...I only shop for music now at the Goodwill on Geary at Hyde, where all the LPs are a buck. As you might imagine, these are the dumped-off record collections of the dead. 
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by cactus dan Anyone who even casually knows me will tell you that despite my insatiable desire for new and completely-fucked things to listen to, I do not actually buy that many new cds or LPs anymore. The very notion of plunking down $17 or $18 for a new cd seems quite alien and indeed cruelly-absurd to me at this point. Mostly, my musician pals simply burn cdr copies of whatever I want for me. My weekly five-hour radio program on KUSF, Defeat Sleep, helps keep me somewhat aware of what's flying around. In fact, most of what I listen to these days are packaging-free homemade cdrs by noise artists and bands flying so far under the vapid, nitwit mass media radar that they don't even sell their music in stores. Or anywhere, for that matter, except maybe at their gigs, or via simple email listings on Yahoo email discussion groups like BrutalSFX and Spockmorgue and Mountgoof. It's a budding cdr trading network, not altogether different from the oft-touted underground cassette tape exchange scene of the 1980s. I think as time goes on, we'll likely see more and more wholly-uncommercial bands simply skipping the marketing and selling of their music. They'll just give the recordings away for free, via the web, or dirt cheap cdrs, and make their money (whatever money is to be made) off live shows and t-shirt sales. Basically, I only shop for music now at the Goodwill on Geary at Hyde, where all the LPs are a buck. As you might imagine, these are the dumped-off record collections of the dead. They smell bad. They're dusty and warped and have stains. Still, thirty minutes of digging though the shite will almost always yield one or two clear gems. Sometimes I'll take a gander in the LP-filled milkcrates at that claustraphobia-inducing chinese flea market on Eddy and Leavenworth. I've got a crappy but quite functional Fisher Price Big Bird record player on my desk, and I really love playing scratchy and neglected misfit vinyl of the past. My only regret is it doesn't play 78s. Anyway, here are some of my favorite recent acquisitions: 1. The Yrjo Saarnio Band: Finnish Jenkkas and Polkas (Capitol). No date, looks like it's from around 1960. Just looking at this record makes me fucking happy--smiling Finns, in olde worlde costumage, spinning around in the rustic forest outside of Helsinki. As I grew up in Milwaukee, any form of polka gets me going. The playing on this is relentlessly joyous and indeed rocking. I love this record. 2. The Sounds of the Bullring (Sutton). Again, no date. Looks like around 1960, again. This is actually a bizarre collection of field recordings(!) and bullfighting songs, from a prototypical bullfight in Spain. Kind of repulsive, but fascinating all the same. Great, horrific cover. Fuck bullfighting. 3. Environments 8: Sailboat/Country Stream (Syntonic Research). 1974. I actually remember listening to this, in junior high, in 1976, in Oak Creek, Wisconsin. I checked it out from the tiny Oak Creek Public Library. Field recordings--duh. Great 70s fonts on the back, that remind me of the Electric Company, if you remember that hippie kids show from PBS back in the day. 4. Gus Farney: Giant Pipes (Warner Brothers). 1962. Recorded live in Salt Lake City, Gus shreds on the 5-manual Wurlitzer pipe organ. Quite histrionic and almost out-of-control, unlike say, the dude who plays at the Castro Theatre before the film. Punk as fuck. Great Paul Klee-like abstract cover. 5. Lester Flatt and Earl Scruggs: Hard Travelin' (RCA). 1963. I don't need to tell you how altogether kick-ass and bludgeoning this mutant bluegrass record is. Rips skin off. Like the death metal of country music. And yes, it includes the original Ballad of Jed Clampett. 6. Eddie Peabody: Plays! (Dot). No date, looks like around 1958. This one is creepy beyond belief. Banjo-player, in a startling checkered suit and a bowtie. He has a decidedly evil grin and mug, and a severe Thomas Dolby-like haircut. Looks like a parody, but one senses that he's dead serious. He plays like a tweaked-out street musician, power-strumming his banjo with a violent energy, like some deranged and pissed-off guest on Refkin's Rag Time Machine. The clincher: it's got Peabody's autograph on the back. 7. Eddie Heywood: Canadian Sunset (RCA). 1957. Incredible cover, of a Canadian lake scene at sunset--duh. Cool West Coast-style jazz, with Heywood's piano out front. Pretty sappy, but has some interesting moments. He's no Sun Ra, but this is good really late at night. 8. John Klein Plays the Carillon Bells (Northwestern Savings and Loan Records). No date, 1956, maybe. This record was given away free when you opened an account. Church bell music, recorded in Pennsylvania Dutch country. Oddly, it does not say which church, or where, exactly. This record has a very shrill quality that makes my cat Willy meow. I don't think he digs it, so I don't play it much. 9. Zambetas: The World's Greatest Bouzouki Artist (Alshire). No date, maybe 1965. Probably my fave oddball $1 LP find of the last year. Greek Bouzouki music that really fucking blasts. Even the tracks with vocals kick much ass. Like being at some raucous Greek wedding. Incredible music. 10. Chet Atkins: The Early Years (RCA). 1964. I had no idea what a true genius guitarist this chap was, though I had always been told so by folks in the know. He's certainly not in Django's league, or Charlie Christian's league, but he can cut the mustard with the likes of Glenn Campbell, et al. Quick-picking and delicately pretty little western ditties. Great morning music. 11. Maria Callas: Sings Arias From Wagner (Turnabout). No date, 1961, maybe. No image on the front, but there's a great photo on the back--she looks like an even more sinister Joan Crawford. This is savage and crushing opera, very no-holds-barred bombast. Quite punk. Her voice was like a knife to our collective throat. 12. Al Hirt: At Dan's Pier 600 in New Orleans (AF). 1958. Amazing cover, a photo of a dixieland blowout show at the club in question. Hirt, a trumpet player, lays himself out on the floor and goes wacky crazy with ecstasy. Makes me want to watch Woody Allen's Sleeper.
13. Zeb Billings: The Magic Sounds (Continental).
No date, maybe 1955. Continental was an obscure Milwaukee label that put out a lot of Frankie Yankovic's polka LPS in the 50s. Zeb goes for broke and rocks out PCP-style on a modified organ, with "full sound effects." Like the Quintron of the 50s, Billings goes all-out on this "wild sonic trip." The pictures of the studio engineers on the back are priceless--the heads are cut out, and floating next to the liner notes. The picture on the front of Zeb, imploring the audience to rock out, actually looks a lot like Bela Lugosi--he even wears a cape.
Music is a form of sex, of course, and these old, smelly, dead people's records are quite akin to fifty year old bottles of Viagra, just waiting to be popped-open. Your individual results may vary.
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