
After a while he came back to the UK on a family visit and rang me to say he was back and he'd brought a few albums over for me in his case, so we hooked up at my place and he pulls out a pile of albums as gifts - Black Jazz, Strata East, Steve Reid 'Nova' and the like, all in pretty much unplayed condition. I was overjoyed, as you would be with a gift like this and punched the air. He tells me they have an almost complete archive of OG Van Gelder Blue Notes down there he's not even start to get through and asked me for a list of my biggest wants, which I gave of course.
So he spends his month back in Blighty and heads back to the States and carries on doing his show and taking a bag of albums home every week, mainly concentrating on the more obscure titles he'd never seen before. After another while of this he goes in one Sunday night to do his show, goes to the basement, looks over to the shelves where the Blue Note section is, and there's nothing there.
He runs upstairs and says 'where's all the Blue Note section gone from the basement', and the receptionist replied 'oh, we sent it all to the dump on Tuesday to be crushed, we've run out of room to store the CD singles'...
I'm not in the habit of telling a lie to get a tale up on the internet, I simply wouldn't bother, so tragically, no it's not a lie, it's true
I remember Haim telling me the stories when that was all going down. I ended up getting a couple of things out of there from him (including Gunga Din).
Mitch Miller hated Rock & Roll
In the 80???s I met and became friends with the singer Boyd Bennett. He recorded some Pop/Rockabilly sides for King Records and his LP on the label is so rare it sold for $1,000 30 years ago. He told me a story about Mitch that he was still pretty bitter about some 25 years after the fact. He was signed to a ???4 song deal??? with Columbia and was given the opportunity to record 4 tracks with no guarantee that they would be released. He recorded 3 ???rockers??? and a ballad. The ballad was a cover of ???Just Walking In The Rain??? by The Prisonaires who had recorded for Sun Records. They submitted the 4 tracks and a few weeks later he was called in to meet with Mr. Miller. Mitch told him they were ???buying out his contract??? which meant paying him a minimal fee and that the songs would not be released. Boyd said that Mitch basically told him his voice was not star quality, the arrangements were too amateurish and the songs sucked.
A few weeks later Boyd turns on the radio and hears the new Johnny Ray #1 hit, on Columbia Records ???Just Walking In The Rain??? done almost identical to Boyd???s version.
I graduated High School in 1995. That summer i was determined to dig harder than i ever had. I had a car, I had a job plus money i made selling Cutco knives; i was ready to get steady on the dig in the hopes to take my beats to the next level.
Down in the hood there was a very strange psuedo one-stop/vinyl warehouse ran by a wonderful old man named Murray. When i say in the hood, i mean it was literally around the corner where they shot police chief Bernard Park's daughter to death at a Popeyes - and down the street from the J's. Not such a big deal in uber-gentrified LA now, but for a latin kid with a shaved head in 95, this was kind of a mission. Right in the middle of a feud between Black P Stone Jungles and Rollin' 40s Cripgang. I had visited Murray off and on during high school and he knew me well enough to agree to what i had in mind: I would show up every day at opening time for a week straight, bring a pack lunch, and proceed to turn the warehouse completely inside out. Murray wasn't getting any new records in and i knew that once i did that i could definitively check it off of my list. He had had a random visit from a japanese collector or brit in his history but it was sparce and never lasted more than an hour to his recollection. Cool, twas on.
I showed up the first day with my pack lunch and proceeded to set up my portable in the farthest, most desolate corner of the warehouse. Murray had an office in the front room completely seperate from the warehouse that he never left so I would be completely on my own (YES!). Running alongside the first floor of the warehouse there was a massive wall of 45's. It was about 10 feet tall, and ran approximately 60 feet. It turned, ran another 10 feet, then turned again and run another 20 feet. How many 45's there on the shelf along? At least 5-600,000. moving out from that wall there were shelves, and rows and shelves. Stuff was out, stuff was boxed up, some boxes had never been opened in 30 years. This was only the first floor (there were two). I made a little map on a scrap of paper so i could keep track of what i had sorted through and what i hadn't. I planned on going through EVERY 45 on the shelf and all the records. The 45 shelf itself had been alphabetized to a certain extent it seemed, by whom I wondered? I proceeded to start at A's. Not even midway through the first shelf, teetering on my tiptoes, I grab three deadstock copies of Tony Alvon Sexy Coffee Pot. And remember, this was 1995, so that was a big frickin deal. F that, no one has ever truly hit these shelves i triumphantly thought to myself. I stretched harder up to try to get a better look on the top shelf as i thumbed through the 45s, tiptoeing on the highest wrung of the step stool. Just then, I felt two hands on my hips. I spun around like what the f*** and this chubby slow looking dude with an afro is just standing there with his face next to my johnson. "Oooh," he says "I figured you could use some help". "YO" I scream at him and he scampers off with a delighted squeal.
Ok, what the hell just happened. I stood there in shock for a second and realized two things:
1) I had possible uncovered a score of once in a lifetime proportion.
2) Apparently Murray had a hired a local, very gay lispy man to box records in the warehouse and now it was going to be me and him. And he seemed very comfortable propositioning me.
I could walk out, here on the first morning at the brink of this discovery or i could truck through it and keep one eye on the "dude". I thought about it and said screw it. I kept digging. By the time i got through the first top to bottom shelf i had only finished A-D and had a stack of about 150 45s. Some were known keepers but lots were local/private soul things i didn't know that i was going to listen to. I took my stack back to my portable set up and cautiously sat down. I hadn't seen "dude" in a while and that was fine with me. As soon as i got my headphones on and i got comfortable, I noticed dude coming towards me again. He had some records in his hand and the stepstool. I tried to ignore him and turned up the volume on my headphones. He plopped the stool down RIGHT next to me and feigned some interest in the top shelf above my head. I pulled one earphone off and asked "do you want me to move?" He just shook his head and whispered "your good your good". Aight. Dude proceed to climb the stepstool and then lean over as far as he could sideways, basically putting his junk all up on me. I jumped back and threw my headphones off. Without stopping the bend over, Dude turned around and said "IT'S ALL GOOD!".
I shook my head and walked out the warehouse, past murrays office and went outside for a smoke. It was only about 11am on the first day. I would have left right there if it wasn't for the fact that my portable and a stack of unstoppable heat was sitting there, AND there was no telling in what was on the rest of the shelf or in the warehouse proper. I had already found some 45 by a group named "Duralcha" that was blowin' my mind.
I mentally kicked my ass and then walked back in. As i passed Murray's office, he shouted "Hey, Mitchell is going to help you in there if you need anything!" Aight. I went back to my stack and looked around for Mitchell. No Mitchell. Good. I went back to listening. A few hours later, I was listening to another stack of records, clocking more heat. Here comes Mitchell and he's got one 45 in his hand and is looking dead at me. He says "Here!" and hands me something titled "Gay Poppa". WTF. I say thanks, and put it in my stack but i don't listen to it, and an hour later i track him down and give it back to him and say "Thanks man but it's not really my THING". The best part is two weeks later I was talking to Mike Vague and he told me that was a really rare, expensive soul 45. Whoops. I made it through the day, then the next day and the heat was stacking up to epic proportions. Mitchell was giving me more space but more often I would catch him just staring at me, or i would catch him watching me through the opposite side of a shelf.
On the last day i finally made it upstairs, where there were tons of unsorted full length LP's and about 8 rickety tall shelfs holding them. It seemed the whole second floor could collapse at any minute. It was filled with cobwebs and dust, and there were un-sleeved records everywhere. It was very very isolated up there, and there was hardly any light. I spent the better part of the day going through the shelves, and pulling random things like Greek Psych records and local gospel. I hadn't seen Mitchell all day, but that was good, and i didn't even think twice about it. As i was getting ready to pack up and head out i noticed some very very dusty photo albums underneath the first row of shelves. They were tucked under the shelf and were in part acting as support for the whole thing. The idea of photos from LA in the 60s-70s sounded cool to me so i got down and carefully slid the easiest one i could out. I opened the "photo-album" and to my surprise instead of photo pages inside there was one single manilla colored record sleeve with a thick acetate inside. I carefully slid the acetate out and it read: "Capitol Records, July 1969 FOOD test mix, alt v.1" I didn't know what food was but i did know i had found something completely immense and there were still 9 or ten of these photo albums underneath there. Blood rushed to my head and i totally focused on getting them out without tipping the shelf. I was on my hand and knees, bent down as far as I could with my head literally on the floor trying to look under the shelf. I didn't realize mitchell had snuck upstairs. I didn't realize that Mitchell had come up behind me. Somehow, by the grace of god and all that is holy in this universe, I freed one of the "photo albums" and deftly slid it back and jumped up spinning around only to see Mitchell attempting to, shall we say, line up the pucini. I screamed, he screamed and an alt mix acetate of Roy Porter's Jessica fell out of the photo album and hit the floor. I screamed again, yelling "FUCK DUDE WHAT THE FUCK!" Mitchell ran out of the room. I looked down and thankfully the acetate somehow hadn't broken, It landed on the first photo album i pulled out.
8 photo albums, 8 acetates, one of which is a 4 song soul EP that is absolutely priceless and amazing to me. Mitchell was gone for good. I squared up with Murray and left with the giant pull, and did my best not to think about anything that had happened. 6 years later i stopped by to say hello to Murray and make sure he was still alive. he was and he remembered me, and we had a good talk. Mitchell, it seems, was long gone. Two years ago I stopped by again and his son had taken over the record warehouse and the dude seemed like a complete and utter douche. It also seemed like they still hadn't gotten anything new in since the 90's so it was all good. Every now and again I'll hear a hipster or LA newbie mention "this giant record warehouse of Exposition" and i chuckle to myself. I wish Mitchell was still around to give them the grand help out.
Oh and, no, no records at Murrays (now). Welcome to LA.
epic