Record Store Day, April 19, 2008: Final Score

(photo by Smart Wife)

The Take from Offbeat Records, Durham NC, 4/19/08

Warpaint - The Black Crowes
Twelve Dreams of Dr. Sardonicus - Spirit
Will the Circle Be Unbroken - The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Will the Circle Be Unbroken, Volume Two - The Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Stronger - Carlene CarterBe Still Please - Portastatic
Coast to Coast Carpet of Love/Standard Gargoyle Decisions - Robert Pollard
Take a Good Look - Fleshtones
The Sound of Sound - Luaka Bop sampler
a gift CD for a friend, the title of which I cannot divulge here
Merge 7" 45 of "Madame Butterflies" - Destroyer b/w "Prodigy" - Wye Oak
2 buttons with the peace symbol in black and white

What a great day! Some stuff I know (NGDB, Spirit), some bands I know ('tones, Crowes), some labels I like (Merge, Yep Roc, Luaka Bop), a record I'm on (Portastatic) and two entire records by Pollard (whom I figure I should really be more familiar with, considering his prodigious output and impressive melodies and guilt-by-association with Tommy Keene).

Plus the two buttons, which I got because the baby likes to grab at my Pretenders lapel button, which is also black and white. I figured she might enjoy the change.

Now, the rain is falling, and I'm doing what I've done since I was a kid-poring over my purchases, tearing off shrink-wrap (and those infernal top wrap stickers), reading every liner note, anticipating the first notes of the first song up.

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By way of clarification, when I use the term "record", I mean the content and not necessarily the format. To me, a record is its songs and its cover. Much like an album is a collection of songs, a la photo albums. I won't quibble about CD or vinyl or reel-to-reel or Edison cylinder or download (well, maybe download, if you don't get the art and notes) as long as the presentation and sequence is the same. Technically, I only got one vinyl
record today which was the 45. As I have no turntable at present, it behooves me to use a format (compact disc) which I can hear and enjoy, rather than just admire. The little Merge 45 will get played at some point in the near future, as I have discovered that I really want a USB turntable, or maybe just a record player. For now, however, it'll have to sit silent on a shelf for a while.

Record Store Day, April 19, 2008

Saturday is Record Store Day.

All my working life, when I wasn't playing music, I worked in record stores (or music departments of stores). It was the perfect job for a music geek like myself. All that incredibly trivial knowledge of songs, albums, bands, musicians, producers, liner notes and catalog numbers became valuable stuff, certainly better than boring people at parties with it. I was in my element. I could foist my own tastes on others, dissuade people from buying Chuck Berry's hits on Mercury Records and Everlys remakes on Warner Brothers. I got first dibs on the copy of Paris 1919 that came into the store. I could study the Phonolog and the Schwann catalog. I could do displays for Marshall Crenshaw's debut album after work and, as I stapled posters to the wall, know that Marshall, were he in my position, would undoubtedly be doing the same thing for me. The music mattered, and I got to be the conduit to the general populace, armed to the teeth with new releases and fabulous reissues.

When The dB's were on the road in the 1980's, we always tried to get to record stores in towns where we played. The folks who worked there were inevitably informed and cool, many of whom are great friends of ours to this day. Will and I, in particular, hunkered down over rows and rows of LP's, and we looked forward to our in-store appearances as it provided us with much-needed time for shopping afterward!

Now, with the state of things being what they are for music, I might have to sit down and explain to my two younger children what 'record stores' were and possibly not have physical evidence for them to understand what Dad worked at.

We just lost Schoolkids Records in Chapel Hill, a fine record store with a vast history.

Fortunately, here in Durham, I am able to shop at Offbeat Music at Brightleaf Square. There's plenty of vinyl there, both new and used, in and amongst the CD's and DVD's (and posters and shirts). I will be there tomorrow to show my support for something that has always meant a lot to me, especially after losing all my 45's in Hurricane Katrina.

A record store is the irreplaceable gathering spot for those to whom music means everything. Even if we shop in different aisles, and you're buying the new Larry Carlton and I'm buying the first Can album, we're drawn together in there, and neither of us is able to satisfy our musical needs and wants with the twenty titles that Wal-Mart thinks are what we should buy. It's our general store, our salon, our think tank and our love nest.

Meet you there.

My favorite note

It's hard for me to list a favorite album or song or singer because, truly, I love a broad swath of music. There are so many talented people out there, living and dead, whose songs have ingrained themselves in my soul that I'm sure I'd forget half the ones I'd put on a list.

But I do have a favorite note. It's one note, and it's a doozy. Watching Happy Feet with the four-year-old reminded me yet again how wonderful the note is, even if my son's too busy watching penguins doing synchronized swim moves.

In the beginning of the second verse of "Do It Again" by the Beach Boys, there is a rising tonic note that starts under the vocals and eventually eclipses everything in the mix for a moment before it subsides again near the end of the verse. It may be an organ, but I'm not absolutely sure. Maybe one of you people who know the inside workings of Brian Wilson's mind can help me with this.

Whatever it is, it just radiates throughout the track like a sunrise or a space heater turning on. It brings a warmth to the song that I bet 98% of its listeners feel without knowing where it's coming from.

When I first hear the drum/bass intro to "Do It Again", I find myself grinning in wild anticipation of the rising note. Anyone around me at that point is clued in that the note will happen shortly, and I guide the listener's attention to the rise and fall as it happens, smiling madly.

The rest of the song, hammers included, is great, and "Do It Again" may well be my single favorite Beach Boys' tune. But it's the effect of that note, that sound of soaring, searing summer embodied, that still moves me, some forty years after the tune was recorded.

That's what music's supposed to do to you, isn't it?