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Adventures in Record Collecting |
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My favourite record show vendor, Mark Demerling is hosting a record show in Burlington this coming Sunday. Personally, I've rounded up a ride to trek out to the burbs, and mainly because Mark promised me a copy of Dr. John's In the Right Place for the more-than-reasonable price of $10 if I showed. If you have the transportation and want to meet the fairest dealer of them all, he might just introduce you to something that will change your way of thinking. Case and point: The first time I met Mark was at the semi-annual downtown record show at the Estonian Hall, and he talked me into buying a soul compilation over a Martha and the Vandellas LP I was eying. "A compilation?" I snorted, with my nose slightly scrunched. But in the end Mark sold me the double soul comp for $10, and it is still in high-rotation more than a year later, and plays like a dream. The last time I saw Mark was in March at his usual spot at the DTRS. He let me browse for a few minutes before unobtrusively pulling out Robert Palmer's first record (1974) and raising one eyebrow: "You might like this." I took it off his hands for $5, NM, and much to my surprise....loved it! Without Mark, I would still think Robert Palmer was that "Addicted to Love guy" instead of a blue-eyed soul Nick Lowe-esque frontman with a funky backing band to boot (which by the way includes members of Little Feat and the Meters!) So, go and see him. But leave the good records for me! -Erin Klassen Sunday, May 2, 2010 $1 & a food donation for Salvation Army or $3.00 general admission. Contact for more information: Larry Guarascia lguarascia@hotmail.com Mark Demerling 905-639-2847
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We arrive at Staybridge Suites shortly after noon. I’ve never been to a record show outside of Toronto (or, what bedroom community-dwellers affectionately refer to as “the city” — cough), and I wonder what the crowd will be like. I’ve got that anxious Christmas morning feeling in the pit of my stomach, and Daniel, my favourite record show partner, is certain that many gems await us in this “untapped” rural market. We’re solemnly silent as we approach the door, giddy and geared up to attack the tables. My first impressions are dubious: there are two mid-sized, hideously-carpeted banquet rooms, maybe only 17 tables or so, and both rooms are sparsely occupied by local junkies (an educated guess — based on their heel-to-toe denim and ballcaps) who don’t strike me as competition for my wish list of ’80s New Wave and depresso-pop albums. Note: if you are going to a record show or store with a shopping partner — be it a friend or lover — be careful to choose someone who will not have the same wish list as yourself. Certainly, there is bound to be some overlap; in my case, Daniel and I both covet a particular Dusty Springfield album which has eluded us for years now, but he generally keeps to his Linda & Richard Thompson snob-folk tastes while I get riled up over Jesus & Mary Chain B-sides and mint copies of early Echo & the Bunnymen albums, so we get along fine. Daniel is right; without the dreaded hipster competition common to Toronto record shows, I find many gems — a rare Jonathan Richman LP, the aforementioned mint Echo album for $6, some early Cure, and The Trinity Sessions, Cowboy Junkies. We’re nearly finished, and it’s been worth the trip — when something nearly life altering happens. As I’m chatting with one of the vendors about the Junkies’ transcendent version of “Sweet Jane,” a booming voice beside me says, “Women don’t have the attention span to listen to an album all the way through.” I pause mid-sentence, and I’m not angry, I am simply stunned. The man he is speaking to sees me starring, and grimaces. He nods to the ugly fat man: “I think there’s someone over there who disagrees with you,” and the ugly fat man turns to confront me. “Well, it’s true!” He exclaims boldly, this time to my face, and I am frozen, desperately racking my brain for a clever retort, which sadly does not materialize in time. -------------- I’m at home fondling my new vinyl and nerdily devouring the liner notes, and I start thinking about the ugly fat Hamiltonian. I can’t help but wonder: is there any truth to what he said? Why am I often the only woman in a record store, or one of five at an entire record show? What is it about pop music* that seems to draw more men than women to its all-consuming and cultish way of life? In Nick Hornby’s High Fidelity, anti-hero and vinyl junkie Rob Gordon suggests that no woman would ever debate what Elvis Costello’s best album is, nor date a man who did. In reference to this, Brett Milano (author of Vinyl Junkies) argues this isn’t “entirely” true, as he once asked a woman out because she knew the correct answer to this question was Get Happy [which is unsettling in itself, as the correct answer is quite obviously (the US version of) This Year’s Model, which includes the kick-ass track “(I Don’t Want to Go to) Chelsea”]. Ok, so what are we talking about here? There are obviously many women who listen to music — but do they like the same kind of music that men like, and do they approach listening experiences in the same way? Perhaps this ugly fat man’s wife/girlfriend/mail-order bride simply doesn’t want to listen to his favourite BTO album for the sixtieth time, and this is the reason he feels entitled to make impudent generalizations in public. Perhaps a more interesting and more substantive discussion would consider the way that music is often genderized, and how these categorizations are often accompanied by value judgments. For instance, a statement I typically hear (from male friends with apologetic looks on their faces): Men generally like better, more complex, less accessible music than women. My first instinct is to be outraged by the idea that music can be categorized by gender at all. I call my friend Julia, who is the kind of woman I can count on to intelligently discuss the subtleties of Blood on the Tracks. Certainly she will help me prove my point: musical taste depends on the person, but not on their gender. “Isn’t your favourite Tracks’ song ‘Idiot Wind?’” I ask, recalling a conversation we had some while ago, a few bottles of wine deep. She doesn’t miss a beat: “No, it’s not. It gets kind of whiny near the end, don’t you think? ‘You’re a Big Girl Now’ is my favourite.” “Oh,” I respond, trying to mask my disappointment, as ‘Idiot Wind’ is clearly a more typically male song and ‘Big Girl’ is tender, softer Bobby D. When I explain the column, she gives me permission to use “Idiot Wind,” “if it works,” despite her better journalistic judgment. Now I’m in trouble, as I have just unconsciously “genderized” Julia’s preference and, even worse, privately deemed “Idiot Wind” to be a superior song because it is decidedly more masculine and therefore bad-ass. I decide to call upon my musically-appreciative friends for their insight: a test group consisting of both male and females in their late 20s, of varying levels of music acumen. The question: Is there music that is more “for women” and music that is more “for men?” My female friends are furious at first: “What do you mean, music for men?” But soon, they’re having some fun with it and are happy to give the men bands like Limp Bizkit, Rush and Gwar. They admit that women generally have no interest or appreciation for certain musical genres, especially thrash metal and “sexually-aggressive nu-punk.” My male friends are quick to answer; apparently this is not a complicated question! First responses are expected: Metallica, Megadeth, Pantera, Slayer. But then, something surprising happens. My inbox is flooded with answers like Tom Waits, Bob Dylan, Nick Cave, The Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin (“but largely because their songs are about scoring with chicks”), Hendrix, The Clash — and even Hank Williams! Many of these artists are among my top desert-island picks, and I immediately reply to say so. The response is something I’ve heard many times before: “Don’t worry, Erin, you’re an exception!” Well what the hell does that mean?! I think of my collection. If extraterrestrial visitors found our planet thousands of years from now, long after we’d gone extinct, I wonder if they’d find my records and be able to scientifically deduce my sex. True, I have many Aretha, Joni and Elton John albums. But I also have lots of jazz, full discographies for Dylan, the Stones and Tom Waits. I like Nirvana, Sabbath, G n’ R and Sonic Youth. I have Sly, Otis, Hendrix, Captain Beefheart and James Brown. I guess I don’t know of too many men who fawn over Joni Mitchell, but does that mean she ranks lower on a scale of importance/quality? Who’s to say that Joni isn’t 10 times the songwriter/artist that James Hetfield is?**
To me, it is most interesting that the ugly man is trying to get me onside; to somehow convince me to agree with him by saying, “Its true!” with a tone not unlike Daniel’s when he tells me, “You’re an exception.” A tone that suggests that to say I have similar musical tastes to a man is a positive thing — indeed, a compliment! Perhaps I am an exception because most women do not find Waits’ scratchy, out-of-tune voice and Dylan’s bitter, condescending lyrics appealing or satisfying. Perhaps I am an exception in that many women do not want to spend their Sunday afternoons in a bar with single men debating whether or not Robbie Robertson stole songwriting credits from Levon Helm. Does my taste in music make me cooler than women who feel more connected to artists like Sarah Harmer and Bjork and Ani DiFranco? Are men who listen to angry guitar-thrashing cock-rock and bad ’80s hair metal any different, when you boil it down, than the women who relate more to Alanis Morissette and Celine Dion? There are many questions here, and there is not nearly enough room in this column to offer meaningful answers. Music, much like religion, is a very personal choice — and as the saying goes: different strokes for different folks. I humbly dedicate this string of questions and these over-simplified observations to the ugly fat man from Hamilton, a man who accidentally inspired me to explore my own preconceptions of gender and music. -------------- Julia sends me an e-mail only a few hours after I’ve spoken to her about “Idiot Wind.” She wants to retract her earlier statement: “Forget what I said, I love that song. You can quote me on that.” So, I have. After all, it is a woman’s prerogative to change her mind. ;) — Erin Klassen Footnotes: *Pop music includes Western genres such as pop, rock, punk, folk, or generally anything that you’d see on MTV. **No one in their right mind would say that James Hetfield is a better songwriter than Joni Mitchell, so this is an unfair comparison. But you get my point, right? ***My sincerest apologies to Chris Martin, for lumping his band with these intolerable “musicians.” Clearly Coldplay is the lesser evil here, and more of an acceptable guilty pleasure (much like early ’90s alt-punk albums: I’ll still swear that Dookie is one of the greatest albums of the last 20 years!)
Where to Buy Vinyl in Toronto — And Why Vinyl has made such a miraculous comeback that even commercial giants HMV and Best Buy are now stocking their shelves with some of the hottest new releases and classic re-pressings on LP format. As for the vintage market, business is steady thanks to a new generation of music lovers who have discovered vinyl and embraced the classic medium and the art of collecting. While you shouldn’t necessarily feel guilty about picking up The Dead Weather at your local chain retailer, it’s important to keep the small guys alive too. Here are five places to spend your rent money on vinyl:
THE PURIST For someone who has been the long standing king of Toronto’s obscure vinyl market, Aki Abe is refreshingly down-to-earth and still all about the music. He’s been the owner of Cosmos Records for nearly 12 years (the second store opened in 2005), a shop which offers the best selection of R&B, rare soul, funk, world and jazz vintage vinyl in the city. This is a purist’s dream store and one-stop shopping for out-of-town DJs, minor celebrities and serious collectors. Beware, this place isn’t for bargain hunters — Abe’s product is mint, original and priced accordingly. He once tried to sell me an original pressing of Roy Ayers’ Coffy for $100 by comparing it to a pair of jeans: “People pay three times as much for designer jeans and they only last a couple of years. This record will last forever!” Although Abe credits the Internet with legitimizing the business, he also feels that because of online shopping, “the concept of digging is disappearing,” which is a crucial part of the ritual. As for Abe’s personal collection? It takes a junkie to know a junkie: “Four thousand records, which is not much,” Abe says, “for someone who owns a record store.” His prized album of the moment is Moacir Santos’ Coisas on FORMA — for which he paid $600 — a price he considers “a good deal.” Why you should shop here: Abe is one of the last true vinyl enthusiasts in this city. “I’m not interested in being trendy,” Abe claims. “I don’t sell online, I don’t have flashy advertising but I’m expecting to be around for a long time.” If you build it, they will come — he’s got another 30,000 records on the way from exclusive suppliers. I’m guessing that’s enough to ensure a few more years of success.
THE VETERANS Business partners Barbara and Martin (and no, they’re not married) have been operating this quaint mum & pop shop in Baldwin Village since 1975, which makes it the longest standing vinyl retailer in Toronto. When I tell them that I’ve heard others claim this title, Barbara smiles modestly and shrugs, “We’re low profile.” In three words, she’s captured exactly why this store has been my favourite spot to shop since I first started collecting. Even though it’s off the beaten track, jam-packed and caters mostly to populist tastes, this is exactly the type of store I would want to own. They run a classy operation: quality records, great selection and reasonable prices have ensured customer loyalty over the decades. How much longer do they plan to stick around? Martin answers dryly “until retirement” while Barbara adds sheepishly, “We’re not very well trained to do anything else!” That’s a relief. Why you should shop here: You will find brightly coloured Post-it notes stuck to more noteworthy albums, which offer delightful facts like “Produced by Brian Eno” and “Jaco Pastorius plays bass.”
THE IN CROWD This Queen West landmark needs little introduction, as it has been the habitual watering hole for local DJs, indie rockers and Queen Street browsers since 1991. Self-proclaimed hipsters, the blurb on Rotate’s website seems to have been written in the early ’80s, when people still bought records at department stores: “Next time you're out music shopping, and you're looking for stuff that you just can't find at the mall, definitely stop by. We swear that we won't judge your purchases.” It’s a nice sentiment but I’d be wary of asking for Paul Anka or post ’70s Stevie Wonder (“Do we look like the kind of store that sells I Just Called to Say I Love You? Go to the mall!”)
THE URBAN FLEA MARKET Swarming with students, Annexers and indie rockers, this bargain bin warehouse is an endless sea of new and used CDs, movies and most notably, the recent addition of a few thousand square feet of wall-to-wall vinyl in the basement. Fleet Foxes? Early Sabbath? Olivia Newton-John? You name it, they’ll probably have it. Open ’til midnight, 365 days a year, browsing these aisles is the perfect way to kill time between classes or before meeting friends for a drink. Why you should shop here: The mammoth inventory includes new releases, worthwhile re-pressings and the staples of a good starter pop/rock collection — Peter Gabriel, Springsteen, Dylan and Zappa, if you can dig it. Discovery Records (1140 Queen St. E.) YOUR UNCLE’S BASEMENT My first records were taken directly from the pile of dusty records in my parents’ basement, once a part of my Dad’s predictable collection of classic rock — The Beatles, The Beach Boys, The Guess Who, Deep Purple and Blood, Sweat and Tears. Your “Uncle’s collection” is the edgier version of Dad’s dusty heap, where you’d discover the likes of Led Zeppelin, Thin Lizzy, Van Halen, Pink Floyd, Metallica and other coming-of-age gems. Discovery is distinctively understated — you’re not likely to find any Queen West esoteric types here. Most customers seem to be no-nonsense shoppers breezing in for a quick look at the New Arrivals bin. The man behind the desk is shop owner “Jim” and although he doesn’t offer his last name (and I don’t ask) he’s quick to point out a couple of old NOW reviews he’s cut out and taped to the cabinet near the cash: “I think they both talk about what I dickhead I am” he reveals, and briskly follows this with a chuckle, “and I guess they’re not wrong — I’ve probably lost a few customers because of it.” Although he also sells a small bin’s worth of used CDs, Jim believes they are “a necessary evil” and it’s not hard to see the vinyl aficionado behind his aloof exterior. So what if he’s a bit grumpy, give him a break — after all, he’s been doing this for 27 years! Why you should shop here: Although the store is mostly full of the stuff you already have (Rolling Stones, Fleetwood Mac) and the stuff you’ll probably never want (Gene Krupa, Poco), you’ll undoubtedly find something you want (Depeche Mode? The Modern Lovers? Flying Burrito Brothers?) and it will be tres affordable, in great condition and sold to you by Jim, Toronto’s most charming vinyl grump. Happy Shopping! — Erin Klassen
The advent of the compact disc in the 1980s came as a shock to avid music collectors everywhere. The idea that vinyl collections would soon be obsolete and replaced with CDs – which promised to be superior to vinyl due to crystal clear sound quality, compact size and durability – was difficult to stomach. At first, we bought into the technology believing it would offer a transcendent listening experience. Young and old, we sold our souls to Columbia House and paid thousands of dollars for fancy new sound systems. So why now, more than 20 years after the birth of the digital revolution, is vinyl still alive and kicking? The Chase Whether you’re a relatively new collector or a veteran, you’re no stranger to the feeling common to junkies of any sort. We’re all on a similar eternal mission: there’s always something out there you haven’t bought yet. Satisfaction comes in waves when you’re a collector with light pockets. Besides frequenting the dozen record shops around Toronto, it’s important to be an opportunist; you never know what might pop up at garage sales, rummage sales, estate sales or record conventions in Hamilton and Barrie! The online community has responded to the market demand as well, and Ebay aside, there are literally hundreds of web sites that sell vinyl exclusively, in any musical genre that a person may have an interest in. The Addiction Love or infatuation? C.S. Lewis said, “A man with an obsession is a man who has very little sales resistance.” But what did he know about pop music? An audiophile is a hobbyist, identified by their love for music, or use of high-end audio electronics. It’s also a term that has become commonly used to identify those who are addicted to the Tuesday release day, bated-breath on Monday night in anticipation of yet another re-issue of Elvis Costello’s Armed Forces on CD (in the dandy digi-pack, fully re-mastered with bonus tracks). For the same reason labels release “audiophile” editions and reissues of their albums on digital, they are marketing vinyl release to their audiophile audience. As a new generation has discovered the special allure that vinyl records have; the limited editions, colored vinyl, picture discs, 180-220 gram pressings, the album cover artwork and the sound have all lured youngsters in the hobby of collecting vinyl records. Indie labels are catching on and they are delivering the goods to their target market. The Connection It can’t be beat: the delicate touch of the needle to the groove. Listening to a record is sexy, genuine and the only reasonable way to experience the music as it was originally meant to be heard by a mass public. Some would argue that there exists a different kind of connection between the artist and the listener. When CDs were first introduced in the 80s, they were the “next best thing” in the music world. Certainly an upgrade from cassette tapes, CDs conveniently packed the music and artwork into a neat, small package. But one of the major flaws is the lack of cover art you get with a CD, especially when you compare it to the vibrant, lifelike album cover art you get with vinyl records. If you need convincing, open up a copy of Diamond Dogs and tell me you disagree! The Trend We are the XY generation, sometimes referred to as the MTV generation: a confused group that exists in limbo somewhere between Generation X and Y. We were raised in an age where video killed the radio star and the death of Kurt Cobain aligned quite appropriately with our first glimpse of puberty. We remember encyclopedias, and the birth of instant messenger, and we’re not sure if we want to be well-to-do Bay Streeters or urban-bohemian bloggers. You can find us at various local hot spots, like the Drake Hotel, Soundscapes, or Joel Plaskett concerts. We carry a mixed bag of values, and it’s ok by us; we have carefully chosen the ideologies and technologies that suit us, and can’t be bothered to adhere to any one set of social standards.
Vinyl fits well into this sensibility, because it is increasingly popular, but still boasts the status of being authentic and alternative to the norm. You can go to Cosmos on Queen West and spend $50 on an original pressing of Motley Crue’s first album or rummage through bins at Value Village and find a perfectly playable copy of Purple Rain for a dollar. Sure, sure, vinyl sounds better – but it looks cool, too, right? The Ritual Vinyl takes us back to a time when the effort and the aesthetic were part of the listening experience. Like any collectible item, people collect vinyl because they are passionate about it, either for monetary gain or personal satisfaction or both. Most of us are in it for the long term – there is something gratifying about building a collection, item by item, over many years – each record has a story, a history, and maybe a past relationship with a different owner. Some collectors can even tell you where and when they bought each record in their collection, how much it cost them and how much it is worth. The interesting part – the act of searching is often equally as important as actually listening to the music. After all, if it were just about the music, we’d happily plug into our iPods and never look back. For all of the reasons we love records, whether inspired or misguided, the adventures of collecting will continue, I suspect, for some time. - Erin Klassen
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with my jaw to the floor I whirl around to face this prophet of wisdom. He’s a very large, very ugly man with a grungy coat and a scraggly red beard (and for some reason I am now recalling him wearing one of those awful Northern Reflections-type wolf T-shirts, but I might be projecting for sake of literary embellishment). 
Doesn’t it make more sense that some people like good music and some people have bad taste? There are plenty of men who like Nickelback, Coldplay*** and Our Lady Peace. There are women who listen to Beyonce, Shania Twain and misguidedly believe that Michael Bublé is as cool as Frank Sinatra. But these men and women probably aren’t reading this column, and they’re probably not attending record shows. 
Cosmos Records (607 and 750 Queen St. W.)
Around Again Records (18 Baldwin St.) 
Rotate This (801 Queen St. W.)