Digging on Impulse
Crate Diving in Modern America
I’m not usually a creature of impulse, though I can get going if I hit the right store or online site, and god knows then, I might buy some strange novel that I’ll likely never read or a pair of shoes that look good on my computer but shitty on my feet.
The kind of impulses I’m more liable to listen to, however, are the ones when I might be grading papers or reading for class, and suddenly I know I need to hit one of my local record stores. This tends to happen on bright Friday afternoons around 3:00. I guess that’s because 3:00 is still my memory-time of being released from school for the weekend. I don’t know what went on in your world, but on weekends, I devoted serious time as a kid to watching ABC music shows like American Bandstand, Happening ‘68, and the Beatles’ cartoon show.
Maybe it’s “Penny Lane”—”there beneath the blue suburban skies”—that I think of mostly, but whatever song lurks, it makes me want to go to my record store to find something to complement the feeling I’m having—the feeling that tells me again and again that I grew up in the greatest era of pop music (no shade on Sinatra and Crosby or Doris Day). It’s hard to explain to those who didn’t live it that when the Beatles and Stones, James Brown, and The Supremes and even Paul Revere and the Raiders were at their zenith, nothing else mattered so much.
I know other things did matter: the war, the Civil Rights movement, and the crisis of faith when assassinations of popular leaders seemed to be running at us all the time.
Anyway, without getting so philosophical, the impulse hit me not only last Friday but also this past Monday. And, dig it for sure, I found some gems.
Last Friday, I scoured Cabin Floor Records, seeking a prize from the Yardbirds to match my others. I didn’t quite succeed, but Joe the record man showed me a copy of something I didn’t know existed:
Eric Clapton & the Yardbirds (Springboard Records SPB-4036 year undecided). It cost me $12 and is in Very Good shape, which is good, because it’s a bluesy collection anchored by “I’m a Man,” a song the Yardbirds played to show how much they love and learned from blues masters of yore like Muddy Waters and so many others. Springboard records has an address in Rahway, New Jersey, and Discogs tells me that it was one of the biggest budget labels of the 1970s:
https://www.discogs.com/label/221977-Springboard?srsltid=AfmBOopme8UD4PW0keFwlmsIWskYlrYc5jpy6rRBGQT4XJ3qyTa7QBn0
It also lists The Genius of Billy Preston as one of its title. Maybe worth a check.
My impulsive nature, though, wouldn’t let me rest. I had an ulterior motive for hitting Cabin Floor last Friday. For weeks, I had seen a sealed, Mono copy of Frank Sinatra (with Billy May and his Orchestra)’s Come Fly With Me (Capitol W920, 1958). Did I say it was sealed? The protective seal says it originally cost $4.98. Is it a reissue? How can I tell? Should I unseal it? So many questions, but are there any answers, and if I do come fly with him, when and where will we land?
Joe was asking $65 for the record, and when I told him I wanted it, he checked to see if he had listed it on eBay, which he hadn’t. So he asked if $40 would do, and whether that was his impulse or not, mine was to say YES.
Over at Horizon Records on Monday—and this impulse hit me early Monday morning, though I waited patiently to late that afternoon, because I did have to teach after all—there were no Yardbird albums at all, but there was a copy of George Harrison’s Dark Horse (EMI Records SMAS-3418, 1974) sitting in the $5 bin. I never owned it and considering that many critics, including Madelyn Waehner over on Medium, consider it an unsung and underrated masterwork, I didn’t hesitate. I love George so much even if he didn’t write “Penny Lane.” He was always the Beatle for me.
Even more so, because I have also never owned a copy of The Concert for Bangladesh (Apple STCX-3385, 1971). I saw the concert film at the Green Springs Theater when it was first released, and fell so in love with the moment, and especially when Leon Russell chimed in on “Beware of Darkness” (of course I would). So not buying the album then was likely due to what a three-album set cost. But in all those years, here and ago, I should have rectified the issue. The album is still pricey, but when you find a pristine copy in the crates for only $30, impulses be damned. This action is mandatory and we must seek the swift completion of our appointed rounds. Even after all this time, my love for “Wah-Wah” has no equal.
Oh George, has it really been 24 years since we lost you. If not for you indeed.
Anyway, I keep thinking about what if I didn’t follow my impulses—the need to go on a certain day; the desire to examine and dig all there is before me.
And so when the musical question “What Is Life” is asked, I know what the answer is. For me.