Vinyl Record Day and The Crazy Record Couple

I got an e mail from my man Larry at Funky 16 Corners asking if I’d be into doing a little something for Vinyl Record Day (August 12th), and a blogswarm put together by JA Bartlett over at The Hits Just Keep On Comin”. Now of course, how could I say no to such a day (that I didn’t even know I existed…the shame!)? Today I’m going to talk a bit about a digging trip I took with a close digging buddy of mine, and a coworker who “just wanted to get some vinyl”. We encountered a couple who argued the whole time we were at the house, and made the trip worthwhile (along with the records).

I get a lot of records from the flea market, but you already knew that. I’ve met in my digging life, a lot of strange people. They say that about record guys (or gals), that we’re weird, we’re nerdy, we’re strange. That may be true in some cases, however, I’m a perfectly normal, married, 40 hour a week plus working, English Premier League watching ( Go on Liverpool!), DJ and record collector, and ok, possibly a bit nerdy. There are some people though that, well, have been known to do a few strange things as record collectors and dealers, and I’m going to tell you about two of them.

Phone rings: “Yo, remember that woman we saw at the flea market last year, who gave us her number and said she had 10,000 records? Well she’s selling them now.” Mind you, I was in the middle of hanging out with a coworker, relaxing and drinking a few beers. So I packed up “Dirty” (as we call our vehicle), and off we went. The both of us drove in a snowstorm down the Garden State Parkway to meet DJ Prime at these people’s home. As soon as we got in, I knew it was going to be an adventure. There was crap everywhere. “Don’t mind the house, we’re remodeling” said the wife. The husband just grumbled. He looked like a young, shorter version of Lee “Scratch” Perry, sporting a tight afro and a t-shirt and jeans. She had some sort of house coat on and talked real fast about everything: music, records, the weather, everything. We all walk down to the basement. The only light we had were those push on lights that you see at the dollar store, just sitting on the 70’s shag carpet of the stairs, we could have broken our necks! The three of us finally make it all the way down, and there are records everywhere, in no apparent order, along with fish tanks, clothes hanging, I mean it wasn’t the worst pile of records I ever saw, but it was pretty cluttered. The three of us go to town. I’m pulling out mint James Brown records, P-Funk, Clarence Carter, Latin stuff, Jazz, it was really starting to look like a great haul. The three of us are killing it. She told us a dollar a piece, which is fine. Now let me say that there weren’t quite 10,000 records (that’s ok with me, quality over quantity), and the husband watched us like a hawk (as if we could go anywhere), saying things like:” Woman, I told you you shouldn’t sell these records, they are worth MONEY!”. Then she would chime back in: “Shut Up!”, as she would aside to us, with her hand cupped over her mouth “Don’t listen to that fool”. We spent probably a good hour and a half, maybe two hours. DJ Prime and I have our fill of Funk, Soul, Jazz and Latin. My coworker Jake has about 10 or 15 classic Rock records. We then are lead up to the kitchen. I tally my stuff up, it’s around 65 bucks. She immediately goes through my pile and starts to take records out. I’m like, “What are you doing, I’m here to buy?” “Uh-Uh baby”, she quips, “Them James Browns is worth money, he is dead honey.” I start to shake my head in disbelief. After all that digging, she weeds my record pile to about 30. The husband is starting to get aggravated, because she’s let me keep a Funkadelic in my pile. “FUNKADELIC! That cover is worth 20 bucks!” The three of us are looking at each other, kind of smirking at the full blown argument that is about to ensue. He starts hitting the table and shouting at her. She shouts back. This goes on for about 10 minutes. She gets past Prime, and then moves on to Jake, who “just wanted some vinyl”. The guy has serious dollar bin commons, Stones, Santana, etc., and then he has the Woodstock record. The husband starts to freak out. “I listened to this in Vietnam woman, you can’t sell this. I’ma tell you what, this record, now it’s $200!” Now the three of us are like, wait a minute, we want to buy, what’s the deal? He’s screaming all the while….”Jimi Hendrix…Clarence Carter….woman are you crazy? I know what these are worth. $70 dollars, for the cover!!” Finally, we get out of there, it’s still snowing, and we at least got some vinyl. They yell to us that the 45s are buried in the garage, to please come back. I passed, but DJ Prime went back and got to flip through some great Kenny Rogers records. That trip was a bust. I will never forget this guy pounding on the kitchen table telling us that the Woodstock record cover was worth two hundred dollars. Jake put it back and got it for three dollars somewhere else another time. This is why I love and can’t stop buying vinyl. There are so many stories connected to so many records, and most of them involve crazy people. Keep Diggin’!

I am somebody, the Jesse Jackson record that didn’t get away that day……