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September 27, 2006
Record Weirdo - In Recovery
Text and Photo by Kevin Hillskemper
Why did the record collector cross the road?
He heard there were some rare records on the other side, past some quicksand and a minefield, in an old abandoned munitions factory under a pile of toxic waste.
How many record collectors does it take to change a light bulb?
Three – one to fall off the ladder, one to stick his finger in the socket, and one to offer you fifty cents for the light bulb because he says it’s scratched.
What do you call a woman that lives with a record collector?
His mom.
How do you disperse a crowd of record collectors?
Yell “Hey look, a bar of soap!” and they’ll scatter like cockroaches.
I’m in recovery. I sold off another chunk of my collection at the September 24th Orange County Record Show. I hadn’t even done any accumulating in the last year and a half since I last sold. I wanted to cut deep and make it hurt. I didn’t just want to lose some excess fat -- I wanted to lose some muscle and bone too. It went well.
I started out with a system. In July, I started going through my records. If I couldn’t name one song on an album – it goes. If I could name one song on it, I listened to that song for thirty seconds. If I didn’t like it – out it went. Singles were slightly different. Since I don’t bother to play 45’s any more, I just tried to cut my collection in half. My old punk singles are safe – they have immunity. My Elvis, Beatles, Stones, and Who aren’t going anywhere either – unless they’re duplicates of course. Pretty much everything else, however, is fair game.
I used the one-year rule on CD’s. If I haven’t listened to it in a year, it went. If it was a review copy and I hadn’t listened to it since I reviewed it – gone.
I didn’t actually abide by most of these rules but I still gathered up about 600 albums, 400 singles, 250 CD’s, a couple dozen 78’s, a couple music related books, a dairy crate of VHS tapes, and a smattering of 8-tracks for good measure.
I was off to the races.
When I arrived for load-in at 7:00 am on the morning of the show, I found out that the promoter had lost my reservation. Since he is a nice guy and he remembered me, he let me have a table in the foyer of the hall and promised that he would move me into the main room if he had any no-shows. He even offered me a cut rate. I took it. I'm easy - yes, I'm easy like Sunday morning.
Before I set up my wares, I went to the snack bar and filled my 16-ounce travel tumbler with fresh, piping-hot, Union Hall volunteer coffee. It would wreak havoc on my bladder for the next six hours.
I think my location worked to my benefit. I was the first table people saw when they walked in and the last one they saw on the way out. I sold so much stuff it was ridiculous. I sold stuff that I didn’t even know I had. I could have barfed on a plate and sold it as a rare psychedelic picture disc.
Whenever I sell, I separate my stuff down the middle. I put my valuable stuff on one side of the table and my cheap stuff on the other side. I occasionally throw a record that’s worth a few bucks in the budget bin with a bunch of one-dollar records. This gets the attention of the bargain hunters and keeps them flipping through the debris. More often than not, they become blinded by their good fortune and start gobbling up more records - seemingly at random. They will be so proud of their bargain-sniffing abilities that they won’t notice that they’re also buying a bunch of crap.
In business, these types of low-priced items are called “loss-leaders.” Since I’m not being paid anything extra for being original, I will call them that too. I could also call it “priming the pump”, “stacking the deck”, or “baiting the trap” but I’d rather not.
I didn’t sell anything that I can’t live without.
I did sell something that I never expected to. It was a two-record radio interview show from the early 70’s sponsored by the US Army. It was complete with cues for the announcer and recruitment commercials. The artists interviewed were Kiss, B.J. Thomas, Larry Coryell, and Charlie Daniels. I found it in a thrift store ages ago. It’s not listed in any price guide so I just arbitrarily slapped a 20-dollar price tag on it and forgot about it. I must have hauled it to ten record shows. The price tag had yellowed with age. I assumed it would have value as a Kiss collectible. I figured that fans of Thomas and Coryell probably wouldn’t want it because it has Kiss on it. Charlie Daniels fans wouldn’t buy it because they can’t read.
Sure enough, a Kiss fan bought it. I can be right sometimes. It just takes a while.
At these shows, there are always collectors that buy more than they can carry. I’ve seen them use shopping carts and little red wagons to haul their loot. You usually see a few people with those fold-up luggage caddies to haul boxes with. With more than one box, you need a dolly.
This time I saw something new – a wheelchair.
Some guy who was obviously experiencing medical problems was half pushing and half supporting himself on a well-worn wheelchair. The weight of a few hundred records in the seat of the chair was providing more that adequate ballast. He stopped at my table and talked for a few minutes. He selected a few Neil Diamond records from the one-dollar bin and explained that he was a performer in Las Vegas and needed to learn some Neil Diamond songs and add them to his repertoire. Because he was wearing one of those big Dr. Seuss looking hats, I didn’t believe a word he said. His elaborate story wasn’t even necessary. You don’t have to explain your tastes in music to me. If we learned anything from the 1970’s, it’s that Neil Diamond means never having to say you’re sorry.
Kiss fans never offer any explanations or apologies. I respect that.
A few hours into the show, the promoter offered me another table. He even offered to have my stuff moved for me. I declined. I liked where I was.
I saw Davie Allan from Davie Allan and the Arrows. I may have mentioned this before, but he is one of my all-time guitar heroes. He didn’t buy anything from me. Cheap bastard.
I sold off most of my Elvis impersonator records. I think I’ve written enough articles about them and I don’t need to hold on to my research material anymore. The guy who bought them owned a store and he said he couldn’t keep enough Elvis items in stock. He had some customers that would buy anything Elvis – even fake Elvis. He even bought an Elvis Costello single from me. You never know, someone might snatch it up before they finish reading the label.
Elvis stuff always sells like hotcakes. I hope nobody steals my idea of selling Elvis-shaped hotcakes. Note to self – buy Bisquick.
I’d like to go back to the topic of fan loyalty. A number of years ago, I was selling at a record show in Tacoma, Washington. A young disabled guy came up to my table wearing at least seventeen pieces of Ricky Nelson flair. Like a dork, I asked if he was looking for anything in particular. He pointed at a Ricky button the size of a hubcap on his chest and said “This guy right here.” I fished out a four-song EP from the 50’s and showed it to him. It was something he was looking for. I knew it was worth more than a buck, but that’s all I charged him for it.
I don’t know why I remember that, maybe because I question my own motivation. I don’t think I cut him such a sweet deal out of pity or able-bodied guilt - maybe I just admired his dedication. Jaded old cynics like myself are somehow incapable of that.
I couldn’t take advantage of a Ricky Nelson fan. I would, however, have no qualms about ripping off a fan of Jimmy Buffett or the Insane Clown Posse.
I didn't sell a single 8-track tape. I sold a few 78's and then gave the rest away.
When three o’clock rolled around, I was itching to go but I was trapped. Earlier in the day, some guy bought more stuff than he could carry. He asked if I could put it in a box and hold it for him behind the table. Since he already paid me for it, I felt obligated. About 2:30 in the afternoon, dealers started packing up and leaving. A few scavengers showed up looking for scraps but the action was pretty much over. At 3:01, one minute after the show officially closed, I went into the main room to look for the guy. Since the room was almost empty, he was pretty easy to find. He was at a table in back preventing a dealer from closing up shop. I handed him his box of stuff and jokingly accused him of leaving a trail of filled boxes at every table. This seemed to upset him and he vehemently denied it. He acted like I was a spouse confronting him about an infidelity.
I just thanked him and left. He bought a lot of stuff from me.
People. I’ll never understand them.
Posted by Big Kev at September 27, 2006 9:44 PM
