Thar She Blows

Thirty one years ago (yesterday), Mount St. Helens blew its top. One year later, with volcanic ash still blanketing large swaths of the Pacific Northwest, the not-so-legendary Seattle trad-jazz combo the Uptown Lowdown Jazz Band issued the hardy-har titled Hauling Ash. That the LP failed to blow up on the national (or even local) scene can be attributed to multiple factors, including the man-made disaster of its horrendous cover. Which as you can see simply blows.

Tales from the Thrift Store

For 2010, I resolved to do my record shopping at the thrift store. It wasn’t so much a financial decision—though I saved a few bucks in doing so—but a fun experiment to see what I could unearth or be turned on to. In this age of instant gratification, music can be had with a simple click or tap, and elusive records are within easy grasp on eBay. But for me, and I’m sure most every other record collector, the hunt is just as thrilling as getting your grubby hands on that desired LP.

Ever since I started shopping at thrift stores in college, I would always thumb through the records. Occasionally, I’d find something worth spending 50 cents or a dollar on. But never had I considered the second-hand store to be my main source of music. And for good reason: If you’ve shopped for music at Goodwill, Salvation Army, Value Village, et al., you know that most of what they have is the pop culture waste of previous generations. The Al Hirts. The Andy Williames. The Art Garfunkels. That and much worse: Grandma’s crappy classical collection? Check. Ten copies of Firestone Christmas? Check. Ferrante and Teicher? Check. Mitch Miller? Check. All that crap, no matter which day or what store—the thrift store is where the bad records go to die. So I knew that getting some decent LPs was going to be a hell of a task.

You're likely familiar with the smell of thrift store. It’s not a good smell. Yet, every time the musty-dusty scent of the second-hand shop greeted me at the door, anticipation would pulse through my arteries, so excited I was by the prospect of finding some forgotten castoff or maybe a decent copy of a well-known favorite. Mostly, though, after rummaging through the usual detritus of moldy oldies, that feeling would soon yield to disappointment, and I’d inevitably leave empty-handed. But undaunted. If it’s treasure you’re hunting in the junk store, well, you have to be patient and persistent. Even then, you’ve got to be lucky, and on several occasions over the last year, I got lucky.

For these next several posts I am sharing some of the highlights of my 2010 vinyl thrifting. Have a look.

Today’s entry is Dark of Light (Buddah) by Norman Connors.

I won’t lie to you, I had no idea who Norman Connors was prior to seeing his face look back at me from the dusty stacks at a Value Village (location classified). Upon close examination of the LP’s cover, though, I saw that the record features a who’s who of jazz luminaries, including Herbie Hancock, saxophonist Gary Bartz, bassist Cecil McBee, trumpeter Eddie Henderson, et al. (a good sign) and was recorded in 1973 (an even better sign—I’ll get to that in a moment). Seeing that the actual vinyl was far better shape than its well-worn (or well-loved) only made me happier. Indeed, I had high expectations for this record, expectations which were easily surmounted once I dropped the needle on it.

Dark of Light comes from an era when jazzbos, be they avant-gardists, hard boppers or free jazzniks, explored the outer limits of electric funk, drifted off into mystical meditations, freaked out in the cosmos or improvised deep into the unknown. It was an interesting period for jazz—at least to my ears. A time before all that sonic exploration was synthesized and diluted into the catch-all commercial ghetto of fusion (bad fusion, Weather Report/Return to Forever-style fusion). Accordingly, what flooded from my speakers were sounds both exciting and expected (not a bad thing): cosmic, mystical jazz, a head trip of mood- and mind-altering mellow gorgeousness and ecstatic fire, tugging grooves that bubble up to the surface, and some truly inspired improvisations.

Dark of Light was Norman Connors’ first album as a leader, but he was hardly a newcomer. Connors, a drummer, most notably created percussive thunder behind two jazz legends, Archie Shepp and Pharaoh Sanders. As his solo career progressed, though, he changed his tune from jazz to more commercial-friendly R&B, creating super-smooth soundtracks for singers such as Michael Henderson and Phyllis Hyman, scoring several hits late into the ’70s. However, if I come across any of those records in my future thrifting, I’ll leave them well enough alone.

My 2009 Hit List (part 2)

At last: Numbers 6–10 of...
The Top 10 Best Records/CDs/MP3s I Heard This Year (That You May or May Not Have) That Weren’t Necessarily Released This Year (Oh, and I Only Have Five to Share Right Now)

6. Fucked Up The Chemistry of Common Life (Matador LP)
This is one of the most invigorating records I’ve heard. If the band's moniker wasn't so juvenile, I bet more people would bask in the radiant fury of Fucked Up’s hardcore assault. Fucked Up is different from all the hardcore bands out there because they refuse to be handcuffed to its clichés. Sure all the hallmarks are present: adrenalized riffs, muscular sound, gruff vocals, punishing rhythms. But Fucked Up is more imaginative—and progressive. They have chops and can venture beyond the old 4/4 and are unafraid to deviate from formula: witness the moody ambient instrumentals or the use of congas and flute. Fucked Up also believe in song craft—they understand passion and conviction are wasted if the music isn’t memorable. And so what we get are 11 incredible chapters that comprise a sweeping epic. If you’ve yet to be consumed by the tidal onslaught of The Chemistry of Common Life, then do something positive for your personal well-being: Download the album’s explosive title track from iTunes (or someplace like that). Spend a buck. If “Chemistry” ain’t the accelerant you need to get you going, have someone call a paramedic for you.

7. Mastodon Crack the Skye (Warner Bros. LP)
My wife hates this album. She won’t let me play it in the car, in the house, or anywhere in her presence. She just doesn’t like metal, and she’s bemused that I do. So naturally, I kept Crack the Skye mostly confined to my iPod. No matter. Crack the Skye is Mastodon’s most overtly accessible album—it’s also the band’s most rewarding. Much of this can be attributed to Brendan O’Brien’s production as well as the band’s embrace of melody. Sure Mastodon unleash their vengeful wrath, but instead of simply setting you alight with a holy hellfire of molten riffs and roaring vocals, they keep you in their grips with melodic singing and stunning guitar heroics. My favorite track—and quite possibly my top song of the year—is the climactic sixth song, the title track, which features bassist/vocalist Troy Sanders and Neurosis’s Scott Kelly sharing lead vocals, simultaneously guiding the almighty Mastodon through the depths of hell and up toward the heavens, before physics rip their vessel apart, exploding it into nothingness.

8. Jawbox For Your Own Special Sweetheart (Dischord/DeSoto LP)
I don’t get all that nostalgic about the records I listened to at various periods in my life—especially those from the early/mid-1990s. As much as 2009 sucked, the yesteryears were far worse. So you might think I’d be apprehensive, then, to return vicariously to the scene of the crime by reacquiring the sounds that filled my miserable days of yore. Not so with Jawbox’s For Your Own Special Sweetheart. This album represented the D.C. band’s major label debut for Atlantic Records; and although the single “Savory” drew some airplay on MTV, the album didn’t do much commercially and eventually went out of print. Fifteen years later, Sweetheart is now in the hands of Dischord/DeSoto—the labels that launched Jawbox in 1989. It’s been given a new cover and an outstanding remaster from Bob Weston that’s fattened the bottom end, and is now ready for a new generation to gush over. I enjoyed this record in 1994, but I love it even more now. Sweetheart is crafty yet direct, maniacal yet restrained—it’s a noisy, melodic beast, one that bares its teeth of seething discontent but is not so angry and uptight to not offer some compassion and pleasure. Likewise, Jawbox temper their caterwauling guitars, lunging rhythms and sharp percussive jabs and bruising thumps with some delicious hooks (sorry for saying delicious). A solid, solid piece of work.

9. Cedric Im Brooks Cedric Im Brooks and the Light of Saba (Honest Jon’s 2-LP)
I’ve listened to a lot of reggae over the years, but I hadn't heard Cedric Im Brooks before November. And what a discovery. Brooks, who plays saxophone, led one a most unique Jamaican combos, one which drew from a variety of sources to arrive at its ecstatic inspiration: roots, rock steady, dub, nyabinghi, calypso, Afrobeat and free jazz—yes, free jazz. Brooks spent some time in the 1960s in Philadelphia seeking influence from John Coltrane among others. He got it all right and brought it back to Jamaica. No, you’re not likely to discern any Coltrane signatures in Brooks’ work. His approach sounds more like Sun Ra. It’s cosmic reggae and this anthology succeeds in creating a nice, clear portrait of the little-known virtuoso.

10. Donald Byrd Electric Byrd (BlueNote LP)
When Miles Davis got all high on electric jazz with In a Silent Way and Bitches Brew, lots of other jazzbos began toking from the same pipe. This is hard-bopper Donald Byrd’s contribution to the new vibration. I hadn’t heard this gem until this year, when I picked up a vinyl reissue of the 1970 album at a record shop. There is some wonderful stuff to trip out on with the lights out; all psychedelic and weird and not one bit gimmicky. Hard to believe Byrd would eventually put down the trumpet to become a dance choreographer.

Honorable Mention: Dinosaur Jr. Farm (Jagjaguwar LP)
Didn’t think they had a good record left in them. And then they had to go and prove me wrong. I’m OK with that. Favorite track: Lou Barlow’s “Your Weather.”

My 2009 Hit List (part 1)

So this year is as good as over. That’s all right by me. It wasn’t my favorite year. It wouldn’t even rate on my Top 10. Speaking of Top 10's, if you haven’t already had your fill of year-end top-10 lists, then I’ve got a little something for you to snack on. Over the next couple posts, I’m gonna share my favorite things of 2009 in good ol’ list form. For today’s post, I give you The Top 10 Best Records/CDs/MP3s I Heard This Year (That You May or May Not Have) That Weren’t Necessarily Released This Year (Oh, and I Only Have Five to Share Right Now).

1. Flaming Lips Embryonic (Warner Bros. LP)
The Flaming Lips have been making commercial music in recent years (I’ve seen at least four different TV ads using their music), but there’s nothing commercial about this effort. Most of Embryonic's 18 songs came together through spontaneous jams. And it shows—there are some solid grooves here that are immediate, raw, alive. But this is the Flaming Lips, remember—and as such their grooves are strange and contorted, as well as shaded with all kinds of weird noises and sounds. I love this record—because it’s so unexpected and gutsy.

2. Larry Young Lawrence of Newark (Perception LP)
This album was originally released in 1973, but it’s relatively new to my ears. Ever since having my aural cavities delighted by the trippy “Khalid of Space, Welcome Pt. 2,” I’ve been on the lookout for this album. So when I flipped to the LP in the jazz section of Portland’s Jackpot Records in November, I was elated. Lawrence of Newark is another one of those mind-blowing jazz records that came at a time when acoustic instruments were fornicating with electric ones and making sweet interstellar magic. This is psychedelic jazz on the cusp of fusion. But this one's more Sun Ra and Pharaoh Sanders than Headhunters or Weather Report.

3. Bellywipe Jello Tree Rough Mixes (unreleased demo)
This demo was recorded in 1994, but was finally disseminated to the Internets this year when my old friend David Hayes posted it on his Very Small Records Blog. Only one of these songs was released; the rest existed on but a precious few cassettes doled out by the band (I lost mine more than a decade ago). Bellywipe had a sound all its own: gritty, quirky, ragged, involved, smart. Back when I had a record label I wanted to put out a 7-inch for this band, but it never came to pass—Bellywipe broke up before I could come up with the money to pay for a record pressing. Give these songs a listen—the production quality ain’t the greatest; these are rough mixes of songs made digital from an old, low-bias cassette tape. If you can only listen to one song, point your clicker to “The Fucking Song That Made Us Famous.” Fifteen years later, I still want to engrave this thing into vinyl! (Download the entire demo here.)

4. Om God Is Good (Drag City LP)
God Is Good is Om mark 2, the first album sans original drummer Chris Haikus. Joining founder bassist and vocalist Al Cisneros is Grails drummer Emil Amos. But you won’t mistake this as the work of any other band—it’s pure Om. Brooding, undulating bass lines, vigorous, syncopated drumming and chanting vocals coalesce into repetitive, mantra-like grooves which wander a godforsaken scorched topography on an epic search for revelation. It’s spiritual drone music—as enchanting as it is entrancing. What’s different about God Is Good, however, is the inclusion of hand drums, piano, cello and sitar (the latter’s presence may sound like a cliché for drone music, but its addition is not unwelcome), further enhancing the music’s moody ambiance. (Download the God Is Good track “Cremation Ghat II” here.)

5. Obits I Blame You (Sub Pop LP) b/w One Cross Apiece (Stint 7-inch)
Rick Froberg’s adenoidal voice hasn’t aged much even if middle age makes itself right at home on his weathered face. His righteous scream does indignation and discontent better than most. I Blame You is relatively straightforward and less abrasive than Froberg’s ’90s work with Drive Like Jehu, and it’s not quite as frenetic and angry as early ’00s Hot Snakes. But it’s a satisfying and enjoyable collection from one of the leading voices in my record collection. The 7-inch single that preceded the album is pretty good, too, especially the ringing “Put It in Writing.” (Download three I Blame You tracks from here.)

Next time: albums by Mastodon, Donald Byrd, Cedric Im Brooks and more.

Impulse Records for the Impulsive Collector

How Not to Collect LPs

I was impulsive, when I should have exercised caution. Naturally, I’ve learned an important record collecting lesson I thought I had already mastered: When bidding on records on eBay, steer clear of sellers who offer vague descriptions of their goods, particularly if it appears these sellers rarely deal in the vinyl trade. Even if it seems like a good deal. Especially when it seems like a good deal. And especially when the item is minutes from closing and no one’s bid on it. Do so and you just might end up like I did, winning two collectible jazz records, one Coltrane, one Yusef Lateef. Records that, in spite of their descriptions, were all beat to hell and warped, with covers that were advertised as being in “great” condition, but instead had split seams, peeling lamination, mildew stains, and bent corners. Records that set me back about $45 with shipping.

I should have known better; I’ve been collecting records for more than two decades. I know when so-called “rare” records are priced too high, or too low. I know what to look for when examining LPs—how to find a seemingly undetectable warp when the shop won’t let you spin the record on their turntable. And I’m particularly suspicious of used records with a sticker that says “clean.” Just last week, I picked up a “clean” original copy of the Sonics’ 1966 LP Boom at a popular Seattle vinyl outlet; upon close examination, I saw that it was scored with all kinds of hairline scratches. Not surprising, the shop was asking a near-mint price ($225) for a VG record worth maybe $75. I swiftly returned the record to the altar of rarities—the display shelves high above the more common LPs, where all the other overpriced records wait for someone foolish or wealthy enough to grant them salvation from their predicament as precious pop-music artifacts.

What does this have to do with getting ripped off on eBay? I’ll get there, eventually.

For Christmas, I was given a copy of Ashley Kahn’s The House that Trane Built: The Story of Impulse Records (WW Norton, 2006). I’m a big fan of John Coltrane and Impulse Records. When I started collecting jazz LPs about 12 years ago, I began with John Coltrane. No baby steps with Brubeck or Kind of Blue, but straight to A Love Supreme, which I bought as a brand-new reissue, a faithful reproduction (gatefold and all) of the awesome original. I’ve picked up plenty more Impulse Records over the years, on those rare occasions when a record store isn’t charging a small fortune for a well-loved (er, slightly trashed) copy or in the even rarer instance an Impulse LP turns up at a thrift store. I found VG++ to NM original pressings of Coltrane’s Ascension (in mono) and Tom Scott’s Rural Still Life at thrift stores. Reading Kahn’s thorough and detailed portrait of Impulse, its players—from producers Creed Taylor and Bob Thiele to blowers like Coltrane, Sanders, Shepp and Ayler—and all the brilliant avant-garde jazz records it produced rekindled the collector in me. I got all swept up in the Impulse mystique, the mind-blowing music, the trademark orange-and-black spines. The only thing to do: fatten my Impulse collection.

That’s when I got impulsive.

Last week, I had my eye on 40 Impulse LPs on eBay. But as the auctions drew to a close, most of the LPs were bid up way beyond my budget (which wasn’t surprising—a mint first pressing of A Love Supreme is worth several hundred dollars). Jazz collectors know what they’re worth, which is why I only own about 25 Impulse LPs. However, to my surprise, three records I was watching had no bids and ridiculously low starting prices: Art Blakey and His Jazz Messengers, John Coltrane Quartet Africa/Brass and Yusef Lateef The Golden Flute, the latter of which I already owned, but the price was too good to pass up. All were being auctioned by the same seller. All three were original pressings. And yet all three had vague descriptions, like “great condition, but some wear” or “the cover looks great, the record plays well.” Missing, though, was your typical used record jargon: “slight ring wear,” “no seam splits” or “spidering,” “VG++.” Because all three auctions were about to close, there wasn’t time to quiz the seller further about the conditions of his records. So I bid on them—and won two.

Three days later, as I opened the box containing my new acquisitions, my excitement gave way to disappointment. Disappointment in the items. Disappointment in the seller. Disappointment in myself. The Coltrane record was trashed. The description said “has some wear”; in actuality, it was worn out, as if someone had sanded the record. I put it on just to hear how poorly it sounded only to discover it was warped, too! Meanwhile, the Yusef Lateef was in better condition than I expected—though the cover was not in “great condition”—it was a weak VG-. The record looked pretty “clean.” Playing it revealed audible wear (probably from a bad needle) and a significant warp.

Next time, I’ll ignore my impulses, if not Impulse Records. What works for musicians doesn’t work for collectors of their records. I’m just glad I didn’t win the Art Blakey LP.

Never judge a record by its cover (or photo of its cover): The above photo of John Coltrane Quartet Africa/Brass is of the record I won--and is the actual photo posted in the eBay listing.