Last year, I sold off most of my record collection. I came to the conclusion that two thousand LP's were too many, so I decided to get rid of all of them except for about five hundred. The figure of five hundred was semi-arbitrary. It was a nice, round number and that's how many fit into my sturdy shelf unit. The five hundred was slightly expanded to seven hundred (500 in the shelf, and two boxes of 100 each hidden in a closet). I didn't go complete cold turkey, but I was still pretty proud of myself. I thought I was out of the record weirdo biz - no more buying, no more selling. I didn't write much about it because, in the back of my mind, I feared that I would someday return to my wicked, wicked ways of collection and accumulation.

After about a year, it happened. I fell off the turnip truck and relapsed.

It started innocently enough. A work acquaintance of my wife announced that he was giving away his record collection. It was a long story but here are the details: The collection had been in storage for years, he was losing his storage space, and he didn't want the baggage anymore. He set up a time for several interested parties (myself included) to come by and help themselves to the all-you-can-eat record smorgasbord. "Okay," I thought to myself, "I'll just look through some records, pick out a few that I like and be on my merry way." That didn't happen.

On that fateful day, I showed up a few fashionable minutes late in order not to seem overanxious. I was relieved to find that there were already four or five guys already going through records like a pack of hyenas feasting on a dead zebra. That was okay with me - I would have felt uncomfortable being the sole scavenger at the kill-site.

The collection was nothing if not eclectic. The owner of collection had been collecting since his childhood (so he said) in the 70's. He worked in a series of record stores in the 80's and seemed to have lost interest in staying contemporary about 1990. It followed a logical course. It seemed to start with 70's rock and singer-songwriter stuff, onto 80's new wave, followed by world music/reggae, which seemed to run concurrently with jazz, blues, and the Great American Songbook.

I tried to be selective, but ended up going into a familiar zombie-like trance and seemed to start pulling records out at random, stopping occasionally to wipe the foam from my mouth and chin. Here is a sampling of what I will admit to bringing home. As usual, there is no order.

Joe Cocker - "With a Little Help From My Friends". The best part about this record is the cover - it's great for frightening children. I told my son that if he keeps making faces, his face will freeze that way and he will look like this. My second choice comment would be that Joe Cocker looks like the conjoined twin growing out of Andre the Giant's ribcage.

Bob Dylan - "Great White Wonder". This is not an original, but a 1970-ish reissue credited to "Dupre and his Miracle Sound." Still a nice artifact.

This is Duke Ellington. There were a bunch of compilations like this, and I opted to keep the two-disc set on the flimsy 70's "flexi-disc" format.

Chester and Lester x2. Chet Atkins without all the goopy strings meets Les Paul without all the bells and whistles. I can live with that compromise.

Big Country. I used to like this and I wonder if I still do.

Joe Jackson. His first three or four albums were great. Then he got all "artistic."

Louis Armstrong, multiple jazz comps on Verve and Blue Note. Maybe I really like this stuff and maybe I just like the prestige of having tasteful jazz in my collection. Does it make me appear smart and sophisticated? I don't know. Are you impressed?

Marshall Crenshaw, Smithereens. Lumped together for no apparent reason other than a lot of their records are interchangeable but all of them are worth hearing.

Elvis Costello "Almost Blue." I didn't really like it when it came out but I'll give it another chance.

Peter Tosh "Equal Rights" and "Legalize It." I saw Peter Tosh play the Roxy once. While his drummer(s) were taking an extended solo, he smoked a spliff the size of a horse's leg. Twenty-seven years later, I can finally pass a drug test.

The Specials. I've had several copies of the first Specials album but they've all skipped. Why do I think that this one won't?

Kinks. "Misfits" and their 1980 live album. You really can't go too wrong here.

Chet Baker, Miles Davis, Art Pepper. Listening to these artists may or may not make me smarter, but having the records will make me look smarter. Writing about them, however, will only expose my pretensions.

Santo and Johnny w/"Sleepwalk", Bo Diddley, Richie Valens. Original vinyl from the 50's. Rendered almost worthless as true collectibles due to their "beat to hell" condition, but still really cool.

Gene Krupa and Buddy Rich. I love drums. Some of the music is borderline cheesy Dixieland, but the solos are great.

Dave Brubeck, Ramsey Lewis. I really like the popular 50's jazz like this if only for the sake of offending snooty jazz snobs.

The Clash "London Calling" w/lyric sheet. One of my favorite albums ever, but at some point during the last 30 years, the lyric sheet to my vinyl copy of London Calling disappeared. Now I can once again read along as I listen. For those of you that have trouble with Joe Strummer's enunciation, the last line of "The Right Profile" is - as written - "ARRRGHHHGORRA BUH BHUH DO ARRRRGGGGHHHHNNNN!!!!"

The Clash "Cut The Crap" This is a terrible album. It has no redeeming value. I've owned and discarded two previous copies. This album's place in my collection could not be justified as being either a sick curiosity or because I wanted the complete Clash catalog. I justify keeping this copy for the reason of preventing someone else from having it and therefore besmirching their collection. I just have to remind myself not to actually listen to it - ever.

It is one of my goals to remove the guilt from guilty pleasures, for example:
Foghat "Live," You know you really want to hear a twelve minute version of "Slow Ride." Admit it.
Bad Company (s/t) I remember buying this album for 3.88 at the Wherehouse in the Orange Mall when I was 12. "Can't Get Enough" has a great story - Mick Ralphs wrote it while with Mott the Hoople to humiliate Ian Hunter, because Hunter had the vocal range of an Easy Bake oven and couldn't sing it.

The Alarm. I saw this band three times in the 80's - once on purpose and twice by accident.

Anthologies of Ian Hunter, Lou Reed. I also got a bunch of Lou Reed solo albums. I wish there were more Ian Hunter albums.

Lou Reed "Take No Prisoners" is the best live album of all time. Grumpy Lou heckles his audience for an hour while his band plays jazz-fusion versions of his songs behind him. Better than both "James Brown Live at Budokan" and "Cheap Trick Live at the Apollo" put together.

Barbarella soundtrack. Great pseudo-psychedelic music from the only good Jane Fonda movie.

The Monkees "Greatest Hits". Give me a good fake band over a bad "real" band any day.

Badfinger had great hits but spotty albums.

Grand Funk, Thin Lizzy. If I don't hear "American Band" or "Jailbreak" on any given classic rock radio station for a couple days, it's good to know that I have easy access to them.

I have resigned myself to the fact that I must always have a copy of "Frampton Comes Alive." Every time I get rid of one, another one shows up out of nowhere.

Wes Montgomery, Jimmy Smith (lots of both). More nice jazz that even I can understand.

Several BB King albums. I like my blues like I like my jazz - pop infected and easily accessible.

Rufus Thomas "Walking the Dog." Original on the Stax label. Thrashed almost beyond recognition and a definite keeper.

Nat King Cole. Here we have a pretty good compilation covering his earlier stuff including the best version of "Route 66" that will ever be done. Here is my bit about "Route 66" - it's a great song and almost impossible to screw up - both the Stones and the Cramps did it credibly - but I find it impossible to listen to the Brian Setzer or Wayne Hancock versions. When Brian Setzer did it, he wrongly sang "Reno" instead of "Kingman." Reno is nowhere near Route 66! We're talking about 500 miles! It's a good thing that Brian Setzer doesn't drive his own bus. I've been to both places and I admit that Reno is nicer, but you just can't go messing with geography like that. Wayne "The Train" Hancock pronounces "route" as "rowt" and that's just plain wrong - Texas Schmexas. When Chuck Berry recorded "Route 66" he pronounced "Barstow" as "Bars-Kow" but that doesn't really bother me.

Did this appease my savage vinyl bloodthirst? No, it only awakened the slumbering giant. What happened next was somewhat predictable. About a week later, I got the following email:

"For those of you who missed the great LP giveaway last week, you'll have one more opportunity. Five (collectors) did show up last Friday and relieved me of some 800+ albums, but that still leaves me with nearly 2000 lps looking for good homes! (This) will absolutely be the last opportunity, though, for anyone who might be interested in adding to their collection. All are welcome to come, browse, and take!"

So I showed up. The usual suspects had been back for another scrounging but had only taken another couple hundred. There were still about 1400 records left. I volunteered to rescue them from becoming landfill. Instead of responding verbally, he simply began loading boxes of records into the back of my small pick-up truck like they were sacks of steaming cow pies and let it be known that I should leave before I changed my mind.
His recovery was my relapse.

Out of the second lot of records, I managed to give away a few hundred, kept a few, traded a few, kept a few more, sold a couple, kept a couple more, and donated the rest. Some of the records mentioned in this piece were actually from the second batch, but I lost track of what was what.

Postscript: If you would like to view or purchase the remainder of the collection, go to the Goodwill store on Tustin near the 22 in Orange.

Post-Postscript: I have since moved to Albuquerque, New Mexico. More on that later.
My entire LP collection fit comfortably into only ten moving boxes. When I moved back to OC from Seattle eight years ago, I needed twenty-four boxes.

Recovery is a long, dirty, dusty, winding, gravel-strewn road littered with run-on sentences and the bloated corpses of collectors who can't say "no."

Mark your calendars. For information, go to: http://www.recordstoreday.com

File this under "Shameless Self-Promotion."
No, I'm not changing my name - that's just a typo on the poster. I've seen worse.
For more information and directions, go to: themenurestaurant.com/events

The Sasquatch is an enduring staple of American folklore. This fabled ape-man, believed to live in remote forested areas of western North America, has been an object of fascination for centuries. There have been countless reported sightings and a few blurry pictures taken of the reclusive beast, but its existence has not yet been proven. The most common items offered as evidence of Sasquatch are plaster casts of large human-like footprints allegedly left by the creatures. The twenty-four-inch-long footprints inspired the legendary creature's nickname of "Bigfoot." Since it is highly unlikely that you or I will chance upon actual Sasquatch tracks while taking a casual hike in the woods, it would be much easier to simply make your own plaster casts of Bigfoot prints at home.
Why make casts of fake Sasquatch prints? Personally, I enjoy the aesthetic properties of plaster casts and appreciate them as decorative art. To me, their lack of authenticity does not detract from their rough-hewn beauty. It is true that many well-known masterpieces of classical Greek sculpture displayed in museums are actually later Roman copies of long-lost original Greek statues. Only through reverently produced Roman copies, made years after the Classical Greek period, can we appreciate these fine examples of the Classical Greek style. I believe the same standard can be applied to Bigfoot casts. Even if the casts are not authentic, we can still use them to imagine the magnificence of the mighty Sasquatch. Although the creation of many Bigfoot casts may have been motivated by the desire to defraud and deceive, I choose to admire the ingenuity and creativity behind the objects. Making your own versions of these unusual works would not only allow you to experience the joy of creation, but to hold in your hands an item which can generate genuine feelings of mystery and wonder.
Bigfoot casts can be manufactured in a simple three-part process: First, you create a replica of a Sasquatch foot. Second, using the replica Sasquatch foot, make a footprint. The footprint will be used to mold a cast. The third and final procedure is making the actual cast by pouring quick-drying cement into the mold. To complete the project, you will need the following materials: paper, modeling clay, varnish, two handles or knobs, epoxy, plaster of Paris, and about one square yard of mud. The tools you will need are a pencil, a paintbrush, a wooden spoon, and possibly a ruler.
Start by making a replica of a Sasquatch foot (actually, just the bottom of the foot) using about five pounds of modeling clay. A five-pound slab of clay will cost between ten and twenty dollars at an art supply store. Before sculpting the replica foot, it is best to sketch out a drawing first and use the drawing as a template. On a large piece of paper (at least 18"x24"), draw the outline of a foot approximately twenty-four inches long and eight inches wide. If you lack the drawing skills to sketch a reasonable likeness of a foot, trace your own foot on a piece of paper and enlarge the image using a grid system. A grid system is quite simple: after tracing your foot on paper, use a ruler and a pencil to superimpose a grid over the traced image of your foot with the lines one inch apart. On another piece of paper, draw a larger grid with the lines two inches apart. Make sure that both grids have the same number of squares, number the squares, and copy the image from each square of the smaller grid onto the larger grid. If you have small feet, increase the size of the second grid accordingly. If you have extremely large feet, disregard the replica and simply make a cast of your own footprint.
Lay the finished drawing on a flat surface and fill the entire area inside the lines with several inches of clay. Carefully manipulate the clay to resemble features of a foot: the toes, ball, and heel. Loosely follow the contours of a human foot but enlarge the heel toward the ball and toe area to give the appearance of a flattened arch. Round all of the edges for a natural appearance. When finished, let the clay replica foot dry for twenty-four hours at room temperature. When dry, seal the clay with varnish to protect it from moisture. Using a paintbrush, apply varnish to the entire foot. Remember that the fumes can be toxic, so only use varnish in a well-ventilated area. Allow six to eight hours for the varnish to dry, then use epoxy to attach a handle or knob near each end on the flat side of the foot.
Now you are ready to make the footprint. The mud should be soft enough to push the foot in without much effort, but dry enough to hold the shape of the impression. Before making the impression, test the consistency of the mud with your thumb and sprinkle a thin layer of loose dirt over the mud to prevent the mud from sticking to the replica foot. Reddish, iron-rich soil is preferred. In addition to its practical purpose, the residual dirt will leave a nice brick-colored patina on the finished cast. Place the replica foot in the mud with the flat side up, put pressure on the foot and, holding the handles, gently rock it back and forth to create an even impression. Pull upward on the handles to remove the replica foot and inspect the impression. The footprint should be uniformly even and at least one and one half inches deep in order to make a good cast. Toes and other features of the foot should be fully discernable. The mud impression should be left to dry for several hours before mixing the cement.
Use a two-gallon capacity bucket to mix the plaster of Paris with water. Plaster of Paris is a readily available, quick-drying, lightweight cement and a four-pound container can be found at most home improvement stores for less than ten dollars. The combination of plaster of Paris and water generates a heat-producing chemical reaction that can cause burns, so wear gloves and goggles to avoid injury. Fill the bucket with about three quarts of water. Add a small amount of the powdered plaster mix to the water and stir with a large wooden spoon. Slowly add more plaster and stir until the mix is a smooth pudding-like consistency. If the mixture is too thick it will not pour, and if it is too watery it will not set correctly.
Before pouring the plaster into the mold, sprinkle a few pine needles, twigs, leaves, or small pebbles into the mold to create a nice, realistic looking texture. Pour the plaster slowly and evenly, starting with the toes and moving in the direction of the heel - this will prevent the wet plaster from picking up and moving loose debris to the more detailed toe area. Smooth the plaster over the mold with the wooden spoon.
The cement will take only a few minutes to set, but you should allow several hours of drying time before removing it from the mold. The mold cannot be re-used, so it is not necessary to be dainty or graceful in removing the cast - just grab it by the edges and lift. After removal, use a dry cloth or brush to gently remove excess dirt and debris while leaving the imbedded particles in the cast and preserving the gritty exterior surface.
The finished product will be a unique, one-of-a-kind, work of art that can proudly be displayed on your mantle or in your trophy case. Fake Sasquatch footprint casts make great gifts for friends interested in the paranormal, conspiracy theorists in the family, and that co-worker that you don't know but whose name you drew in the office "Secret Santa" gift exchange. However, if you decide to sell your casts at a souvenir shop or swap meet, you should inform prospective buyers that the cast is not of an actual Sasquatch footprint.

Melody Records - Chico, CA

If you ever find yourself in Chico - which is about halfway between Sacramento and Redding - I command you to go to Melody Records. You don't need the address, just go to downtown Chico and you'll find it. I would give a link to the website, but there isn't one. Somehow, the store has managed not only to stay open, but has maintained its old-school, incense-scented, record store ambience despite the ravages of time and fashion. The store has been in downtown Chico for at least twenty-five years - maybe even fifty. For all I know, Ray, the owner and proprietor, came out west during the gold rush in a covered wagon full of used records. I lived in Chico during the late 80's/early 90's and spent a great deal of time and money in the store. Back then, there were four record stores in the 3-block-long downtown Chico area. The students of Cal State Chico had a strong and long-standing tradition of selling their records and CD's for beer money. Since mp3's have no resale value, the other 3 stores have shut down. God only knows what those poor students of today are selling for beer.

Fifteen years after I moved away, Ray still remembers me. That's either really good customer service or gratitude that I spent enough money in his store to pay for his house and put his kids through college.
The store has moved a few times over the years, which is the best I can do to segue to some trivial knowledge I would like to share. The space that the store now occupies was once a live music venue called "The Whispering Clam." The first time I saw the Cadillac Tramps was in that room. As you can imagine, it was quite cozy. I also saw Royal Crown Revue there - twice. They played to an enthusiastic crowd of about 10 people and liked it so much that they came back a short time later and played for about 20.

Chico, don't be discouraged. The man he ain't so hard to understand.

Go see this movie. On the surface, it is a documentary about a Canadian heavy metal band that didn't quite hit the big time. If you look deeper, however, it's about never giving up on your dreams. It is being marketed as a true-to-life Spinal Tap. Although there are a lot of similarities in both the structure and the content of the two films, that's selling it short.

Although the movie is getting all kinds of rave reviews, it's only playing on one screen in all of Orange County. My wife and I saw it last Friday and there were only seven people in the theater.
Go see it already. It may have bad teeth, but it has a great heart.

By the way, I predict that the Anvil song "Thumb Hang" (about the Spanish Inquisition) will win the 2009 Academy Award for best musical number.

Full disclosure: I've known Mr. Soto for more years than I have fingers and toes to count them on. If you're looking for a hatchet job, you won't find it here. You might have to hang out in an alley behind a lumberjack bar for that.

Now let's get this other part over with. Steve Soto has been in a bunch of bands. To list them would not only take all day, but it wouldn't give any indication of what's he currently doing with The Twisted Hearts. To get the whole story and hear some of his new songs, check out their page at: www.myspace.com/stevesotoandtwistedhearts

He can sing. He can sing pretty and he can sing tough. Not many people can do that. Elvis could and John Doe can, but other than that I'm drawing a blank

As you should have heard by now, the songs posted are fully loaded with pianos, organs, steel guitars, horns, strings, harmonicas, banjos, bongos, glockenspiels, castanets, barking dogs, cannons, musical saws, spoons, fire-trucks, etc....
So how can they be delivered with just the basic two guitars, bass, and drums thing (along with keyboards and an occasional accordion)? The songs go down pretty good, since the band is amazing. They manage to combine great chops with a relaxed, informal and fun atmosphere. They've all been in a bunch of bands too. Check the web page again for details.

There is a 10-song CD that, so far, is only being sold at shows. The song "Best Mistake You Ever Made" is the standout track for me, both live and on the CD.

Most likely, they'll soon be playing the big rooms with full orchestras and will be able to afford belly dancers, jugglers, fire-eaters, and trained tigers. They might even put them in the show. But don't wait - see them now while they're still affordable.

Steve Soto and the Twisted Hearts will be playing some shows around the country in the next couple of weeks with Frank Turner and then will be doing a couple of tours with X.

So the John Doe comparison is not too far off the mark, but the Elvis thing is not quite right. Steve Soto may be a better songwriter than the King, but Elvis made better movies.

Once again, I decided that I had too many records and needed to sell some off. I've sung this song a few hundred times before - different verse, same as the first.

Since I haven't sold at a record show for a couple years, I did two shows in two consecutive months. Since the January and February shows are now blurred together in my memory I will, for the sake of clarity, not bother mentioning which of the shows these anecdotes occurred, if they actually did.

I will try not to let the truth stand in the way of a good story or a cheap joke.

I started with eleven boxes full of stuff and ended up with five boxes and a pocketful of dirty cabbage. Success.

MC5 "Looking at You/Borderline". This a very rare and collectible record that I found in a thrift store last year. The price guides list it at 500 or so in mint condition. I also found out that one had sold online for 800, which was ridiculous. My copy was nowhere near mint - the picture sleeve was slightly cracked and yellowed with age and someone had written their name on the record - but it was far from thrashed. Mint condition means that it has never been played, exposed to natural air, or even looked at. How boring is that? How can someone enjoy a record without listening to it?

Rather than ponder such meaningless questions, I decided to sell it. I didn't put it out on the table for display, but I told a few other dealers at the first show about it and the word got around. A few people came and asked about it, but there were no serious offers. When I came back for the second show, I didn't tell any more people about it but I didn't have to. I got quite a few guys asking to see it, but they just hemmed and hawed over the price. Finally, one guy came over and asked to have it authenticated by another dealer who is an expert with stuff like that. It got the big thumbs-up, so the guy made a reasonable offer and gave me some cash to hold the record while he ran to the ATM. He came back in about twelve seconds and slapped the rest down on the barrelhead. Everyone was happy.

I might have made more money by trying to sell it online, but it seemed like a lot more trouble and a lot less fun. If there is someone out there nuts enough to pay 800 dollars for a stupid record, I'm not sure I want anything to do with them. For all I know, the guy who bought it from me will turn around and ebay it for a tidy little profit. Maybe someone will buy it from him and do the same thing. Maybe the process will repeat itself until someone eventually pays a zillion dollars for the thing only to realize that it's just a flat, round piece of plastic in a paper sleeve that will not bring any much needed happiness into their otherwise empty life.

That's too many maybes for me to care about. I know that neither owning this record or trading it for a larger pile of money will make me a better person, but not worrying about it and having fun with it will.
Did I mention that I paid 50 cents for it?

I sold my Sonny Bono solo album. The album is called "Inner Views" and it's full of twelve-minute sitar-laden ragas with titles like "Pammie's On A Bummer." I purposely over-priced it because I really didn't want to sell it, but it sold anyway. The person who bought it said "I like albums where straight people go psychedelic."

No such luck on records featuring John Wayne, Telly Savalas, Anthony Perkins, Jerry Lewis, or Billy Barty.

Another lesson learned - CD's are officially on the way out. I had to mark them down to a buck each before anyone would even sneeze at them.

I had a box of 8-track tapes. I priced them at $1.00 for the whole lot and it sold. The buyer said he needed the box.

I like to have a Free Bin. With every lot of records I acquire, there are some that are absolutely worthless. I cannot throw them away so I give them away. To me, throwing records in the trashcan is tantamount to censorship and I can't go for that. Can I hear a "No Can Do?" Thank you Hall and Oates.

The Free Bin is an experiment in abnormal human behavior. If I could somehow connect the two separate hemispheres of my brain, I could write a thesis about it.

The Free Bin has different effects on different kinds of people. Some will have to make an excuse for everything they take. Some are too shy or embarrassed to take anything at first. Then they come back later, take one thing and make a hasty retreat without making eye contact. Most dealers only look for stuff that they can sell and leave empty handed, unless they are optimistic or delusional.
Some people like to pick out every single record one at a time, hold it up and use it to start a conversation. The only thing to do about it is to smile and nod while thinking to myself
"Self, why did you put me in this situation?"

Eventually, someone with no shame will take the whole lot - box and all. Sometimes they make up some lie like "my friend might like some of this stuff" and sometimes they don't.

I like it when someone finds something they like in the free bin and then feel obligated to buy something, anything, out of gratitude. There are nice record collectors, but they just don't like to draw a lot of attention to themselves.

That being said, I will now contradict myself. The nicest customer I had all day, and maybe ever, was like a lightning rod for attention. He practically jumped for joy when he saw my free bin. His barely contained enthusiasm was loudly apparent every time he found something he liked. He kept looking up and asking me "This is really free? FREE free?

I didn't take him long to find something in my regular inventory either. He couldn't throw two bucks at me fast enough when he found a particularly ugly copy of "Swing in Beatlemania" by the Bearcuts.

He wasn't at all bothered by the water-damaged cover, or by the overall scuzzy condition of the record. In fact, he seemed pleased with the shape it was in. He thanked me for letting him buy it. And he thanked me for the free records. This is unheard of.
Caught off guard, I did my best "do you want fries with that" and pulled out my copy of "Beatle Beat" by The Buggs in an embarrassing attempt to up the sale. He stopped thanking me long enough to say he already had it, then thanked me again and walked away. I didn't see everything that he pulled out of the free bin, but I believe one of them was "The Gospel Sounds of Christmas."

Soon afterward, I was told that the Bearcuts fan was Russell Quan of the legendary garage-rock band The Mummies.

I have long admired The Mummies and appreciate their work. It was encouraging to see that the band members remain true to the low-budget rock philosophy that they so strongly espoused, but I was also saddened to find out that members of The Mummies don't walk around everyday wrapped up in the torn and tattered bandages that they wore onstage. Don't tell me that The Mummies were just an act - I don't want to hear it.
That's like finding out that Flipper was more than one dolphin.

At every show there are collectors that stand out, some good and some bad. On the negative side was a German collector who was interested in an album by the Champs. He wanted to haggle about the price and I was okay with that. I had put prices on all the records but I didn't memorize them so, in order to establish a starting point for the negotiations, I asked him what I wrote on the price tag.
"Too much," he quickly shot back with steel-eyed Teutonic humorlessness.

There is one guy from European parts unknown that is developing quite a reputation among the dealers for haggling about everything. If he sees something priced at five dollars, he will offer thirty-eight cents. If he sees something for three dollars, he will offer four and half cents. As a rule, most record show haggling is done in a friendly and light-hearted manner but this man appears to be venting his anger at the world by making ridiculous and seemingly arbitrary offers. He is very intense and very serious. What makes it funny is that he only wants the cheap stuff that nobody else wants. In a way, he functions as a barometer or a litmus test for a record's true worth.

He (almost) keeps the dealers honest. For example, if I have a semi-clean copy of "Emotional Rescue" by the Rolling Stones I will price it at a dollar and throw it in with the other Stones albums. I don't really expect it to go anywhere, but it will serve as filler between the good Stones albums and pad out the box a little. Also, you never know if there is some kid out there that just discovered the Stones, thinks they're great, and needs to hear "Emotional Rescue" or "Dirty Work" to bring him back to reality. But before this kid has a chance to find out that his new heroes are fallible, our friend the chiseler comes along and takes the record away for the three or four cents that it's really worth. You really can't argue with him because he only buys crap.

A couple of dealers next to me were joking about this guy under their breath and I chimed in with "It's a good thing my free bin is empty or he would haggle about something in there" before they pointed out that he was within earshot. I looked over and I thought I saw him smile.

So the Virgin Megastore in Orange closed down. Why don't I care?

Remember the scene in "Borat" where he tries to kidnap Pamela Anderson? That was shot there, but that's not enough to grant it landmark status.

When the Tower Records chain went down a couple of years ago, I wrote some gushy, teary-eyed tribute and mourned it like the end of an era. I liked Tower. There was something familiar and welcoming about their stores. Not so here. The Virgin Megastore was always cold and dark, with cement floors and a bunch of chrome all over the place. They were overpriced too. On at least one occasion I found something I wanted at Virgin, balked at the price, and then walked over to Borders and bought it for five bucks less.

So the Orange Megastore was just another going out of business sale. Did I hover over the scene of the crime to pick the bones clean anyway? Guilty, but due to a combination of economics and apathy, I didn't go hog-wild this time around.

When the sale was new and the discounts were minimal, I picked up a couple of CD's

The Replacements - Sorry Ma Forgot to Take Out The Trash. The latest reissue all digitally remastered, revised, revisioned, and re-kanoodled with bonus tracks and all that other stuff. I do say that it holds up pretty well. There were other Replacements album re-releases that I intended to pick up when the discount got bigger, but too many other people had the same thought.

Little Walter - Chess Records compilation. I like the cover photograph that shows the scars on his face and the stitches in his forehead. He was the undisputed king of the electric harmonica. Aspiring harmonicats are still afraid to imitate him.

1977-The Spirit of Punk Compilation- About four zillion punk rock classics on one 2-disc set. It was really cheap too. This can't possibly be legal. When is a bootleg not a bootleg? When you slap an "import" label on it.

A couple of weeks later, the prices went down to 60% off so I got a few more.

Iggy Pop - Nude and Rude. This is another greatest non-hits compilation, but the first one spanning from the 60's to the 90's. Yeah, I have most of the records but I was really excited to see something I recognized in the racks.

Brian Setzer - Collection 81-88. A couple of Stray Cats b-sides and unreleased oddball stuff padded with songs from his flop solo albums of the 80's. This was obviously meant to cash in after the Brian Setzer Orchestra got big. I bet those suits at the record company never suspected that anyone would actually like this as much as I do. "The Knife Feels Like Justice" means just as much today as it did in 1985 or so. In other words, I still can't figure out what the hell it means. That just makes me like it more.

Ray Charles - The Essential something or other. Deceptive packaging covers up a great collection of pre-Atlantic, pre-fame recordings. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Then I got a couple from the red-tag 3 dollar budget bin

Charlie Haden - The Haden Family Album. I've heard of this guy. He's a jazz bassist who just released an album of country/bluegrass songs. I like it. Elvis Costello and Jack Black sing on it, but not together. I looked at the credits while listening to one of the songs, found out that it was Bruce Hornsby singing, and I still liked it.

Alice Cooper - Along Came a Spider. Again, I was excited to see an artist I recognized. I tried to listen to this concept album about a serial killer or vampire or something, but I didn't really get it. I'm giving it to a friend who is a big time Alice Cooper fan from way back. Happy Belated Christmas, Frenchie.

So there were no fantastic deals to be had, but I did end up with something really cool.

Check it out. I thought this six-shelved metal rack was a bargain at only twenty-five clams. It doesn't look like much sitting here in my garage, but once I had at it with some shop rags and disinfectant, its true beauty emerged from under years of smug hipness.

Here it is, fully loaded with over 800 CD's, a treasured souvenir with very little historical and emotional significance. The knife doesn't always feel like justice, but sometimes the fork feels like karma and the melon baller smells like anarchy.

It's World Series time again. That could mean one of three things:
1. You're gaining interest in baseball.
2. You're losing interest in baseball, or
3. You don't give a flying monkey biscuit about baseball and never did.

Summer is over and baseball season is about to end, but I'm still listening to this CD. I think it's wonderful. Soon I'll have to put it away until next spring.

The Baseball Project is a band thrown together by Scott McCaughey (Young Fresh Fellows/ Minus 5) and Steve Wynn (Dream Syndicate). Peter Buck (REM) and Linda Pitmon (I don't know what bands she's been in, but I think she's Wynn's wife or something) make up the rest of the group. Wynn and McCaughey each wrote about half the songs and they're all great. The songs are mostly based on real people and real stories, or at least real legends. They sound like they were all written quickly and without too much fuss. There are very nice liner notes telling the stories behind each song. For me to just repeat those stories here would be pretty weak, so I'll just add my two cents to a few favorites.

"Ted Fucking Williams" sounds like a cross between "Rock and Roll Part II" by Gary Glitter and "Helen Wheels" by Wings, but that just makes it better. Williams apparently bestowed himself with his unique middle name - his bible-thumping mother did not give it to him. If there were still such things as hit songs this would be one.

"Fernando" No, it's not an Abba cover. It's about Fernando Valenzuela.

"Long Before My Time" has kind of "Sweet Jane" groove and it's about Sandy Koufax. That makes two songs about Dodger pitchers here. If this band chooses to make it a trilogy, I hope they don't write the third song about Chan Ho Park giving up two grand slams in one inning.

"The Death of Big Ed Delahanty" If you don't want to know how it ends, don't read this. Big Ed got thrown off a train for being drunk and ended up being swept over Niagara Falls. Bummer.

"Harvey Haddix" is the catchiest song you will ever hear that recites a list of all the pitchers that have thrown perfect games. I agree that Harvey should be added to that list.

"The Yankee Flipper" would fit comfortably on any Young Fresh Fellows album. If you want to know the story behind the song, go buy the CD.

I just realized that I used the word "hit" a few comments back and did not intend it as a pun. Allow me to kick myself for missing such an obvious opportunity. As the old folks say, if it was a snake it woulda bit me. I will now make up for lost time with "every song is a hit, without a foul in the bunch!" Or maybe "Every pitch is a strike and there are no balls?" No, that really wouldn't be true. Okay, wise guy, see if you can work phrases like "out of left field" into this without sounding like a dork.
Feeling creative? Try "eephus pitch," "rhubarb," or "worm burner" on for size. It's not so easy is it? Where's Rex Hudler when you need him?

And in case you'd like to know:
Frozen Rope - A hard-hit line drive. Also a strong throw from the outfield.
Dying Quail - A batted ball that drops in front of the outfielders for a hit, often unexpectedly (like a shot bird). Also known as a blooper, a chinker, a bleeder, or a gork.

All the songs on this CD are good, but I'm fresh out of snark.

I consider this album to be a nice companion piece to a book I have called "Strange But True Baseball Stories." I had it practically memorized when I was a kid. Although the Harvey Haddix story is the only overlap, it follows along the same chalk lines.

I'm looking forward to The Baseball Project Volume 2. There are a lot more baseball stories that demand to be told and retold: The Black Sox scandal, Pete Rose, Daryl Strawberry, Billy Martin, Jose Canseco, Ty Cobb, Joe DiMaggio, and many others.
You might as well throw in Curt Schilling's bloody sock for good measure.

Personally, I would like to hear a song about Joe Ferguson - former catcher for the Los Angeles Dodgers (and current manager of the Camden River Sharks). He may never be inducted into the Hall of Fame but, for a brief period in the mid 1970's, he was my hero.

I know what you're thinking - anyone with some spare change in their pocket can score anything they want on the sidewalks of Hollywood. What's the big deal? I'll get to that.
It might help to show some alternate titles I considered for this piece:

"Giving It Away on Sunset Blvd" (pretty good)
"Amoeba Takes Out The Trash" (not as good)
"Free Crap" (not good at all)

I went to a Dodgers game last weekend. On the way home, the car automatically steered itself to Amoeba Records as it often does when I'm in L.A. I shouldn't have to tell you that Amoeba is one of my favorite stores. Now I have one more reason to like it.

As I was leaving the store with some newly purchased items, I noticed three boxes on the sidewalk labeled with the magic word "FREE." They were full of CD's. I was interested. I approached, tentatively at first, fully aware that free items often carry a hidden cost - a cost that one is not always willing to pay. Ah, what the heck. I dug in.

It wasn't too bad. It wasn't too good, but it wasn't too bad. I expected 100 copies of some vanity pressing by a sensitive singer-songwriter or some new emo-rap-metal-teenybop-polka sensation. To my relief, it was just a bunch of used CD's that Amoeba decided were unfit for sale - broken cases, water-damaged, scratched-up discs, out-of-style, etc.. - and they didn't want them used as landfill. Very environmentally conscious are those folks at Amoeba.

I was sorting politely with one other bargain-hunter, being fairly selective, and made it through about a box and a half when word hit the street and it turned into a feeding frenzy. I escaped with my life and these 18 free CD's.

David Bowie - ChangesBowie. This has all the hits you would want, like "Changes, " Suffragette City, " "Heroes," and so on. It also has "Fame '90's Remix" which no one would ever want.

Sex Pistols - The Swindle Continues. This is another repackaging of the Dave Goodman/Spunk demos from the early days of the band. There is some other stuff thrown on, like "Here We Go Again" and a version of "Silly Thing" which is different than the one on "The Great Rock and Roll Swindle" - I think. If this compilation had stopped here, it would be fine, but it goes on to include some really bad sound-alike songs that are obviously not the Pistols. I don't know what the story is there.

Spike Jones - Spiked. "Knock, knock. Who's there? Emma. Emma who? Emma gonna have trouble with you?"

Leon Redbone - Double Time. I remember seeing him on TV when I was a kid and being stupefied. He is really a good interpreter of old 20's-40's standards. He was sort of like Tiny Tim, only with a deep voice without the vibrato, without the ukulele, and without the creepiness. While we're at it, throw in a white suit, a panama hat, and a mustache. He was absolutely nothing like Tiny Tim.

Skatalites-Hi-Bop Ska. I don't understand why this was thrown out - it's really good. These guys were kind of like the Meters or the MG's of Jamaica. This is a mostly instrumental collection recorded in the 90's with guests including Toots and the Maytals and jazz guy Lester Bowie. This is in pretty good shape, too. I don't know why this wouldn't sell. There must be some twelfth generation ska revival backlash that I don't know about.

Ann-Margret - Let Me Entertain You. I wanted to read the liner notes and look at the pictures in the insert, but the pages of the booklet were stuck together. I'm not kidding. I'd like to think that it's only water damage.

Beck - Guero. Too 90's.

Jon Spencer Blues Explosion - Now I Got Worry. Too 90's in its 70's retro-ness. It makes me wonder whatever happened to Mojo Nixon.

Wham! -Make It Big. You know that you like "Wake Me Up Before You Go Go." Admit it. Even if you're being ironic, you still like it.

Jellyfish - Spilt Milk. I remember seeing these guys about the time that this album came out. They were really good and had some catchy songs, but insisted on wearing really goofy-looking Alice In Wonderland inspired psychedelic costumes with big fluffy hats. I guess they were looking for a gimmick and found the wrong one. It's really too bad. The album is too slick and overproduced. It sounds like they wanted to sound like Brian Wilson or Phil Spector but ended up sounding more like Toto meets The Archies -- only in a bad way. Somehow, that makes me want to like it.

Space Ghost- Musical Bar-B-Que Sampler. Not only is "Don't Send In The Clowns" a great title for a song, but it also happens to be the best song ever written. Case closed.

Bob Marley - Exodus. This has some hits on it - "Exodus," "Jammin'," and so on. It looks like someone used this for an ashtray, but it plays fine.

Jeff Buckley - Sketches For My Sweetheart The Drunk. I haven't listened to this and I probably won't. It looks too depressing.

Pizzicato Five - Made in USA. Wacky Japanese pop trio. Best song title: "Twiggy Twiggy/Twiggy vs. James Bond." You get the idea.

Esquivel - Cabaret Manana. You can't go wrong here. I know that the retro-lounge trend came and went a long time ago, but I will listen to this just to prove my sincerity. I liked this stuff before it was cool and I'll listen to it long after it stopped being cool.

Various Artists - Mambo Mania, The Kings and Queens of Mambo. I like Rhino compilations because they make me feel smart. I admit to knowing very little about Mambo, but there are plenty of names that I recognize here, like Mongo Santamaria, Desi Arnaz, Tito Puente, Cal Tjader, and Xavier Cugat. If you know as little about Mambo as I do, you probably recognize those names too. And you feel smart.

They Might Be Giants - John Henry. Their children's albums are better than their regular albums.

Cab Calloway and His Orchestra 1934-1937 - How many performers could ever sing "Hi-de-hi-de-hi-de-hi" in every song and get away with it? No one except Cab Calloway ever had the guts to try it. Combine that with a white tuxedo and you have a legend. He was so smooth that most people didn't even realize that his songs were all about drug addicts and prostitutes.

This brings it full circle back to my intentionally misleading but attention-getting title.

What a deal! Along with my free admission ticket (thank you DJ Wanda), there was a coupon for a free barbecued pork rib sandwich. I was pleasantly surprised - it was a very good sandwich.

There were two stages of Elvis going on. On the main "Tribute Artist" stage were the "professional Elvis's" and on the second "Karaoke" stage were the amateur contestants for the "Crème de la King" competition.

Kirk Wall was obviously the star attraction on the Tribute Artist Stage. He worked the whole crowd from the stage to the snack bar and added his own unique stage patter and audience interaction. On one of his frequent jaunts into the audience, he closed in on a woman eating an ice cream cone. When she held it up to offer him some, he said something like, " I don't want your ice cream, baby, I just wanna lick your forehead."
That's a good line, I may steal it. In the future, I foresee Kirk Wall impersonators.