Issue One : Record Collector Blues by John Book
I just turned 30, but I've been a record collector for about 21 years. Being musically curious as a kid, I would find myself going with my parents to their friends houses or apartments, only to find myself having the need to alphabetize everything.
My first musical memories go back to the age of 3, listening to my dad's Santana's album or going next door with my uncle to hear Led Zeppelin. It moved on to liking music, then liking music a lot, and having dreams of being a "rock star". Then you want to know more, so you read more. You read liner notes, magazines, go to the library, hunt down old New York Times microfiche for concert reviews... well, I'm proud to be a record collecting nerd. I may not know the capitols of each state in the U.S., but I can tell you who the "NB" in "NBLP" is on the catalog numbers in the Casablanca discography.
Maybe it's more like "20 percent record collector" and "80 percent record accumulator". But it began with some Beatles and Chicago albums, and it never stopped. You get older, and your musical views widen. Soon you find yourself with 100 albums. Up to 500. Maybe to 1000. Friends come over and they think it's amazing that one can have time to listen to all of the music, when in the back of their mind they're probably going "that fucka is crazy". Somehow you find that having cash outside of what your parents give you is a great thing, and naturally instead of buying a new pair of pants, you go on a shopping spree and instantly blow 1000 dollars on all the cool 12" singles. Lots of new stuff, including a few doubles or triples just in case "for a rainy day". En Vogue cover is kinda sexy, I'll put that in too. Whoa, a "Feelin' James" 12"? I'll buy two. And with two there's always more, until you find yourself with 3000 albums. 5000. 20,000? 50,000? Sure.
My collection would be on the low end of that, a little over 3000. I have given or thrown away as much records as I've bought since then. Thrift stores, garage sales, yard sales, maybe a public auction. That has always been my way of finding good records. But as much music as you accumulate, you always want more. Is it really about looking for the perfect beat, or just having the need to look for something new? One record leads to one producer, leading to one town, leading to a whole movement. It's a puzzle that never ends, and one that record collectors enjoy, including myself.
In the last two years, there has been an increased awareness of the collectibility of soul and funk records. If names like Keb Darge, Ian Wright, Soulman, and Egon are a part of your vocabulary like mom, dad, and donuts, then you know the deal. I've been a fan of soul and funk music since a kid, but back then there was no such thing as collectibility. No one cared for an Eddie Bo, Funka Fize, or Fried Chicken 45. I am sure copies were found holding up washing machines in the basement. In the late 70's that began to change, and people from other parts of the world flew into the U.S., took our heart and soul, ran back to their planes with middle fingers and went "ha ha, look at what you've missed". Which is cool, because Americans tend to take a lot of things for granted, and don't realize what we had until it's gone (add your favorite Cinderella ballad here.)
When a music fan like myself finds out about a certain style of music, or a certain artist, I'll turn around and try to hunt it down. I can do it through record collecting magazines, or maybe some dealers in the back of "Rolling Stone". In the 21st century, we have auction sites like eBay. Then I find out it's gone. As a record collector, you always try to be the first to snatch that record up, because you love that feeling of being first, or at least one of a chosen few who knows of that rare church recording with the funkiest drums known to man. But it's gone. Or is it? It may not be in your hands, but yeah you can have it... for a thousand dollars. WHAT?
Anyone who has to work for a living knows that a thousand dollars is a lot of time and work. It doesn't come easy. Occasionally we get that itch inside that says "no, I can't do it", but you end up shelling out the money just to be able to hear one 2-minute piece of music, and usually a 5 second drum break. Probably insane, considering how much food you could donate to the homeless for that same amount of money. But then comes the realization that you will never be able to hear these original records, even if someone was sneaky enough to put together a compilation and add some Italian words to the sleeve. So what do you do? Blame Egon for being younger and perhaps wiser? Blame DJ Shadow and Cut Chemist for making a generation of people go nuts searching for 45's? Blame Biz Markie for having two homes? The internet has been a blessing and a headache in disguise. For the first time we are able to have access to a virtual library, reading stories of people's various cratedigging stories, garage sale finds, and maybe even a scan or two of records we had only heard about as possible rumors. That only makes it harder for collectors, because it's like the candy a child can't eat. Or the best pussy that a man can't have, even for a night. It's out of reach, and we grow weak seeing white label promos, or records where there was only a pressing of 200.
Is it really the challenge of getting that obscure beat that moves us to get dirty in warehouses and stranger's houses (or bowling alleys, as a recent series of articles at stonesthrow.com showed us), or is it just a matter of searching for another piece of music to move us just as good as the last great record? I know what it means to be on a mailing list with a bunch of self-proclaimed "elitists", and maybe it is, as my fellow Hindsight list members would say, just a hip hop "knitting circle". Soul music hits us in the heart, funk hits us a bit lower, but it still pushes us a little further in this thing called life. Record collecting is an odd hobby like any other, yet it's safe to say we wouldn't have it any other way.